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Lynette

“P lease, Linny, I need your help.”

Cracking an eye open to find Willa hovering over me in the dark like a specter from a nightmare isn’t how I like to be prodded awake. It’s three in the morning, and I don’t want to be awake at three for any reason .

I roll over just enough so that Willa can slip into the king-sized bed behind me. She wraps her arm around me, snuggling close. I’m half a foot taller than her and slim where she’s curvy. It must be like embracing a sack of bones for her.

Sister cuddles are nice. They’d be nicer if I was ever on the receiving end of them when Willa didn’t want something. But she always wants something.

“What happened this time?”

“At that club I went to, there was a fight. It, uh, it might have been over me.”

I’d roll my eyes if my lids weren’t pressed so tight together. “I told you not to go there.”

“We’re not all married to the law. We don’t like to feel up stuffy, dusty old tomes as our idea of an exciting Friday night.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t go out. You’re a grown woman.” It would be nice if she ever acted that way instead of constantly coming to me to bail her out of scrape after scrape, problem after problem. “I told you not to go to that club. It’s seedy. I don’t like it. You promised you wouldn’t.”

I gave her a lecture last year about her fake ID when I found out the hard way after a drunk and tearful middle of the night phone call. I made her promise she’d never lie to me again. She made me promise I’d let her have some freedom and maybe she’d consider trusting me with the truth.

It wasn’t a good agreement, but try stopping someone as willful as my sister.

We might have different dads, but she’d tell me that I’m built of the same stubborn streak and iron will.

“Linny?”

I smother a sigh and turn over so I can see her face. How many nights have ended up just like this, with her sliding into bed behind me, or prodding me awake with a tearful, plaintive expression?

“How do you know I didn’t go to that artsy place you wanted me to go to instead? Or to the salsa club?”

“Because if you had, then you wouldn’t be in here now.”

“Ugh, fine, okay. I went to Balmerano’s. There was this guy…”

That’s how it always starts. There’s always a guy. Willa hasn’t figured out yet that men are one thing and one thing only. Trouble .

When we lost our mom, we suffered that blow together, but I was the one who had to pick up the pieces. I’m not saying she didn’t grieve for years, but she didn’t have the responsibilities that I did. Willa got to be a regular teenager. She had boyfriends. I got her on the pill when she was fourteen and confided to me that she and her first serious boyfriend were starting to explore becoming sexual.

She enjoys her body and she enjoys sex, and that’s not a crime, but the men she attracts aren’t the kind that good boyfriend material is made of. They’re always some kind trouble.

It makes me glad that my own sex life is nonexistent.

“He didn’t look like anyone else. The crowd basically parted around him like he was freaking Moses,” she goes on. “He was scary hot.”

I treat her to the full eyeroll this time. “I think you mean you found him irresistible because he was scary.”

“Stop it.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Fine, whatever,” she pouts. “He had the whole bad boy thing down. Lots of leather, worn jeans, shorter hair, but this massive beard. Tons of ink.”

“Why do these stories always start the same and end the same?”

“I swear to god, Linny, it wasn’t like that.”

“Lynette.” I’m so tired of correcting her. I’m so tired of all of this.

“‘Kay, Linny . But he’s not the bad guy. It was this other guy.”

“There were two this time?” Awesome. It’s always worse when two or three get involved. It’s her alluring curves, sweet baby face, and innocent damsel in distress vibe that attracts all the wrong kind of attention.

“They were there together, but this guy looked more college preppy. Office-y. Like you.”

“Hold on, I’m searching for the compliment in there somewhere.”

She’s oblivious to my sarcasm. “He had a dress shirt and slacks on. I know they were there together because they were talking to each other for a while before I got brave enough to walk over.”

“And long story short, someone got handsy.”

Her eyes flash. “Don’t you dare say that I asked for it.”

Hot shame unspools in my gut. I prop myself up on my elbow and stare down at her. “That’s not what I’m saying. I wouldn’t ever think that. I’m saying that I told you not to go to Balmerano’s because it’s the kind of place where assholes and creeps like to go, everyone gets way too drunk, and violence often breaks out.”

