Friction by Sawyer Bennett

  Peter sighs again, this time without as much gusto, because he knows Leary is right. "Fine. I'll report he didn't show," Peter says as he grabs his briefcase and heads toward the door. "If you'll copy me with your motion for sanctions, Miss Michaels?"

  Leary nods her head and starts packing up all of the materials she had just so painstakingly laid out. I know she's pissed, but I also know she's hurt. She's put so much energy into this case, has so much emotion tied up in it, I know she was relishing being able to lay it all out to us, hoping beyond hope that maybe it could get resolved today and prevent her client from going through a lengthy and painful trial.

  Peter leaves, giving me a nod of his head, and the door shuts behind him.

  "Leary . . . I'm sorry--"

  "Don't," she hisses at me, her venomous gaze slicing and burning through me. "Don't say a fucking word."

  Yeah, that won't do.

  "Leary . . . I had no clue he wasn't going to show up," I tell her gently but firmly.

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "I do," I say simply.

  "You know," she says, an edge of hysteria in her voice as she slams items into her briefcase, "I actually do believe that. I guess what I can't wrap my head around is how you can work for someone with so little soul as to not see the merits of this case. Not see how badly your client has fucked up Jenna's life. Who doesn't even have the decency to show up and tell me to my face they won't offer a dime."

  My heart twists over the anger-laced pain in her voice. But I'm also angered, because she can't blame me for my line of work. She knew it about me from the start. "If I'm such a terrible person for who I'm working for, then why are you with me, Leary? Why do you let me inside your body? Why do you even let me inside your world?"

  She lowers her face and shakes her head. Her voice is whisper-soft and sad. "I don't know. I really just don't know."

  My gut feels hollow. I'm losing her, and I didn't expect it would happen so fast. "Listen, let's go out and get an early dinner and talk about this. These things happen in cases, and you can't take it so personally."

  "But I do," she says, her eyes raising to mine again. "I do take it personally, and that will never change about me."

  "Then explain it to me," I coax her. "Let's go get a drink, something to eat. You can tell me why this is so important to you. I'll listen and I'll understand."

  She stares at me a moment, indecision in her eyes. Then I watch as her spine stiffens and she picks up the last of her materials, putting them in her briefcase and snapping it shut. "I can't. I have plans."

  "With who?" I grit out.

  "Ford. We're going to dinner."

  Rage flushes through me, white-hot and blinding. "You have plans with Ford?"

  "Not yet," she says as she walks toward the door. "But I will in about fifteen minutes."

  I grab her arm as she brushes by me. She looks at me in defiance.

  "Are you doing this to punish me?" I ask menacingly.

  She smirks at me, and while I've always loved Leary's honesty, I can't say I love it now when she says, "Yes. That's exactly what I'm doing."

  My hand falls away from her. "That's the way of it, then?"

  Her chin raises up and her eyes are frosty. "That's the way of it."

  "So be it," I tell her, a deadly calm overtaking me.

  Grabbing my briefcase, I open the door and walk out. I don't give her a backward glance.

  CHAPTER 15

  LEARY

  Ford's car pulls up to the curb in front of my house. I stare at him through the living-room window as he gets out and walks up the sidewalk. Moving toward the door, I open it before he can knock.

  "Thanks for coming over," I say softly, stepping back so he can enter.

  "Of course I was going to come over," he says with a worried look on his face.

  I wasn't sure he'd come. Not with him ignoring me for the past few weeks. I was surprised when he picked up my phone call as I sat behind my desk, trying to stop the frantic beating of my heart.

  I was still pissed and hurt over what happened, but I was also scared. Reeve's last words had a finality to them, and after I took a moment to process, I realized that I think he was saying good-bye to me.

  When Ford answered the phone, my voice instantly cracked and I barely managed to get out, "Hey, Ford."

  "What's wrong?" he immediately responded, knowing that I rarely get emotional about anything.

  "Oh, nothing," I said, my voice quavering.

  "Leary, what's wrong?" he repeated, his voice strong and unrelenting.

