Page 37

HOLT

I’ve been fingerprinted.

I’ve been strip searched.

I’ve had a mug shot taken.

I’ve given a DNA sample.

I’ve had a health screening.

I’ve even had my dick photographed.

Dressed in my new khaki-colored jail scrubs and rubber sandals, my hand shakes as I hold the phone. I’m scared to even put the damn thing to my ear.

It has bite marks on it.

Who the hell bites a telephone?

He answers on the first ring. I don’t say hello. “I didn’t do it.”

Dad chokes with emotion. “Of course, you didn’t do it, son. We all know that.”

Turning away from the officers watching me, I wipe away a tear. Guards . Are they called guards when you are in jail? Taking a deep breath, I steel myself. “Where are you?”

“At your house. We’re all at your house. What do you need us to do?”

“Look in my desk drawer. I don’t know if it’s in the top left drawer or top right drawer, but there’s a card for my NFL union lawyer. Call him. His cell number is on there. Don’t stop calling until he answers.”

“Okay. We can do that. What else?”

“I have to stay here. In jail.” I nearly die. That’s a sentence I never imagined myself having to say. “They said my arraignment won’t be until Tuesday afternoon. They’re taking the full forty-eight hours.”

“What! Why?”

“They said it’s going slower because of the holidays. We’ve got to get the lawyer here. He’s a new guy. Since I moved back home, they assigned me someone licensed to practice in Alabama. I think he’s out of Atlanta.”

“We’re on it, son. I’ll drive there and kidnap him if I have to.”

I rub my eyes. “Dad, these calls are recorded.”

“Oh.” He stumbles over his words. “It was just a figure of speech.”

“I know.”

“What else do you need?”

“You have to put money in my temporary account for me to be able to call you. You can call the jail tomorrow and do that. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Crutch is here now. He can help me with that.”

“Merit?” I ask, trying to hide the quiver in my voice.

The look on her face when I was being arrested will haunt me for all eternity.

“She’s fine.”

Dad’s many things in life, but a good liar is not one of them. “Dad.”

He smacks his lips. “She’s inconsolable. She’s too upset to even talk. Your mom called Marie. She’s on her way up here now.”

Great. Nothing like having your future mother-in-law thinking you’re a child predator.

The officer— guard —motions for me to hurry up. Ending my call, I’m escorted back to my cell. The metals bars are slammed shut, locking me in.

***

If you punch someone while you’re in jail, is it bad?

Like, will I get re-arrested?

Because this attorney is in serious danger of getting his ass kicked.

I knew I was in for trouble when he showed up with his gelled hair and five-thousand-dollar cufflinks.

“So, we can just take a plea deal. I should be able to talk them down to community service and probation.”

I toss my hands in the air. “Sure, registering as a sex offender is no big deal, right?”

He’s not even paying attention to me; he’s just writing notes with his quill pen. Finally, he looks up. “Pardon?”

“You want me to take a plea deal. I’ll have to register as a sex offender.”

He scoffs, “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you have future employment to worry about; you’re a multi-millionaire. And I can make sure you keep your medical retirement income.”

“I’ll tell you again. I’m not pleading guilty to something I didn’t do.”

He looks at me like I’m a simpleton with no intelligence in my head. “Listen, I’ve only seen a handful of the text messages. There’s no denying they came from your phone. Why fight this?” He sits back and crosses his legs. “I’m licensed to practice law in Georgia, Florida, and Alabama. Do you know how many of you professional athletes I’ve represented just this year alone in sex-crime related cases? Fourteen. You’re lucky number fifteen. And you know what all of you say in the beginning? ‘I didn’t do it. I’m not guilty.’ But then we see the evidence, and you all quickly change course. Why not save everyone some time and money, especially yourself. We’ll come to an arrangement with prosecutors, and you can celebrate Christmas at home.”

I try to rein in my anger. My emotions have been all over the place, completely draining me. Not to mention, I’m exhausted. The thought of laying my head on the stained plastic mattress makes me want to bash my brains in, so I’ve been sleeping sitting up against the cinder block wall with my head on my knees. “There’s one difference between those fourteen and me,” I enunciate slowly so he can understand me through the fog of his overpriced education. “I. Am. Not. Guilty.” I lick my lips and look at the clock on the wall. “And I expect you to say that in one hour at my arraignment.”

***

I guess they could’ve put me in the city jail. Technically, my house is in the city limits. But, instead, I’ve been at the county jail, in the basement of the courthouse, next door to the sheriff’s department. At least, they can take me to the courtroom via a back elevator, and I’m not being dragged through who-knows-what-hell-hole of paparazzi that may be here. My douchebag lawyer said the arraignment is closed to the general public, save for some hand-selected reporters.

I asked if I could change clothes, but my request was denied before it was even considered. Apparently, they aren’t concerned with my inmate scrubs swaying the judge’s opinion of me. They smell like bleach, and they’re scratchier than hay. I can’t wait to get out of them.

When I walk into the courtroom, my senses are jarred with the sound of a thousand camera flicks. There’s no flash photography but that doesn’t stop the sound. My stomach is wound in tight nerves. My body feels weak, like it’s on the verge of collapse. I want to jump on the table and scream to everyone that I’m innocent. Can’t they open their eyes and fucking see the truth.

My family crowds the first couple of rows, worry and concern etched across their faces. It’s hard to even imagine them happy. One could easily assume they’ve always looked like this—hard and frozen, anxious and defeated.

And then there’s Merit.

She’s wearing black. One of Edward’s fucking black dresses.

At least this one is demure with cap sleeves and a high collar. I can’t see her legs, but I can only assume it’s at a more respectable length than what Edward always preferred.

But what really gets me is her red-rimmed eyes, her swollen cheeks, and her chapped lips. She’s wearing pink lipstick, trying to disguise the cracks and flaky skin, but I can still tell. I’ve made it one of my purposes in life to memorize everything about her, and I can see the difference.

And the difference is because of me.

I’ve caused her this pain, this anguish.

I can’t believe I’m putting her through this.

I’m not sure why Heidi is lying, but I must’ve done something to deserve this. Karma from my past? Whatever it is, I’m now the cause of Merit’s pain. I’m not quite sure how to live with that.

The hearing is a blur—blessedly fast and painfully slow at the same time. My bail is set at five million. I have to surrender my passport, and I’m going to be fitted with an ankle monitor. Before I leave the courtroom, my attorney tells me he’ll be in touch after New Year’s and that he hopes I’ll spend the holidays re-examining my position on taking a plea deal.

I lean close, growling in his ear. His over-powering cologne makes me gag. “I have reconsidered.” His face lights up, excited with the idea of quick, easy money. “You’re fucking fired.”