“How do you even know that?” she snaps. “Do you have, like, this big master list of approved and nonapproved clubs in your head?”

“I did some research after the last time you were there and told me about somebody pulling a knife on some other guy. Someone nearly slashing another person open should be a fairly clear deterrent.”

“You’re such a hard-ass.”

“A hard-ass who wants to keep you safe.”

“You think I’m not capable of using common sense.”

When Willa doesn’t get her way, she pouts. It can last for days and days. My mother used to be on the receiving end of her temper, and even as a little kid, she was capable of holding a grudge for time immemorial. I guess that’s another thing we have in common. I don’t let loose with the sharp edge of my temper often. I find that ice is so much more effective than fire.

I sigh, stroking her hair. It’s soft, despite the constant dyeing. She spends a fortune on salon fees. Or rather, I do. “I think when you’re young, you tend to believe you’re invincible. If something happened to you, it would kill me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Her light blue eyes flood with tears that crystallize in the ambient light before streaking down the side of her face, running over her nose, and sparkling over her top lip. “I-I’m sorry. You’re right, it was stupid.”

I keep stroking her hair, just like the way our mom used to do for me, long before Willa ever came into the world, and it was just us. I was thrilled to be a big sister, even though at ten, it was a shock. I’ve always done everything for her, long before I promised my mom that I would.

“Tell me everything. I promise I won’t interrupt this time. I want to hear what happened.” I get into immediate lawyer mode. I can’t help it. My whole body is primed for a fight, stiffening, my brain racing.

“I let the preppy guy buy me a drink, and we talked for, like, fifteen minutes, but then he said I owed him a dance. He was dragging me into the crowd when the other guy—he was getting another round for us—came back and saw the whole thing. He pitched the drinks like it was slow motion, just threw them right to the ground, and took the guy’s hand off my arm.”

I don’t interrupt, but it takes everything in me not to. I want to blurt out the ending, because I already know exactly what it’s going to be, but by sheer force of will, I stay quiet.

“The preppy guy swung at him first. Bullet, that’s the guy in leather, ducked.”

Of course the guy’s name is motherfucking Bullet .

“The guy swung again. Bullet tackled the preppy one to the floor. I think he was just trying to get him to stop fighting and see reason, but the preppy guy got a hand free and smashed it right into Bullet’s face. Bullet locked his hands above his head, then headbutted him. Hard. I think he broke his own nose doing it. They were so close together, it was hard to tell. The bouncers came to pull them apart, and there was all this blood.” Willa nearly gags. If there’s anything she hates, it’s the sight of blood. “The preppy guy was such a mess. His nose was completely smashed, his lip split open, and his eyebrow was busted so wide that it was pretty much hanging off his face. I was so shocked that I didn’t freak out like I normally would. I guess I’d had a few drinks too, so that kept me from fainting.”

It wouldn’t have been the first time Willa literally passed out at the sight of a few drops of blood. The first time it happened, she was four and badly skinned her knee falling off her bike. She’d fainted dead away at the sight of the blood rolling down her leg when she’d sat up and looked, scaring me and our mom out of our minds.

“They got kicked out, and I got my coat from coat check and followed them. I wanted to apologize to Bullet for trying to defend my honor—”

“Are we living in an age where your honor has to be defended?”

Her lips thin out. I wish I hadn’t said anything, though it was gently done and not an attack. “I would have been fine. I would have just danced with him and shaken the guy off and left. I swear. I didn’t need him to defend me, and things weren’t that dire. The other guy was just way too drunk and lost his mind. But outside, this guy was screaming that he was going to kill Bullet for wrecking his face, and that his dad was going to make sure he ended up in jail. He was going to press charges, and Bullet was so fucked. He said that his dad was Bullet’s last line of defense, so when that was taken away, what would he do?”

“What does that mean?” I have an idea. I don’t like it one bit.