  "I need . . . um . . . I just really need to talk to you. I need a friend," I said, and had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from crying.

  "I'm at a hearing in Vance County. I can be at your house in about two hours," he said, and just like that, my friend was back.

  And now he's here in my house.

  Clasping my hands together, I chew on my bottom lip while Ford looks at me with eagle eyes. I open my mouth, not sure what to say. How do I pour my heart out when I haven't even been willing to admit my heart is involved with Reeve?

  Ford's gaze turns sympathetic. He opens his arms and says gruffly, "Come here."

  And I do.

  I walk right into his embrace, lay my head on his chest, and give a heaving sigh. His arms wrap around me, solidly and with care and comfort only. He presses his lips on top of my head and says, "It's going to be okay. Let me just hug you a minute, then you can tell me all about your problems with Reeve."

  I give a tiny laugh, a little on the maniacal side, and squeeze him around his ribs. "Deal."

  Finally I pull away and pat him on the chest. Looking up into his handsome face, I say, "Come on. I picked up some fruit and cheeses at Fresh Market. We can crack a bottle of wine, and you can listen to me pour my heart out."

  I lead Ford into the living room, where I have the food and wine laid out. He takes a seat on one end of my couch, and I sit on my love seat, curling my feet up under me. Pointing at the spread, I urge him, "Go on and eat."

  "Aren't you going to?" he asks as he leans forward to grab a cracker and cheese.

  "In a bit," I say, because right now, my stomach is churning too hard to handle food.

  Ford pops the cracker in his mouth and leans forward to pour some wine while he chews. He pours two glasses and raises from the couch slightly to hand me a glass.

  "So, is this weird?" I ask him as he sits back down and takes a handful of grapes.

  "What?" he asks with a grin. "Talking to your ex-lover about your current lover?"

  "Well, yeah, that's pretty much what I was going for."

  "Not weird," he says with a smile. "We're friends, Leary. That's always been first."

  "I guess I felt like you've been avoiding me lately," I say softly. "Have you?"

  He swallows and nods. "A little."

  "Are you hurt I'm with Reeve?" I ask gently, then amend. "I mean, was with Reeve, because I think this is totally a past-tense situation."

  "We can talk about that in a minute, but no, I'm not hurt you're with Reeve. He's a good guy and I want you to be happy."

  "But you're acting like you're hurt," I prod, because I can sense there's more.

  "Saddened," he clarifies. "I guess maybe deep down, I thought maybe you and I would eventually . . . you know . . . just stick with each other."

  "But we've been on and off for years," I point out.

  "Yeah, but I knew it was different with Reeve. There wasn't going to be an on again after him. So I think I might just be mourning something that I'll never have again."

  I blink at him in surprise. "Why would you say that? How could you possibly know that?"

  Ford gives me a knowing smile. "Think back. Every other time you've wanted to pursue someone, I would ask you if you wanted me to back away, right?"

  I nod at him, take a sip of my wine, and let it swirl briefly on my tongue before I swallow.

  "Every time your answer was always, 'Yes,
for now.' You always added on, 'For now.' I always knew you'd come back to me eventually."

  I cock my head at him, confused at what he's trying to say. "I don't understand."

  "This time," Ford says dramatically as he leans forward for a slice of cheese, "you didn't say, 'For now.' You just said you wanted me to back away. I could tell then, Reeve was different. I could tell then that you weren't coming back."

  My gaze lowers down to my wine, my heart hurting over Ford's words. In a way, I'm now mourning my loss of Ford, because I hadn't really thought of that before. But it's true . . . when I told Ford to back away, I was going all-in with Reeve. It was the first time that had happened since I'd started working with Ford, and he saw and understood something then that I'm only getting now.

  "I'm sorry," I say softly as I look back up at him. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

  Ford shakes his head with a smile. "I'm not hurt, Leary. Again, just a bit sad. An end of an era and all that, so to speak. But you are now and always will be my friend."

  His words are sure and true. He means it, and I feel immensely better.

  "So, what did you do to fuck up this thing with Reeve?" he asks me out of the blue.

