Unethical Page 18

  “You’re here early.”

  Jules jumped, spraying water out of her mouth. “Shit, I didn’t know you were home. And maybe you should put a shirt on, cowboy.”

  “Headache?”

  She cocked her head. “Huh?”

  “I saw you take medicine. Just wondering if you had a headache.”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. The long drive always gets me.”

  Damn. She rivaled Payton when it came to lying. It wasn’t any of my business what she took, but if she wanted to be secretive, the kitchen probably wasn’t the best place.

  Payton appeared in the doorway, dressed in sweats and a tank top that hugged every curve. It’d be so easy to push her back into the room and finish what we started, but I doubted she’d be down for having sex while her roommate was there.

  Payton walked over to where I stood and wrapped her arm around my waist, her fingers tracing over my abs. “Weren’t you coming back tomorrow?”

  “Had a fight with my parents. Decided to head out before I smothered them in their sleep.”

  “Sorry. That sucks.” A moment of tense silence passed between them. “What are you up to today?”

  “Unpacking. Maybe working on my O chem homework.” Jules eyed me and Payton and then said, “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” She grabbed her suitcase, took it to her room, and shut the door behind her.

  Payton nodded and turned to me. “And what do you have planned for today?”

  Now that our previous plans had been ruined? “Nothing. I’m all yours.”

  “Good. I have somewhere I want to go.” She pulled an envelope out of the pocket of her sweats and handed it to me.

  Otis Law and Associates.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Payton

  I sat in the waiting room of the posh office of Otis Law and Associates. Blake held my hand, stroking his thumb across my palm. If he hadn’t come with me, I doubted I would be here right now.

  The cops had all the facts. My dad helped my mom horde enough morphine to overdose, and now he was going to spend a lot of time in that nine-by-nine cell. I didn’t know what I could possibly say to help my dad, but I was willing to try anything to limit his sentence.

  A tall, lanky guy in a gray suit and a massive widow’s peak opened the door to a room on the other side of the waiting room. “Ms. Cooper?”

  “Actually, it’s Ms. Daniels.” I shoved off the seat, strode over to who I assumed was Mr. Otis, and shook his hand.

  “Jack Otis. Thanks for scheduling a meeting.”

  “Sorry it’s taken me so long to call.” I pulled back my hand and crossed my arms over my chest.

  He raised his brow, giving me the no shit look, but didn’t call me out. “What matters now is that you’re here. Please come in and take a seat.”

  I pointed to Blake, who remained seated in the waiting room chair. “Can my boyfriend come in?” Was he my boyfriend? It felt right to call him that. That sounded much better than my ex who I fought with, then made up with, and then made love to last night. Yeah. Boyfriend it was.

  “We’re going to be discussing some confidential information about the case. I’d much rather it be just the two of us.”

  “It’s okay, Payton. I’ll be right here when you’re done.” Blake gave a lopsided grin that added a few coins to my dwindling confidence meter.

  I nodded and entered Mr. Otis’s office. Stacks of files and coffee mugs littered his desk. A half-eaten sandwich that didn’t look like it was from this month was shoved into the corner between pictures of him with a pretty blonde and two kids.

  “So, Ms. Daniels, I think you may be the one person who can get your dad’s sentence lightened.”

  “How?”

  “You were there around your mother’s time of death, correct?”

  My throat immediately constricted as I thought about her chest rising and falling for the last time. Push through this. For Dad. “Yes.”

  “Did she take the pills or did your dad force her to take them?”

  I cleared my throat and stared at a coffee stain on the desk. “My dad was outside mowing the lawn when she took them. I was in my room reading. Dad finished mowing and went in to get a glass of water. When he went to check on my mom, she asked him to bring me in.”

  “So there was no way your dad could have given your mom those pills?”

  “Not unless someone else was mowing our lawn.”

  He scribbled something on a yellow legal pad, his head nodding. “Perfect. And you’re willing to say that in court?”