“I walked up to Bullet. He was just standing there after the other guy got in a cab and left. I thanked him for what he did. He said it was no problem, even though it was clearly a big fucking problem. He was there as a babysitter and the asshole proved that he needed it. They’d stopped for the night, and he got stuck watching the preppy guy as a favor to his club and the guy’s dad.”

“His club?” I shoot upright, the covers flying off both of us. “Are you fucking kidding me? This guy’s in a biker gang?” So much for remaining impassive.

“Yeah. I guess so,” Willa admits in a tiny voice. She sits up slowly and pulls her knees into her chest. Her tight little black sequined dress rides up, revealing red lace panties. Her blonde hair drapes over her face, she looks so painfully young. “Apparently, that guy who broke his face on Bullet? He’s not going to spin the story like that, and the club’s lawyer is his dad.”

I put my hand on her knee, softening. “If he’s part of a club, they’ll find someone else to represent them. They have lots of money from doing all their illegal activities, I’m sure.”

Willa shakes her head, and the plaintive puppy dog eyes start. “Bullet wasn’t like that. He tried to do something good for me and now he’s probably going to get arrested.”

“They won’t have enough evidence for an arrest warrant. Even if by some miracle they get one, his club would hire another lawyer, someone fancy and expensive, and he’d get out on bail. Even if it’s set stupidly high, I’m sure he has the resources to afford it.”

“But all of this is my fault.”

I shift so I can hug her. She smells like alcohol, sweat that isn’t hers, and the fruity body spray she’s been wearing since she was twelve. “I know that’s what I’ve been implying, but that was wrong. You went out. There are consequences. A guy getting his face beat in, or doing it to himself, isn’t one of them. Every person is responsible for their own actions.”

“He didn’t do anything other than try to help me and now he could go to jail,” she insists, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “What if his club doesn’t help him and he does have to go to prison, or he has to pay some huge fine and doesn’t have the money? What if they want to make an example of him because he’s a biker?”

I barely cut myself off from quoting something archaic about reaping what you damn well sow. “He’s a big boy. If he can handle being in a biker gang, then he can handle this.” There. That was gentler. Willa hasn’t leapt up from the bed and started pacing the room, or taken this next level, to hysterics and theatrics, so I guess I said the right thing.

“I gave him your card. I told him you’re a lawyer and you might be able to help.”

“You did what ?”

“Please, Linny. We owe him for this.”

For a change, I’m the one reeling back. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I’m pacing. During the day I make sure I’m so well put together that there’s not a hole in my armor, but right now, I’m in a rumpled pair of cotton pajamas, no makeup, hair a mess, all my emotions reflected on my face.

I try to channel my inner badass, the one who goes to court day in and day out, the woman who is making a name for herself because there’s no case too hard to win. “We don’t owe this guy fucking anything.”

“Oh my god, it’s bad.” Willa cups her face. “This is so bad. You only ever swear when you’re losing it.”

“I’m not losing it. I’m just not going to defend a known criminal. How do you think that would look for me?”

“You’re a criminal lawyer. There’s not a freaking day that passes without you defending scum of the earth and winning.”

I hold up my hand and start ticking points off like a prim teacher. “First of all, we don’t dabble in organized crime. No gangs, no mob. Secondly, no murderers. Third, no sexual assault charges. Fourth, nothing where someone has died.”

“That’s the same as murder. You’re getting redundant. And he didn’t kill anyone.”

“See my first and most important point, Willa!”

“Okay, well, a biker club isn’t a gang and it’s not the mob. I mean, I don’t think it is. Anyway, how much worse is defending a man I know for a fact is innocent, than going to bat for a bunch of wife beaters, drugs dealers, people who don’t pay their taxes or do other shitty fraud, and freaking drunk drivers?”

“My job isn’t to determine guilt. It’s to defend a client who comes to me and pays.”

“Bullet could pay.”

“Let him find someone else. I’m not doing it.”

“Please, Lynette!”

Fuck, she’s slipping off the bed, falling to the floor on her knees. Her hands knit into a tight little ball in front of her chest. She tilts her face up, crystal blue eyes huge in her pale face.