  "What makes you think I did something wrong?"

  "Because you have that shamed-dog look, and besides that, I know for a fact that Reeve is crazy about you. If you're sitting here talking to me, you did something to mess up what you two have going."

  "Jeez, Ford," I whine. "How about give me a little credit? Maybe Reeve did something wrong, too."

  "Probably," he agrees as he leans back on the couch and swirls his wine. "But I'm a smart guy. Reeve is a relatively calm guy and is the type to reasonably and maturely talk things out. I know you very well, and you are stubborn and have a terrible temper that makes you say things you later regret. I'm going to stick by my original feeling and say you did something to fuck up."

  "I hate you know me so well," I grumble. And then admit, "I did fuck up. I got mad at him today for something that really wasn't his fault, wouldn't give him the time of day to talk about it, and then told him I was going out with you tonight."

  "You're such a brat," Ford says. "Why in the hell would you tell Reeve you were going out with me?"

  "To make him mad. To hurt him the way I was hurting," I defend myself. "At least I was honest about it. I told him I was punishing him."

  Ford looks at me disapprovingly, then leans forward for more food. "What did he do?"

  "He walked out on me. He said, 'So be it,' which in general breakup terms means 'Fuck you very much, it was nice knowing you.'" My voice cracks and takes on a panicked edge.

  "Calm down, babe," Ford says gently. "Start from the beginning. Tell me everything that happened."

  "Not much to tell," I say dejectedly. "We had the LaPietra mediation today. The insurance adjuster didn't show up. Reeve confirmed there'd be no offer. I went ballistic and blamed Reeve."

  "Did he know the adjuster wasn't coming?" Ford asks.

  "No. He was just as surprised as we were."

  "Then why in the world would you be mad at him?"

  "Because he works for Lucifer. He works for and makes a salary from these evil, evil men. He continues to defend this case when in good conscience he knows it's not defendable. He's nice and sweet and caring, and it hurts me that he's working in opposition to me." My chest is heaving from the oxygen it took to get out that angry outburst, but at least I laid out my true feelings. I really don't need to elucidate further, because Ford knows how I feel about big business. He knows that I view them as soulless corporations out to screw the little guy. He knows this is personal to me, because for much of my life, my family was the little guy.

  "This case is more important to me than any case I've tried in my entire legal career," I say softly. "And Reeve wants me to lose it. He's going to try to make me lose it. How can I want to be with someone who wants bad things for me?"

  Ford's mouth draws down into an empathetic frown. He stands from the couch and sets his wineglass down. He circles the end table and reaches out to take my glass from my hand. I easily let it go.

  Kneeling down in front of me, Ford takes my hands and squeezes them. "You're not being fair to Reeve. You knew who he was and what he was when you started this. You had no problem sleeping with the enemy. Logically, you knew going into this there was going to be a winner and a loser. And I get it--now that feelings are involved, it's a tougher pill to swallow reconciling Reeve your opponent with Reeve your lover."

  I nod at him, because he's spot-on.

  "But what you're failing to understand is that Reeve does not want you to be hurt by the outcome, I can guarantee you. Is he very much aware that his efforts can cause you to lose? Yes. But he's just doing his job. Is he going to be happy if he wins? Maybe, because that means he did his job well. Is he going to hurt that you're hurt? I guaran-fucking-tee you that is going to be the case. So my question to you is, why can't it be enough that he doesn't want to hurt you? In this scenario, when that's the best you can hope for in this fucked-up relationship you have, why isn't that good enough for you? If you can't accept that about him, then you need to let him go."

  My head spins and my jaw drops in guilty realization of everything that Ford just laid out to me. "I can," I whisper with sudden realization. "I can accept that."

  Ford cocks a skeptical eyebrow at me.

  "I can accept that," I say in a stronger voice. "I guess I just didn't realize it until now. I think I forgot that this may be hard on him, too."

  Nodding, Ford says with a smirk, "Congratulations, I now proclaim you to be a reasonably mature woman."

  I smack Ford on the shoulder. "Smart-ass."

