Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Went away for the weekend?” I challenge him. “Yes.”
“Uh…” He just looks perplexed.
And I can’t do this right now. “Whatever you’re thinking, go ahead and think it. I have to park my car before it gets towed. And I have to get a lawyer for Bailey.” I stand up.
“I’ll park your car,” Tanner says. He holds out a hand for the keys. “I got this. You can just take care of business.”
“Oh.” I take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
I hand over the keys.
Nobody else moves.
“Please tell me you and Luke Bailey aren’t…” Judd looks ill.
Apparently everyone forgot how to finish their sentences while I was away. “So what if we are? It’s none of your business.”
“Jesus,” he hisses. “That explains so much.”
“About what?” I snarl.
“He turned you,” Judd says. “So he could take the frat presidency. He flipped the straight guy. You’re a big notch in his belt, right? Did he ask you for money, too?”
“FUCK you!” I shout, getting to my feet.
“Nah, I don’t swing that way,” Judd snaps. “No matter how good the blowjobs are. Did he teach you that, too?”
And that’s when I lunge for him.
Open to a Plea Deal
Luke
I’m shown into a holding cell with five other guys. There are benches along the walls, but no other furniture. Nobody even looks up at me as I enter, and that’s just fine. I sink down on a bench and try not to think. Because every thought I have is a horrible one.
Even if I somehow manage to walk out of here tomorrow with the charges dismissed, will Darby College keep me? Can they revoke my scholarship for having a brother who steals?
And then there’s the frat. There’s some line about lawfulness in the members’ handbook somewhere. If you’re convicted of a crime, I think they can toss you out.
I cannot get convicted. Of anything. Even if I got a fine instead of jail time, it would ruin my life. I’m thirteen months from getting a degree. If I get a criminal record instead?
Shit jobs for the rest of my life.
At some point my name is called again. I’m shown into another interview room, where a public defender in a too-tight suit asks me all the relevant questions.
“I know my brother did this,” I tell him as loudly as I can. “Did they investigate him? I can give you the address.”
He scribbles it on maybe the twentieth page of his legal pad, under the pile of other cases that are already there.
“I will argue for bail to be set at your arraignment,” he says.
“How does that work?
“If they set it for five thousand dollars, you’d pay seven hundred and fifty to a bail bondsman, who posts the rest.”
Seven hundred and fifty dollars. I don’t have that money. My family sure as hell won’t, either. Holy shit. I’m trapped in here, unless I ask Heather or the guys at Jill’s to get me out.
Keaton would pay it, of course. But I’d rather owe everyone else on the planet than ask him.
My lawyer gets ready to leave only a few minutes later. It’s obvious to me that his one goal is getting me out on bail tomorrow. “We’ll work on the case when we get a trial date,” he says. “Are you open to a plea deal?”
“No!” Jesus. “I didn’t do it. And I have an alibi. Can you call the hotel and ask them if there are security cameras?”
“Uh-huh,” he says, clicking his pen again. “When we get a court date. Sure.”
I have never felt as hopeless as I do right now.
They take me back to the holding cell, where I sink down on a bench and put my head in my hands. I would do anything to rewind this weekend to a point where I might have done something differently. Like call the cops on Joe after he broke into my room.
If only.
“Bailey! Bailey. Bailey?”
I jerk awake, bouncing my head off the concrete wall. “Right here,” I gasp.
“Your lawyer is here to prepare for your arraignment.”
I stand up, and my back complains. I spent the night hunched over, trying to sleep without having a place to lie down. My mouth feels disgusting, and my T-shirt probably smells like this hellhole.
This is how I have to face a judge?
Numb, I follow the uniformed officer back toward the little interview room. We’ve just reached the doorway when I hear my name again, from further down the hall.
“Luke Bailey? Where can I find Luke Bailey?”
“Right here,” I say, confused, as the man with the salt-and-pepper beard in the impeccable pinstripe suit barrels towards me. He’s carrying a satchel with brass clasps.
“Good, good. How much time do we have?” he asks the bailiff.
“About twenty minutes.”
The man pushes past us into the little room and his satchel lands on the table with a thump. “You’re dismissed,” he tells my public defender. “Leave the case file.”