Hat Trick, page 15
She took her place next to her attorney. Everyone rose when the judge entered and took his seat. The first witness of the afternoon was Sam Thorpe, Coop’s one-time girlfriend who’d moved to Detroit with him, and one of the more fawning of Cassandra acolytes. She made her wobbly way to the stand, got sworn in, and dabbed her eyes with a tissue before taking a sheet of paper from Cassandra’s attorney.
“If you would, please, Miss Thorpe, read this conversation, exchanged by text message between yourself, Miss Dean, Miss Flynn, and Miss Jacoby.”
Sam swallowed hard. Declan heard a loud intake of breath behind him from—he assumed—Traci and Helena, as in “Miss Flynn” and “Miss Jacoby.” Sam proceeded to read out loud the text conversation he’d read the night of the Vampires and Fairies Ball. When she got to the part about Traci Flynn being the only one among them who hadn’t fucked Sam’s boyfriend, her voice broke. But she went on, describing the entire sordid thing, including Cassandra’s admission of sex with Coop, Nicco, and Hunter.
“What the hell is that about?” he whispered to Desmond.
“Proof that you had motive.”
“How do they know I read it?”
“You admitted it, remember?”
“Shit,” he said under his breath.
“Hang on. It’s my turn next.” Desmond pulled a stapled set of papers from his case and stood, once Cassandra’s lawyer took his seat. “Your honor, I’ve received a new item of evidence. I’m providing it to Miss Dean’s attorney and you now.” He handed papers to each man.
“Objection,” Cassandra’s lawyer said as he glanced down at the pages.
“I’ll allow it,” the judge said, frowning as he studied whatever was on the sheets. “Make your point.”
Sam had stood and started down out of the witness box. “If it would please the court, I’d like Miss Thorpe to remain under oath.”
The woman’s red-rimmed eyes widened and she put a shaking hand to her throat. “I thought I was done,” she squeaked, glancing nervously from Desmond to Declan to Cassandra.
“It won’t take but a few minutes,” Desmond said. “Miss Thorpe, if you would read through this first.”
She took the paper and looked at it, then shut her eyes. A tear slipped down her pale cheek. A sudden commotion in the crowd behind Declan made the judge pound his gavel. “Order,” he said. “Miss Thorpe, do you need a moment?”
She shook her head so hard tendrils of her thick blond hair dropped around her face, escaping the serious-looking updo she was sporting. “This is bullshit,” a voice behind Declan declared. “Why does she have to be the—”
“Mr. Cooper, I don’t want to have to eject you again,” the judge said, glancing up from his perusal of whatever Desmond had handed him. Declan shook his head. Samantha Thorpe had dumped Coop ages ago after his screwing around with anything with two legs and a pussy behind her back seemed to bring her to her senses. There was no accounting for his sudden concern for her well-being. But it somehow fit the utter surrealistic nature of this whole thing.
In a shaking, teary voice, Sam began to read the transcript of another text exchange, this one between her and Cassandra only, dated during the time she’d spent in the hospital.
Sam: Oh honey I am so sorry! What a dick! I didn’t know he had it in him.
Cass: Can you do me a big favor?
Sam: Sure, anything. Do you need some magazines to read?
Cass: No. I need you to get over to Dec’s house and get something for me.
Sam: I don’t know how I’ll get in there.
Cass: Easy. Call him. I’ll text you his number in a minute. Tell him you’re so upset or something about Coop. He’s a total sap about you.
Sam: What’s in there you need? Your purse?
Cass: No it’s a baseball bat. I think it’s under the smaller couch.
Sam: Why in the world do you need that?
Cass: OK, honey I need you to promise me you won’t tell.
Sam: Sure Cass anything for you.
Cass: I used it. And it’s got my blood and my fingerprints on it. I meant to make him use it but he was being a pussy.
Declan’s ears roared at this point. Shuffling noises and curses erupted behind him.
“Order!” the judge called out, louder this time. “One more outburst and your peanut gallery is ejected counselor.”
