Page 2 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

ten years later

We, the jury… find the defendant… not guilty.”

Fuck, yes. My six favorite words. It meant I’d done my goddamn job right. I smiled as I turned to my client, drinking in the relief on his face. His brother reached over the rail and shook his shoulders happily.

The rest of the courtroom, though? Not as thrilled, which was expected, considering Jake Taylor was on trial for the murder of his father.

“Court dismissed,” the judge said over the commotion as he banged his gavel loudly.

Another day done, another case won. I offered my hand to my client in congratulations.

“Thank you, Mr. Cassidy.” Mr. Taylor shook it a little too vigorously. “I mean that. Thank you.”

“I just did my job. I told you I was the best,” I reminded him.

“I really thought—”

“I know,” I interrupted. I didn’t need to hear him say the words. It was the same speech with every client. “Just make sure you call my office and get your bill paid, Mr. Taylor. And if you find yourself in trouble again, give me a call.”

Hopefully, we didn’t end up here again. Mine wasn’t a business of repeat customers. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be.

I took my time packing up my briefcase, letting the court filter out slowly.

I didn’t like the limelight of reporters that came with cases like these.

To me, my job ended when the case did. Camera time wasn’t my thing, and since I wasn’t paid for it, I refused to partake in the commodity of it.

I let my clients and their families handle that shit.

It was a point of contention with my boss, but I was too damn good to get rid of over something so trivial.

I bypassed the collection of people on the court steps and pretended not to notice the way my client drank up the attention.

The guy was a dick, but he had deep pockets.

Was it a case I particularly enjoyed? Not at all.

However, it paid well, and they were high-profile clients that my boss wanted to cater to. The rest was history.

“How do you sleep at night knowing you put murderers back on the street?”

I grinned at the sound of Sebastian Graves’ voice behind me.

Sebastian was a prosecuting attorney and the closest thing I had to a rival in this business.

We sat on opposite sides of the court, but we kept things light-hearted.

We’d met in law school and competed at every turn.

The challenge kept us both motivated to do better.

When I chose to work for a private firm, he decided to work for the state.

Most of my cases found us trying to prove each other wrong.

With his neatly cut dark hair, custom-tailored suit, and leather briefcase that cost more than mine, he didn’t look the part. Sebastian came from money and a lot of it. Running in rich circles was where his ruthless personality came from.

“It’s simple. I don’t know that fact.” I shrugged when he caught up with me.

That was the rule: never ask if the client is guilty.

I wasn’t an immoral person, but I had a job to do.

My job was to prove reasonable doubt. I didn’t need to know if my client was innocent or guilty to do that.

Many tried to tell me, of course, and I ignored them every time.

Did I have thoughts about what might have happened?

Absolutely. I just refused to entertain those.

If I did, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.

“What I do know is that your case was flawed and lacked sufficient evidence to make it. The jury seemed to think so too.”

“Asshole.” He chuckled, the sound easy and smooth. Admittedly, some part of me once had a crush on Sebastian for years. Since then, I could admit those chocolate eyes of his were goddamn gorgeous, but I didn’t want to hook up with him either. I just wanted to kick his ass in court.

“An asshole that you’re buying coffee for,” I reminded him. We had a tradition: whoever lost in court bought the other one coffee. And let’s just say that he bought me coffee often.

“Did you hear,” he began as we crossed the street, “that our usual coffee shop closed down?”

“Why?”

“Cockroaches.”

“Disgusting.” I made a face. “Is anyone suing them?”

“You just can’t resist, can you?” Sebastian demanded, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

“Suing for something like that is an easy win,” I commented. “I know how badly you need a win in your corner after the last seven cases.”

I was on a hot streak, and it was costing him.

“Fuck off, Cassidy,” he said with a laugh. “I know a good place nearby. It’s a bit of a walk, but I love their coffee. It’s the best damn coffee you’ll ever have.”

“I can handle a walk.” I’d do a lot of things for a damn good cup of coffee.

“You sure? We wouldn’t want to ruin those fancy shoes of yours, now would we?” This fucking guy.

We fell into an easy banter as we walked down streets I normally didn’t travel.

The streets were a little rougher, and the buildings a little older.

There was a charm to it, a bright personality in colored signs and painted hydrants.

Even the people were different here—vibrant and louder.

I could see why Sebastian frequented this part of town.

Acoustic music drifted on the afternoon breeze—guitar strings plucked with no hurry.

An unhoused man sat propped up against the side of a brick building with a guitar settled on his crossed leg and its case open in front of him.

The song was bittersweet and didn’t match the atmosphere, but maybe that was the point.

It drew attention to him. The beauty in it was undeniable.

It struck something deep in me as I breathed it in.

I pulled out a twenty and dropped it in the case as we passed. He deserved it, and that had nothing to do with the music. Hopefully, he’d use it for a hot meal or something. From the menial collection of change in his case, I knew the twenty would make all the difference.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough as gravel.

There was something familiar about it, something I couldn’t place.

And honestly, it was something I truly didn’t give a second thought to.

How many unhoused people had I come across this year alone?

I didn’t remember their names or faces. I just gave them a little something and left them behind.