  “I guess.” I guess? I didn’t call to make an appointment two years too late just to give a half-assed answer. “I mean, yes. There won’t be a lot of people there, right?”

  “Anyone can observe. There might be quite a few people, because this is a high-profile case. We can usher you out the back of the building if you’re worried about cameras.”

  My stomach clenched, and bile rose in my throat. All those people would be there because they wanted to see my dad punished. Dad needed me, and, this time, I’d come through. “When do I need to be there?”

  After my meeting with Mr. Otis, Blake took me to Fungs, a Chinese restaurant we used to go to all the time in high school.

  “I’m really proud of you.”

  I looked up from my chicken chow mein. “Why?”

  “Because, a couple months ago, you wouldn’t even be okay with seeing your dad, and now you’re testifying for him. If that isn’t progress, I don’t know what is.”

  I pointed my chopsticks at him. “Don’t get all sappy on me now.”

  He grinned, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Maybe Mr. Otis was right—I could help get his sentence reduced. If Dad didn’t actually administer the morphine to Mom, then he couldn’t be charged with homicide. At most, he’d be looking at manslaughter, since he helped Mom horde pills.

  The check came, and Blake handed me a fortune cookie. It was a tradition to read our fortune and add in bed to the end.

  He cracked open the cookie, a smile breaking out across his face. “You’re going to love this one.” He cleared his throat and shot me a gaze that lit my blood on fire. “Tonight is your lucky night in bed.”

  I swallowed hard. After the day I’d had, I definitely needed that. Splitting mine open, I stared at the fortune that I’d claim as my mantra for the next few weeks.

  Conquer your fears, or they will conquer you.

  “For your last assignment, you’ll need to prepare a two-minute speech about one of these topics.” Dr. Centafont pointed to the screen with ten topics listed. “The sign-up sheet is at the back of the room. Once a category is taken, it’s gone.”

  I worked my way to the back of the classroom and stood in line, waiting to sign up. After Jules marked her name under nursing home abuse, she handed me a pen and walked back to her seat. I moved up to the table and scanned the list. Should I take the easy way out and prepare a speech on elderly care, too? I stared at the open slot under assisted suicide. How many times in the last couple years had I copped out? Would I just sit back and let all these people continue to think my dad was a monster?

  You can do all that redemption crap when you’re accepted into med school.

  My pen hovered over the open slot for elderly care.

  Easy way out. You’re better than that.

  My pen crossed over the page, underneath the assisted suicide slot. It wasn’t like I needed to admit who I was. I could defend him without everyone knowing our relation.

  “Yo, Payton. Paint’s peeling. Pick one already.” Andrew huffed out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Ass.

  I quickly scribbled my name under the assisted suicide slot before I could chicken out and shoved the pen at Andrew as I walked back to my seat.

  As Dr. Centafont wrapped up class, he said, “The debate will be on the last day of class. Class is cancelled next week. I’ll be attending the Cooper trial.”

  My pulse flatlined. No.

  N
o, no, no. That wasn’t part of the plan.

  I took a deep breath through my nose and tried to push my heart out of my throat. It was one thing to defend my dad anonymously in class, without everyone knowing my identity, but I’d be front and center in court when I gave my testimony. No hiding. No Drexler med school.

  Blake rubbed my back. “Everything’ll be fine.”

  Good one, Blake. Far from it. “Yeah.” I pulled out my cell and clicked on my Facebook app. Anything to keep from concentrating on the fact that Dr. Centafont would find out who I was.

  After he dismissed the class, I skipped anthro and headed home. I couldn’t concentrate on the Zulu tribe when my med school acceptance hinged on Dad’s trial. One no from the admissions board and, poof, no Drexler.

  When classes ended on Wednesday, I stopped home for a quick snack and running sesh before the internship. I still didn’t know how to avoid Dr. Centafont, and the thought of him finding out my identity chipped away at my resolve to testify in the trial. I mean, how much of a difference could my statement make?