  Ford goes back to the couch. He takes a few more crackers and cheese. "So what are you going to do to fix this?"

  "I'm thinking groveling may be involved," I say dejectedly.

  "No time like the present. Give him a call now."

  "Right now?" I ask hesitantly. Not because it's an insane idea, but because I'm still fresh off being embarrassed about making an ass of myself.

  "Right now," Ford affirms, grabbing his glass of wine and sinking back into the couch.

  "And . . . you're just going to sit there and listen in on my conversation?" I ask dubiously.

  "Pretty much," he says with a grin. "I've earned it."

  I roll my eyes and walk over to my purse, which rests on my foyer table, and pull out my phone. As I walk back into the living room, I dial Reeve's number. As it rings, I nibble on my fingernail--a nervous habit I've had since grade school--and keep my back to Ford, not wanting to acknowledge his penetrating look as I get ready to prostrate myself before Reeve.

  His phone rings five times and goes to voice mail. His message is short, businesslike, and professional, slightly intimidating to me in this context. When I hear the beep, I take a deep breath and say, "Hey. It's me. Listen, I'm sorry for the way I behaved today. I was angry and took it out on you. I'm actually sitting at my house, eating cheese and crackers with Ford. He's pretty much told me I'm a dumbass for the way I acted, and I'd like the chance to apologize. So . . . um . . . call me. I can come over tonight if you want."

  I pause, wondering if I should say something more, then realize, what more can I say? I apologized. I hope he accepts it. I really hope he wants me to come over tonight.

  I tap on my phone to disconnect the call and turn back to Ford. He's smiling at me and making a thumbs-up sign. I smile back, content that I've done all I can.

  Feeling a bit hungry, I walk back over to the love seat and grab a handful of grapes. Nothing to do but wait for Reeve to call me back.

  It's midnight and I'm lying awake in my bed.

  Reeve never called me back, and I wonder if he just didn't check his phone, if he's ignoring me, or if--worst-case scenario--he's seeking pleasure from someone else.

  Like Vanessa.

  To punish me the way I attempted to punish him.

  Except mine would sort of
be deserved.

  The thought brings tears to my eyes, and I snag my phone off the small table beside my desk. The display is bright when I turn it on, temporarily blinding and hurting my eyes until I adjust.

  I pound out a quick text to Reeve. Did you get my message? Are you ignoring me?

  No hesitation before I hit Send. My anxiety over potentially driving Reeve away for good won't let me second-guess my desperate nature. I even briefly consider getting in my car and going over to his house to demand he talk to me.

  But then the thought of what I might find when I get there scares the shit out of me, and I immediately discard the idea.

  Ford stayed over for about an hour, cleaning me out of all my cheese and fruit as well as a bologna sandwich I made him. We actually talked about Jenna's case, focusing on how best to lay out the expert witness testimony. While I love my easygoing friendship with Ford, and while I can never adequately tell him how much I appreciated his friendship tonight, one other reason why I will always hold the highest respect for the man is his legal prowess. He's an amazing litigator and even more brilliant strategist. Most of what I know I learned from him. Most of the mistakes I've made in my career he's helped me work through and taught me how to avoid in the future. Ford will help me prep for the trial as we get closer, although I won't have him sitting at the counsel table with me. I want the jury to see just Jenna and me, the tiny little Davids up against the Goliath insurance company and their passel of attorneys I'm sure will be there, each individually billing out hundreds of dollars per hour.

  Reeve doesn't text me back. I know he's awake because he's a night owl. Many nights we've spent together, he would make love to me, or fuck me, depending on his mood, and I would be so tired I'd go to sleep.

  Not Reeve.

  He'd get up and go into the living to watch TV, usually ESPN's SportsCenter, or he'd pull out some work. Sometimes I'd awaken at one or two in the morning and tiptoe into the living room. I'd find him wide-awake, surfing channels or reading legal cases. I'd crawl onto his lap, and with nothing more than a soft kiss on the side of his neck, I'd entice him to come to bed so he could get some sleep. It was almost as if I was taking care of him in that respect.