Declan pressed his hands flat on the cool table surface. He stared at them, trying to focus on something while Sam continued and the white noise filled his head.
Sam: You did what?
Cass: Don’t be an idiot. Just get the thing for me. Okay?
Sam: But did he do anything to you?
Cass: He pushed me. Made me have sex—practically raped me. He’s an asshole. I’m not putting up with that.
Sam: But honey, he can’t play because of all this. You know that’s what he loves to do. Couldn’t you have just told him?
Cass: Told him what?
Sam: Told him not to push you or whatever. Jeez Cass this is a mess and you’re telling me you hit yourself?
Cass: Maybe you should just fuck him while you’re at his house then. If you love him so damn much. You’re right up his alley. Stupid and sappy.
Sam: Fine.
Cass: Sam, don’t. I’m sorry.
Sam: Fine Cass I’ll get the bat for you.
Cass: Sam don’t be mad at me honey. You know we have to stick together against these assholes. They’re just using us.
Sam: Fine.
Cass: Sam, don’t go away mad.
Sam: I’m mad Cass. Get over it. But I’ll help you.
Cass: Thanks honey. And if you want, you can fuck him. He’s not bad, but he likes it rough.
Unable to stop himself, Declan stood up and glared at Cassandra. Desmond dragged him down, whispering, “Hang on.”
Sam: I’m used to that.
Cass: Get the bat for me sweetie. Thanks.
Desmond stepped forward. “Miss Thorpe, is this transcript from an actual conversation you shared with Miss Dean?”
“Y-y-yes.”
Sam crumpled the paper in her hands and leaned over, sobbing like her heart was breaking. Coop ran down the aisle and pulled her off the stand while the judge hammered on his desk with the gavel. She collapsed into him for a second, then broke away. “You’re no better than she is, you asshole,” she said before slapping him and running out the door.
“Jesus Christ,” Declan said under his breath. “What a fucking soap opera.”
Desmond stood up and motioned for the guard. The cop pulled a baseball bat from behind him and placed it on the judge’s tall desk. Declan could see the brownish dried stains on one end—bloodstains, he assumed. The judge put on his glasses and turned it around in his hands. “I assume you have some sort of lab report to go with this, counselor?”
“Yes, your honor. Right here.” Desmond dropped a copy of the report on the table in front of Cassandra’s lawyer before handing one up to the judge.
“All right. I’m going to call this enough drama for today. I have some reading to do.” He gaveled the desk, collected all the papers, and stood up. He looked over his glasses at Cassandra.
Declan rose, ears ringing, feeling like he’d just woken from a long night of sleep. Hands pounded his back and shoulders. People were saying his name. He just stared at Cassandra’s bruised face, only able to recall the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, at that bar with her fall of sleek blonde hair and those odd, deep blue eyes. He blinked, willing that memory away, trying to drag others to the front of his brain, of the fights, the cheating, the way she was at this very moment trying to ruin him.
“You’re a softie, my Declan,” his ma had said a lot.
“You’re a wanker, Dec,” his da would say, a lot. Usually before he’d punch or kick one or both of them.
He shut his eyes a split second, then opened them. The chair where she’d been sitting was empty.
Chapter Fifteen
Emily
“Oh my God!” Emily clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight of the news that’d just appeared on her phone screen.
“What’s up, babe?” Marcus had just gotten home and was slipping out of his suit coat.
“The judge announced that he won’t be calling a jury. He gave Cassandra a warning about perjury. Declan has community service and three year’s worth of mandated anger management and therapy. The case.” She looked up at him with a grin. “It’s dismissed.”
“Thank goodness.” He smiled and gave her a quick squeeze. “What’s for dinner?”
“What? Oh, I’m gonna order you and Michelle pizza. I’m headed over to Declan’s for a quick celebration.”
The briefest of frowns graced Marcus’s lips before he took a breath, as if reminding himself of something. “That’s fine, babe. You go on. It’ll be good to have him back. Sounds like they could use him on the team right now.”