  I unlocked the front door and went in the kitchen to look for my energy bars.

  “Did you eat the last of my Luna Bars? I need to scarf something down before my run,” I shouted, rummaging through the cupboard.

  Jules didn’t answer me, but I knew she was home. Her car was in our spot.

  “Jules?”

  Muffled sniffling came through her closed door.

  I knocked on the door. “Jules? What are you doing in there, skank?”

  She didn’t answer. Inner alarm bells sounded. Danger, danger. Jules wasn’t the emo, lock-myself-in-my-room-and-write-bad-poetry type, so what the hell?

  I tried the handle, and when I found it unlocked, I pushed open the door. Jules was throwing clothes into her suitcase, tears streaking down her face. Rushing to her, I pulled her into a hug.

  “What’s the matter? What happened?”

  She tore away from me and continued frantically packing, the clothes spilling over the side of the suitcase. “I need to go.”

  “Where?”

  “My parents are going to be here any minute. They’re sending me away.”

  What? Why were her parents sending her away? What had she done? “What do you mean?”

  “They gave me an ultimatum. Either I clean up or bye-bye college money.”

  My heart turned to lead, plunking down my chest and ripping through my stomach. “Like rehab?”

  “Yeah.”

  How could I dismiss all the warning signs? Sure, they were subtle, but I wasn’t stupid. For God’s sake, I just assumed she’d stop when I flushed those damn pills down the toilet.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know. My parents talked to all my professors. They’ve given me extensions.”

  I could have prevented this. If I hadn’t been so absorbed with all my stupid problems, I could have helped her. But I missed the signs. I let her down. “Jules.” She looked up from her suitcase, her lip quivering. “I’m so sorry.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but someone burst through the front door.

  “Jules, are you ready?” Jules’s dad stood in the doorway, his hand sifting through his gray hair. “Hello, Payton. Sorry to be seeing you on these terms.”

  “Hi, Mr. Carmichael.” This was my fault. If I had said something sooner, if I had gone to her parents, she wouldn’t be in this situation. I knew something felt off right before she left for Thanksgiving break. I shouldn’t have ignored it.

  “Come on, Jules. Your mother’s waiting in the car.”

  “I’ll be right there, Dad.” Jules stared down at her shoes. I had never seen her like this before. When did this happen? How did it escalate so quickly? I swore it was just yesterday that we were laughing over something stupid Dr. Centafont said while drinking lattes, and now she was an addict. Going to rehab. I caught the sob before it left my throat.

  Mr. Carmichael patted the doorframe, and Jules let out a loud sigh when the front door closed. She zipped up her suitcase and sat down on the bed. What was I supposed to say to her? Nothing I said would make it better. She was going to rehab, and it was my fault. If I had just seen the signs. Checked to make sure she was okay. Something. Anything. But I didn’t.

  “I’m so sorry, Jules.” I pulled her into a hug, and her tears soaked through my shirt. She let out a few muffled sobs and backed away.

  “I’m going to miss you.” A million tiny syringes stabbed my heart. How would I survive without her for—god, I didn’t even know how long she’d be gone.

  My eyes burned, and tears streamed down my cheeks. “Me, too.”

  A car horn blared through the window, and Jules jumped up quickly. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and gave a weak smile. “I’d better get going. I’ll call you as soon as I’m able to. They’re going to take my phone, so I don’t know when that’ll be.”

  I pulled her into one last hug. “Okay. I love you. Be strong.”

  And with that, she grabbed her suitcase and walked out of the apartment. The door slammed shut, and I slid down the wall, curling into a tight ball.

  I had failed my best friend. If I hadn’t been so focused on my own shit, totally neglecting her, she might not be in this situation. Worse, if I was this blind to my friend’s problems, how could I deal with other people’s as a career?

  How would she ever forgive me? How would I forgive myself?

