Page 30 of Overruled

Sixteen

Dani

I stare at my phone for a few minutes after telling Ezra that I’m home, chewing on the end of my thumbnail as I wait and see if he’ll respond. When it’s clear that he won’t, I get angry at myself for even worrying about whether or not he would in the first place.

How in the hell did things get so mixed up in such a short time?

I shake it off, stomping down the hall to my bedroom and dropping my phone on my bed as I start to undress.

I change out of my work clothes, briefly considering the University of Texas shirt I love before kicking it away and grabbing another one from my dresser drawer.

I can only hope that Ezra hasn’t ruined my favorite shirt and that I’ll eventually be able to wear it without remembering last night.

My brain actually aches from the day I’ve had; between last night and this morning and Bianca and Ezra—it literally feels like there is nothing left but a puddle in my skull, one that throbs.

I grab some Tylenol from the medicine cabinet over my sink, using a bit of water from the faucet pooled in my hand to swallow them before straightening to regard myself in the mirror.

I could be imagining it, the slight redness of my lips that looks deeper than normal, but part of me thinks that with the way I let Ezra use my mouth last night…it would be entirely feasible to say they’re still a little swollen. The thought makes me as hot as it does angry.

I sweep my dark hair into a messy bun on top of my head, grabbing my toothbrush from the holder by the sink and slathering it with paste before aggressively going after my teeth in a series of rough passes.

I’m trying not to think about the fact that it was Ezra who wanted to talk, that it was him who had asked me to reach out when I was home only to treat me to radio silence; the entire thing only brings back the memory of this morning, of waking up alone and confused just for those feelings to morph into a bitter, cold feeling in my stomach that I would rather never repeat again, if at all possible.

I spit in the sink before rinsing the brush, only hearing the slight buzzing from the other room when I turn off the tap. I would like to say that I don’t drop my toothbrush in the sink and sprint back into my bedroom, but that would be a lie.

Which means I’m all the more disappointed to see it’s my mother calling instead.

“Hey,” I greet her, trying not to sound like Eeyore.

“Dani,” she says in her ever-chipper tone. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to have lunch tomorrow. Your dad and Patty heard about this new tapas place downtown, and we thought you might like to—”

I blame the stress. That has to be the cause of the choked sob that escapes me.

“Dani?” My mom immediately sounds worried. “Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

I wipe my eyes, traitorous bastards starting to leak. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“It’s just been a very long day.”

“Well, tell me about it.”

I puff out a breath. There is no way I can tell my mother about this morning, because it would mean I would have to tell her about last night. Which is not happening. And legally, I can’t tell her about my discussion with Bianca and how raw it had left me.

“It’s nothing,” I tell her. “Work has just been stressful.”

“Work is always stressful,” she presses. “It’s never made you sound like this.”

“I—”

I shut my mouth immediately. I have no idea what to say to her.

No way to encapsulate whatever it is I’m feeling right now.

I just know that the thought of sitting across from her and my dad and their respective spouses and pretending for one more damned day that it doesn’t kill me to know that they sacrificed half their lives for me is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“Mom,” I say quietly. “Did you ever consider telling me the truth? I mean…sooner?”

My mother is quiet for several moments, and I know she’s taken off guard. It isn’t even what I meant to ask her, and I already feel guilty for letting it slip out.

“Of course we did,” she says finally, her voice strained. “So many times.”

“Then why did you wait so long?”

“Because your father and I both came from broken homes, Dani. When we had no one else, we had each other. Sometimes, each other was all we had. We never wanted that for you. We wanted you to have a better childhood than we did. One that you didn’t have to spend years getting over.”

But I’m still getting over it regardless, I want to say. How can I trust anything when my entire life was a lie?

But I don’t say that, because I can’t. After everything my parents sacrificed, I can’t bring myself to give them anything more to hurt over.

“Is that what this is about?” My mother’s voice is soft, searching. “Are you…Do we need to talk about this? You’ve always said that you were fine, but I’ve often worried that—”

“No,” I cut her off. “It’s not about that. I am fine. I promise.” As fine as I can be. “It’s just been a long fucking day, and there are things I learned today about the case that are eating at me. That’s all. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me, sweetheart,” she urges.