“No shit,” she said, unable to stop smiling as she flipped through the many text messages peppering her screen. Once she’d gotten the food set out on the island, she took a quick shower, changed into jeans and a Black Jacks polo shirt, then headed into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom, will you be home pretty soon? I need to study my spelling words.”
“I’ve got that for you, sweetie,” Marcus said with a wide grin before he took a bite of pepperoni pizza. “Let your mom go have her celebration.”
Emily stopped and stared at him, floored by his words, but yet at the same time suspicious. He just raised his eyebrows, grabbed a beer from the drinks fridge, then poured a glass of milk for Michelle. Shaking her head in amazement, she headed to the mudroom for a jacket.
“Hey, can I get a kiss?”
She turned and went up on her tiptoes, kissing him lightly. He grabbed her, pressed her against the wall next to the door leading to the garage, and dove into her mouth. “I’m not moving across the state,” she gasped when he broke away.
“Just don’t want you to forget about me once you’re partying with all those dudes,” he said, thumbing her chin and staring at her. “You won’t, right? This isn’t a pool boy thing, right? Emily?”
His emphasis on her name made a bolt of anger pierce her chest. “It’s no more a pool boy thing than anything you do is a young, fresh bank teller thing. Marcus.”
A corner of his lips raised in the sort of smirk that used to make her want to scratch his lips off his face.
“Touché, my love.” He walked into the kitchen, leaving her breathless with a mix of worry and anger. But she stuffed it down under a layer of celebratory anticipation.
“Wait, Em. Here.” She’d just stuck her arms in her jacket and was grabbing her keys when he returned to the mudroom, a bottle of champagne in one hand.
“No, Marcus, it’s all right. That’s one of your good bottles.”
“I want you to have it. Celebrate with it. Tell them…tell him, I said to enjoy it.”
She took it with a frown. “Okay, you done now?”
“Done with what?”
“Done pissing on me so everyone will know who I belong to?”
“My dear, I would never piss on you.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her close again, so close her nose was buried in his chest. She put her arms around his waist and shut her eyes, determined to be happy with this. “Behave,” he whispered in her ear, then let her go and headed into the kitchen, already telling Michelle to pick out a movie for later.
Emily jumped in her newly reclaimed Beemer, relishing the throaty purr of the engine as she pulled out of the garage, her head a muddle of confusion and torn loyalties. She had no real reason to trust Marcus. The fact that he’d let her think they were divorced while he got his girlfriend out of his system still burned. Not to mention the other fact—that it had been something like his third girlfriend during their marriage.
Emily cursed her weak self for letting the man insinuate himself into her bed so smoothly—over the course of, what? A damn weekend? Making her way along Miller Avenue to Maple, she mulled over her options: Tell Marcus to leave? Tell him she didn’t love him anymore? Did she?
She caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror and noted the redness in her cheeks. Damn men. But she’d admit it if anyone asked—she was positively buzzing at the thought of hanging out with Declan in his house full of his teammates and plenty of the staff from legal and marketing. Her obnoxious diamond ring caught the light from the street, blinding her momentarily. Her phone buzzed with a text in the seat next to her so she snagged it while waiting at a red light.
Declan: U R coming over, right?
She grinned so wide she thought her face might split in half.
Yep, she responded. Super $$ bottle of bubbly in hand.
He didn’t answer. When she pulled onto Greenview, there were already six or seven cars parked in front of the house. She parked behind one of the many sports cars and got out. Sophie stood on the front porch, phone to her ear. She gave Emily a quick one-armed hug, then resumed sorting out what sounded like a player trade detail. Emily hoped it involved getting rid of Max, but since he’d just shown up, that seemed unlikely.
The place overflowed with soccer players and staff. Music pounded through the speakers. There were balloons floating everywhere and someone had strung a “Congratulations” banner across the kitchen. Players hugged and high-fived her. Gabe was standing on top of Declan’s coffee table in the room that had once been awash in blood. He had a beer lifted and was in the process of expounding, drunkenly, on the virtues of great lawyers. Desmond was in the small crowd, tie off, sleeves rolled up, holding up his own drink.