  My phone alarm blared a few hours later while I still lay curled up in the corner of Jules’s room. I looked at my phone, the alert a reminder to get ready for my internship. Lucky for me, my tear supply was fully depleted. I rubbed my itchy eyes and pushed off the floor.

  After pulling on slacks and a dress shirt, I walked to my car. I miraculously made it to the hospital parking lot fifteen minutes later, having no recollection of driving.

  Maneuvering through the hospital, I was just about to walk through the ICU wing when Dr. Centafont pressed the button on the wall, opening the automatic door.

  “Payton, how are you doing tonight?”

  Crappy? Feel like crawling into a hole and dying? Maybe put myself in a carb coma later when I get home? “Fine. And you?”

  “Good. Looking forward to the trial.” He grinned and fiddled with a clipboard in his hand.

  A strangled cry blew past my lips, and I tried to cover it up with an awkward laugh. On Friday, he would know my real identity. Bye-bye, Drexler med school.

  “I just wanted to say how impressed I am with your work ethic. Brittany raves about how hard you work and your ability to establish good relationships with patients.” He knocked my shoulder with a folded-up paper. “Keep up the great work.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks heated. I’d never liked compliments. They always made me feel uncomfortable, like somehow they were just trying to be nice and not meaning what they said. Plus, he wouldn’t feel the same way about me come Friday. “I was actually just going to visit Mrs. Cripps really quick.” Her spunky attitude was a much-needed pick-me-up.

  He frowned. “I’m afraid she passed away earlier this evening.”

  My thoughts muddled, the world turning topsy-turvy. I braced against the wall to support my buckling knees. “What?”

  “She went peacefully in her sleep.”

  No. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.

  “Oh.” Tears built up in the corners of my eyes. Do not cry. I flinched to keep them from spilling over. I about lost it at the thought of Mrs. Cripps telling me this would cause wrinkles.

  “Losing a patient is one of the hardest parts of this job.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek.

  As he walked off, a shot of terror bolted through my body. I wanted to be a doctor more than anything, to work with a million Mrs. Cripps’s. But my chances at my top-choice college were fading away. Would I even be able to show my face here next week? Everyone would look at me differently
once they found out who I really was.

  I couldn’t be here. I had to get out—go somewhere where people wouldn’t judge me. It was nice while it lasted, but my time was up.

  I raced for the elevator, needing to get the hell out. Time to leave.

  I burst through the door, sprinting straight for my room. I couldn’t do this again, not with Dr. Centafont at the hearing. Dad wanted me there for moral support, but I couldn’t. All my hard work would be for nothing if Dr. Centafont saw me there. Just this once, why couldn’t life just be somewhat easy? Like a free pass.

  Grabbing my suitcase off the top shelf of my closet, I threw it on the bed and started piling in clothes. I didn’t know where I’d go, but I needed to get out of here—the need to run was an impulse I couldn’t control. Tears blurred my vision, and my hands shook as I gasped for air. The room was closing in on me. I needed out of this prison, away from everyone who knew my past.

  The door creaked open, cool air spilling into the apartment. “I brought Sour Patch Kids for the— What are you doing?” Blake dropped the bag of candy on the ground and raced to me, cupping my face in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

  I bit my lip and stared at the ground. He wasn’t part of my exit strategy; he needed to stay here and finish school. Being with me would just bring him down. I was a disappointment to everyone in my life.

  His hands skimmed my neck and rested on my shoulders. He turned to look at the bed, right at my opened suitcase. “What the fuck is going on, Payton?”

  I didn’t need him judging me. He didn’t understand my world was about to crash and burn. “I need to go.” Breaking from his grip, I made my way over to the bed, zipped my suitcase, and hauled ass to the door.

  “Where are you going? I’ll come with you.” He trailed behind me, anger rolling off his body in waves.

  Outside the safety of the apartment, a torrential downpour had started, the standing water on the pavement rippling as the rain pelted down. He grabbed my suitcase, yanking me backward. “Fucking talk to me,” he screamed over the deafening rain hammering the metal roof.