She shrugs. “He’s filing another appeal. But my lawyers all assure me he doesn’t have a chance. It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, but I force my muscles to relax. “I’m sure they’re right.” I say it with total confidence. Her lawyers are probably very smart people. She always surrounds herself with the best.
She’s told me that’s why she hired me, but after what just happened—am I really the best forher?
She clenches her jaw, anger flashing in her eyes. “They charged him with sex trafficking, along with kidnapping and assault. Because of who I was, he got a harsh sentence. My dad knows a lot of influential people, and he put pressure on people to make him an example since it was so high profile. Most the women I worked with before don’t get that lucky.”
I lean over, ready to press a kiss to her forehead, but stop myself. Wejustsaid no kissing. I straighten. “He deserves every year and a hundred more, no matter who you are.” I take a stepaway from her, or I’ll be tempted again. “I’ll be back soon, and I promise not to get mugged or something.”
She nods. “Okay.”
I’m grateful not to encounter anyone else when I leave the house. I don’t want to have to also explain to Ellie or Will why I’m going for a run this late. Once I’m a couple blocks away, I call Baylee and let the call go to my earbuds.
“Since you are currentlynotmaking out with your wife, I guess that telling her your feelings didn’t go well?” Baylee says as soon as she answers.
“Did you know what happened to Libby when she was seventeen?” I ask, just as abruptly.
Baylee gasps. “Jordan. You didn’t?”
“No,” I bark. Then I lower my voice. It’s ten-thirty, and I don’t need to be drawing the neighbors’ attention either. “I didn’t.”
“Jordan Atkinson! How could you not know? It was all over the news. Everyone was talking about it. He was a football player for her dad’s team. Her family was posting all over social media, trying to find her.”
“I don’t know, Bay,” I say, frustrated. “I was in Arizona at the time. Maybe that’s why?”
“And you didn’t Google her when she gave you the ten million dollars and wanted to hire you?” Baylee sounds understandably exasperated with me.
“I Googled her firm and read about it. I … I didn’t think to look up stuff about her. I know that half the stuff on the internet isn’t true. It seemed like a waste of time.”
Baylee sighs. “So what happened?”
I relate how I told her my feelings, how she reacted, and how that led to telling me about Hollis when I didn’t already know.
“I guess it’s a good thing that she wants to trust you,” Baylee says tentatively.
“Yeah. Maybe.” I run a hand through my hair and pick up my pace. So much helplessness courses through me. I can’t helppicturing a terrified, teenaged Libby in the hands of someone she should have been able to trust. It makes me want to tear something apart, break glass, anything but run in the dark and feel powerless.
There’s silence while I breathe heavily, pushing myself harder, and Baylee waits.
“I don’t know what to do,” I finally admit.
“You—”
“Don’t tell me to leave,” I jump in before she can suggest it. “I can’t. I can’t leave her.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Baylee snaps, sounding defensive. “I was going to saybe there for her. Show her that you can be trusted with everything. Her life, her heart, her secrets, her respect, all of it.” Her voice quiets. “She’s going to figure it out. I know she will.”
I suck in breaths. I want to believe Baylee is right—that Libby will find a way to trust me wholly. Someday.
“Okay,” is all I can say.
“Okay,” she replies. I run for several moments in silence. “I love you, Jordan,” she says softly. “You did the right thing telling her. That’s what a stand-up guy does. And you did the right thing respecting her when she said no.”
It doesn’t feel right—yeah, I did the rightthing, but my heart is splitting in two. Running isn’t helping the anger still coursing through me that someone took advantage of Libby. And not the capable, strong, take-charge woman I know. Someone took advantage of a trusting, naïve teenager, and he shattered her irreparably. She may have healed, but those wounds will always leave scars.
But I have to control that anger, because the last thing she needs is some bozo like me going caveman on her.
“Love you too, Bay,” I finally say on a sigh. With that, I hang up, and I spend another hour running around upscale Denver neighborhoods trying to make sense of any of it.