“Look!” Gabe proclaimed when he spotted her. “Our favorite tweeter lady! Come in here,” he slurred, motioning her forward. She grinned, still holding onto the three-hundred-dollar bottle of bubbly. She let him help her up onto the coffee table with him. He draped an arm around her and held up his beer again. “Cheers! To the power of positive marketing.” With a shrug, she unwrapped the foil, pried off the little metal cage around the cork and popped it, to the loud delight of the crowd.
Emily took a swig from it then wiped her lips. “Where’s Dec?” she asked Gabe. He looked at her blearily. “Gabe?” She took his arm and made him get down off the table before he fell and concussed himself on a piece of furniture. The music cranked again, some sort of horrific, curse-laden, affirmation rap, the lyrics of which made her wince, considering the circumstances.
Gabe dropped into an available chair and Emily crouched next to him. “Hey, you all right?”
He closed one eye and looked at her, pointing with the hand still holding the beer bottle. “Fine and fuckin’ dandy.” He downed the beer and tried to take the champagne bottle from her. “Come on, share. Your pet’s around here somewhere.”
There was a crash and a yell from the vicinity of the kitchen. Gabe leaned forward, looking at the floor. “I am very—very drunk. Very drunk indeed.” He swayed a little and looked up at her again. He lurched to his feet and waded into the scrum of men around the huge television playing video basketball.
Emily sat, taking it all in, wondering where her “pet” might be and frowning at herself for even thinking that word. Noting the general lack of females in her immediate vicinity, she got up, took another slug of champagne, and wandered into the kitchen. Someone had set up a keg of beer from Gabe’s father’s pub, but it had fallen off a chair to the floor. The men were rolling it between them, laughing while beer leaked out the nozzle, filling the air with malty yeastiness.
She skirted around them and looked out the window. Declan sat alone at a picnic table, glass of something in front of him, staring out onto the lawn. Glancing once at the drunken celebration behind her, she stepped out into the warm fall night.
“Hey,” she said, plunking the bottle of champagne on the table. He looked wrung out, still dressed in his white shirt and trousers from court, hair standing up where he’d obviously been running his fingers through it. “Congrats.”
Declan sighed and slumped over his drink. “Aye. Cheers.”
He glanced over at her when she sat, then grabbed the champagne and took a long drink from it. Smacking his lips, he looked down at the label and whistled. “You weren’t kidding, were ya? This cost someone a few hundred bucks.” He narrowed his gaze at her, made a point to look at her left ring finger, then took another drink.
“Yeah. Enjoy.” More shouting and crashing came from behind them. “Your house is gonna have to be condemned after this.” She held out her hand. Declan passed her the bottle.
“Aye, well.” He ran his fingers through his red hair. She tried not to stare as she took her own long drink. “I really don’t feel like all this—celebration. You know?” He gave her a sideways look then picked up his glass, sniffed the contents, and tossed it back.
They sat in silence, the music thumping and the yelling and laughing ramping up inside the house.
“Oh my God, there you are,” Sophie said, heading down from the door and sitting in a chair across from them. “What a flipping zoo. Dec, I hope you know you’re gonna be having a group sleepover tonight. I’m taking everybody’s keys from them.” She sipped something from a plastic cup. “This is foul. Here, pass me that.”
Emily handed her the champagne bottle.
“Anger,” Declan said. “I’m not sure I can manage it.”
“We’ll figure it out, don’t sweat it,” Sophie said before passing the bottle over to them. “Best news, though? You can practice and play again.”
The comment he’d made about anger sent Emily’s worry quotient spinning off the charts.
Declan nodded, but kept his gaze on his hands, which he had gripped together on the table in front of him. Emily leaned toward him and put her hand on his shoulder, allowed herself an illicit touch to the nape of his neck. He flinched and moved ever so slightly away from her.