“No. It’s a hard no.”

I take her hands and wrench her to her feet. I want to shake her, but of course I don’t. I would never do that. What I’m also not ever going to do again is let this shit fly. I’ve been allowing it, promising myself it’ll stop, or that she’ll just grow out of it, but it hasn’t stopped.

“You’re banned from ever going to that club again, or any to any other. You’re going to let me get you into college right away and you’re going to go. I don’t give two shits what you take, but this stops. All of it stops. The partying, the random guys coming home with you, the drinking. You’re going to grow up and be responsible for your own self, or I swear to you that you’re on your own. You’re getting cut off. You’re moving out.”

“That’s not fair!” Her lip juts out and the massive tears keep rolling. “You got all the inheritance money from Mom! You spent it all on your stupid law degree.”

“My stupid law degree puts a roof over our heads and has for years, along with the two jobs I worked to make sure we got through after Mom died. It saw to her funeral costs and bought her burial plot. I haven’t spent a cent of that money on anything other than law school, because I knew once I got through, I’d have enough money to pay for you to go to college, which I’ve been trying to get you to do for two years now. You’re going and that’s final, or you’re out of here.”

“You promised Mom you’d take care of me,” Willa whines.

“I’ve done that, but now I’m coddling you and it’s clearly not working. You’re taking advantage of it and making terrible decisions. College or find your own place. You choose.”

“All because I asked you to defend Bullet, because that’s your stupid job?” she snaps. She shakes me off and snatches up her phone. I didn’t realize she’d set it on the nightstand, like she was going to spend the night in here with me.

“My job isn’t the least bit stupid. Your behavior is silly and childish.”

“Some days, I hate you,” she seethes, and if looks could kill, I’d be done and dusted right here where I stand.

“Come on, Wills. We all have to grow up. We have to take responsibility for ourselves and our lives.”

“Just like you? All dried up at thirty, humping dusty old law books?”

I carefully mask my hurt. “Not just like me. You can set your own path. I’ll take you to college and we’ll get it figured out. It’s only a week away from September, but I’ll pull strings, or we’ll find somewhere that still has openings. You can choose what you want to study. And I don’t hump law books. They’re expensive and they’d get wrecked that way, for goodness’ sake. If you’re going to be insulting, at least be logical about it.”

“Do you even listen to yourself? Miss Goody Fucking Two-Shoes?”

How ironic. Willa is the one constantly calling me a boomer for using old sayings. “I do hear myself. I hear myself offering good, sound advice, trying to make good on a promise that I’ve had to spend the last twelve years honoring.”

“Being sisters is a lifetime commitment, bitch,” she snarls, baring her teeth at me like an animal.

“I wish you’d take that to heart,” I say sadly, in a rare moment of vulnerability.

Of course, Willa chooses not to see it. “Fuck you, Lynette.”

“Yes, fuck me, but we’re still going to get you registered somewhere first thing Monday morning. I have some meetings, but I’ll cancel them.”

“Cancel meetings for little old me, like I’m actually important?” Willa shoots back unfairly.

She knows I’d do anything for her. I’ve proven that time and time again. She just doesn’t like that I’m done giving her endless freedom. I never believed in censorship or prohibiting someone from doing something. I know those are just guarantees that they’ll do it more. I’ve never tried to keep Willa from having experiences. I might have been tasked with looking after her, her legal guardian for eight years of her life, but I know I’m not her mother. I have never once tried to be our mom. Those are impossible shoes to fill.

I dig my fingers into my sore eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Just let me get some sleep. If you can’t go to bed, use this time to do some research and some thinking about your future.”

The worst part about Willa’s temper is that when she’s really mad, she likes to be destructive. Her eyes sweep my room, trying to find the perfect thing to break to show me just what she thinks about me dictating and deciding her life for her.

“Out!” I point at the door. My face must be truly fearsome, because she obeys somewhat meekly.

The only thing she flings is her middle finger in my direction before slamming my door so hard that the whole house shakes.