“I always want to know what you’re feeling.

Even if it’s hard. Especially if it’s hard.

I want to be there for you no matter what.

” She’s quiet for a moment, and then: “Sometimes I think that if we’d talked about this more, maybe you wouldn’t have locked yourself away like you did after Grant—”

“I don’t want to talk about Grant, Mom.” My voice is tight. “He left. He chose a job over me. That has nothing to do with me or you or Dad. It has everything to do with him. I just want to fucking stop talking about him, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Mom says quietly. “You’re right.”

For the millionth time since they sat me down and changed my life, I wonder how I can still be so bitter, with parents as amazing as them. It only further cements the truth that I’m the problem.

“I really am fine,” I stress, trying to make her believe it even if I don’t. “Promise. Just a bad day.”

She’s quiet for entirely too long, like she wants to press the issue, but maybe she can sense how at the end of my rope I am. Maybe that’s why she blessedly doesn’t. “Okay, honey. But remember, you can talk to me about anything, okay?”

“I know, Mom. I promise.”

“Go get some rest. You sound like you need it. If you decide you want to do lunch, text me in the morning. But no pressure if you’re still not feeling well.”

I already know I’ll be going, no matter how much it will mess me up inside.

“Okay,” I manage. “Good night, Mom.”

“Night, hon. Talk soon.”

I close my eyes and sink down on my bed as I hang up, flopping back against the mattress as I swallow another sob.

I’m usually so good at keeping it all together, but lately…

lately it feels like I’m coming apart at the seams. It bothers me that I can’t even pinpoint one thing that’s the cause of it.

My phone begins to vibrate again on my stomach where I’ve dropped it, and I reach for it, frowning when I see the name there.

He’s definitely a large part of it, if I’m being honest with myself. I consider not answering for all of three seconds before I swipe to answer, hitting the speaker button and setting the phone on my chest.

“What do you want, Ezra?”

“So many things,” he says cryptically, sighing after. “But for now, I’d like to talk about this morning.”

“I already told you,” I mutter bitterly. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I can practically hear his brain recalibrating. “Then we’ll talk about work. We still have your interrogatories to go over.”

“That easy?”

“I can’t force you to talk to me about your feelings,” he says simply.

I scoff. “That implies I have feelings on the matter to begin with.”

“You’re the one still pressing the issue right now.”

I scowl at the smile in his voice. Asshole.

“Fine,” I say tightly, rolling over my bed to my nightstand to grab my laptop. I open it up to his last email, snorting when I’m reminded of his ridiculous objections as I set my phone back on my chest. “We’ll talk about work. Starting with how ridiculous your objections are.”

“I don’t know how you mean,” he answers, still sounding amused.

I shut my eyes, sighing. “For starters, you have eight general objections.”

“So?”

“We both know that the state of Texas doesn’t allow for general objections.”

“I would venture to say that they’re just frowned upon.”

I rub the space between my eyes. “You’re going to have to revisit and revise. You can’t object to every single one.”

“Just wanted to make sure we had plenty to talk about,” he says, his tone slightly teasing now. It makes my stomach flip in a way that makes me scowl. “Besides, I think what I’ve provided is more than adequate barring any general objections.”

“Ezra.”

“Fine. I might be willing to make you a trade,” he says nonchalantly. “I could be persuaded to remove a few.”

“And what, pray tell, would you want in return?”

“I want to talk about this morning.”

My nostrils flare with an exasperated exhale. “Of course you do.”

“You do too, if you would just be honest.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. We fell asleep, and then you were gone when I woke up. I think it speaks for itself.”

“We both know if I’d been there when you woke up, you would have freaked out. You would have overanalyzed the entire thing, and then we’d be right back to the insufferable game we’ve been playing where you pretend you don’t want me, and I pretend it doesn’t make me crazy.”

“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” I tell him blandly. “Since you left.”

Ezra sighs. “Let’s play a game. Answer my questions, and I’ll trade each answer for an objection.” He pauses for another moment. “Save for a select few.”