I’m going to need to see a dentist from all the grinding of my teeth that I’m doing right now.
Coach isn’t even done. “It’s fucking embarrassing to walk in on this shit. What if I had a recruit with me? You two start working together or you’ll both be holding clipboards come this fall. And that goes for the rest of you yahoos. Get lifting. This isn’t some retreat, motherfuckers. This is the home of the goddamned Western State Warriors. You start acting like the repeat champions or get the fuck out.”
He storms out, slamming the door behind him. The room is dead silent. I hadn’t even noticed before but someone turned the music off halfway through Coach’s rant.
It takes a moment to shove his boot out of our collective asses, but one by one we go back to our tasks. I sneak a glance at Ace who’s glowering in my direction as if I’m to blame for all this.
Hammer nudges me. “Dude, you gotta fix this. You’re the only one who can.”
And by me, he means Lucy.
Fuck me, but I think he’s right.
23
Lucy
After years of never seeing him, Matty has been everywhere. He hung out at the apartment, watching our shows without complaint. He sat in the Brew House, drinking hot cider and studying. Sometimes, his friend Hammer came with, but more often than not, Matty was alone. He said the smell of coffee was growing on him. Hammer whispered loudly that coffee wasn’t the only thing growing on Matty.
I presume he meant me and not some terrible fungal infection.
Matty often waited until I was done with my shift and left at the same time. He held the door for me and asked how my day was, whether I’ve eaten, and how I was feeling.
I mumbled some kind of response under my breath, but hurried away like the coward I professed I wasn’t. But I’m afraid to talk to him, afraid that if I look into his blue eyes, I’ll lose all my self-control. Because every time I close my eyes, I see him.
Every night I feel him moving inside of me, over me, under me. The imprint of his hands on my skin, his mouth against my lips, haunts me. One night? I don’t know how any woman can be okay with having a single night with Matthew Iverson.
For the last three days, I’ve brooded. But I’m done with that. I’m going to jump off the cliff and hope he catches me because he’s in my blood now. It may be foolish and reckless, but I know exactly what kind of reward is at the bottom of the canyon.
“Lucinda!”
My head snaps up to see the faces of half my mock trial team frowning at me. It takes me a moment to collect myself because I’ve spent the last ten minutes staring out the window daydreaming about Matty.
“I didn’t catch that.” I pretend like I was paying attention the whole time.
“I’d like to reserve any remaining time for rebuttal. Is that right?” Heather asks.
“Yeah, that’s the right language.
Randall, acting as judge again, nods his head regally. Heather turns to the chairs we’ve set up as our mock jury. Tonight our practice group consists of just Heather, Randall, and me—we’re practicing cross-examinations and arguments. Randall already gave a really amazing opening statement, but Heather’s been struggling.
This is the third time she’s run through it and each successive attempt is more boring and more pedantic than the last. When she’s done after only using five minutes of her allotted eight, Randall’s head is lying on the desk and he’s mock snoring. No wonder I drifted off. I shift anxiously in my chair. I can’t wait to get out of here to tell Matt that I’m ready. Hopefully, the offer is still open.
“What’s wrong now?” Heather exclaims. “You told me the closing has to include me listing off all the evidence.”
“We don’t have time for you to list all the evidence, just the important points. But more importantly, this is argument,” I stress, trying to hurry Heather along. “You need to be convincing and persuasive.”
“Why don’t you do you do it if it’s so easy!” Heather stomps past the counsel table and throws herself into a desk chair.
“Heather, come back. I’m sorry if I was too critical.” How about you grow a thicker skin? I want to say, but I bite my tongue. She appears on the verge of tears, and the last thing I want to do is destroy her confidence.
“Why don’t you show her?” Randall suggests. “Just do a quick closing.”
“I don’t do closings,” I remind him.
“But you’re okay with criticizing the hell out of mine,” Heather shouts.
I shut my eyes and count to ten so I don’t leap out of my chair and throttle her. I can do a closing if that’s what she needs. I do them in my sleep. I just can’t do them in a competition.
“Come on,” Randall cajoles.
“Fine.” I stand up and take Heather’s abandoned spot in front of the chairs. If I do this, we can all leave.
“May it please the Court.” I gesture toward Randall. “Opposing counsel.” I pretend Heather is the attorney for the other side, which is easy because I feel we’re oceans apart on the concept of an effective closing. “Members of the jury.” I face the chairs. “We have asked you to sacrifice a day out of your life, and your sacrifice does not go unappreciated. One of the greatest strengths of our legal system is that we are allowed to bring our disputes before a jury of our peers. No matter how thin our wallets are, no matter our position in society, under the eyes of Lady Justice, we are all the same. We thank you for what you have done today and what you will do on behalf of our client, Emily Hartog.”