Aced

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU mean early parole?” Colton’s voice ricochets off the stairwell and up into the room, shocking me from the case reports I’m trying to complete on my laptop and indicating he is home. Within an instant, I set my computer aside and move downstairs to find out what’s going on.

“I know, CJ. I know,” Colton says, one hand fisted at his side, posture tense, as I walk into the great room, his back to me framed against the open doors to the patio. “But it’s too much of a goddamn coincidence, don’t you think? The timing, his vindication . . . all of it adds up.”

Colton must sense me and turns to meet my eyes, holding one finger up requesting I wait while he finishes the conversation. I watch the emotions play over his face as he listens to our lawyer. He moves to abate the restlessness of whatever CJ is telling him, my eyes following him pace, my mind trying to figure out what’s going on. They say their goodbyes, and he turns again to face me.

“Eddie.”

It’s all he says as he smacks his hands together. That simple name—a blast from our past—and Colton’s reflex reaction cause details from three years ago to flood back to me. The CD Enterprises patent for an innovative neck protection device being denied because someone else was already in the process of getting a very similar one approved. Almost identical in fact. Investigations to find out that the other patent applicant had CDE’s same exact blueprints for the device, followed by digging into the layering of the corporation applying to find Eddie Kimball on the board of directors.

The same Eddie Kimball who Colton had fired for stealing said blueprints.

As I look at the fire lighting up Colton’s eyes, I think of the two-year legal battle that ensued over the right of ownership and future revenues from the device the blueprints made. I’m reminded of the stress, the lies, the accusations, the mediation meetings, and offers of settlement to buy time on Eddie’s part. After spending a fortune in legal counsel, the judge eventually ruled in our favor and convicted Eddie of numerous charges—fraud, perjury, false witness—and sentenced him to a four-year jail sentence.

“How?” I ask, making calculations about someone I mentally told myself was out of our lives. The trial ended three years ago. He had a four-year sentence.

“Early release. Good Behavior. Jails too crowded from the three-strikes statute.” He answers my unspoken questions as he runs a hand through his hair, his head nodding, and I can see him trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.

“Tawny knew where we were.” It’s all I say, voice quiet, gaze fixed on him. He looks up, narrows his eyes, and grits his teeth, not wanting to hear me say it again.

“I know,” he says with a sigh, “but I’m trying to figure out how it all fits together. What? Did Tawny go up and get the video of us that night? If she had it way back when, then why keep it and release it all this time later?” He slumps down on the couch and puts his head in his hand while he tries to make sense of it.

I move and sit down next to him and rest my head on his shoulder.

“I can’t give you the answers but it all seems too convenient for her not to have had a hand in this.” My voice is calm but anger fires in my veins at the thought that either of them have had a hand in this. And yet I shouldn’t expect any less from them.

Bitches can’t change their stripes. Oh wait, that’s tigers. Hmpf. Doesn’t matter because I refuse to give her a second thought. If she did do this, then Lord have mercy on her when Colton gets done with her.

The idea doesn’t take the sting out of our public humiliation any less, but at least with this newfound information about Eddie’s release, we might have some place to start looking.

“Kelly is trying to track him down through his parole officer,” Colton says, pulling me from my thoughts. He reaches out and squeezes my knee to show me he’s present although I know mentally he’s a million miles away.

“This is all just so fucked up,” I murmur, speaking my thoughts aloud and garnering a sound of agreement from him. We sit like this for a few moments. The silence is comforting because we know outside this bubble we’ve surrounded ourselves with, there are people waiting to tear us apart.

My cell phone rings from the kitchen counter causing me to sigh because I’m sure it’s some intrusive person from a tabloid. “I need to change my number,” I groan.

“I’ll handle this,” he says, beating me to the punch and getting up from the couch. Besides, with the time it would take to get my pregnant self up, the call would probably go to voicemail.

I sink back into the couch and wait for Colton to answer and unleash his temper on whatever poor soul thinks they are calling me, so I’m surprised when I hear him greet the person warmly.

“Hey, good afternoon,” Colton says. “She’s right here, Teddy. Hold on.”

And there is something in that split second of time that causes my brain—that has been so overwhelmed by everything today—to fire on all cylinders. I thought of my parents and the boys. I’ve read articles denouncing my motives and implying I released the tape for my own benefit. I called Jax and had him cover my shift at The House. And yet not once did I pick up the phone and call my boss. Not once did I think of damage control or how this man I greatly admire is going to look at me now.

Pregnancy brain.

Oh shit.

Scenarios flicker through my mind as I take the phone from Colton. Our eyes meet momentarily, and I can already see he’s thinking the same thing I am.

“Hey Teddy,” I say, my voice ten times more enthusiastic than I feel.

“How you doing, kiddo?” he asks cautiously.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you,” I say, immediately using those two words again even though I technically haven’t done anything wrong.

“No need to.” It’s all he says and the awkward silence hangs through the connection. I can sense he’s trying to figure out how to approach this conversation, an awkward dance of unspoken words. “But we do need to talk.”

And the angst I had shelved momentarily returns in a blaze of glory.

“What do you need from me, Teddy?” I feel the need to rise and walk, subdue the discord I already feel, but don’t have the energy. Colton steps behind the couch and places his hands on my shoulders and begins to knead away the tension there.

My boss sighs into the line and it’s the only sound I need to hear to know my fears about why he’s calling are warranted. “Some benefactors are raising their hypocritical highbrow hands and protesting your lead on the project.”

I take a deep breath, biting back the comments on my tongue. “I see. Well, take me off as the lead then. Let me have my shifts at The House, and I’ll work behind the scenes on the upcoming project.”

When he doesn’t respond immediately, I bite my bottom lip. “I wish I could.” And then silence. We sigh simultaneously, the singular sound a symphony of disquiet.

“What do you mean you wish you could?”

“Ry . . .”

And it hits me. It’s not that he wants me to take a back seat on the project. He wants me off the project entirely. And out of The House.

“Oh,” I say. Colton’s fingers tense as he feeds off my physical reaction. Right now I’m so glad he can’t see my face because he’ll see how devastated I am. He already feels guilty enough for things he can’t control. “I won’t risk the project. The boys, the mission, everything means way too much to me. I’ve put my blood, sweat, tears, and heart into this and I can’t risk it for the many more we are going to be able to help. I know this is hard for you and I won’t make you ask me so I’ll just say it. I’ll take an early maternity leave. I’ll hate it. It’ll kill me to leave Auggie right now just as we’re making progress and a breakthrough is on the horizon . . .” My voice trails off, ending my ramble as I struggle to articulate how hard this is for me. In the same breath, I know it was ten times harder for him to pick up the phone to call me and ask this of me.

“They want more than an early maternity leave, Rylee.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Board wants me to place you on an indefinite leave of absence.”

“Indefinite?” I stutter, voice unsteady, disbelief tingeing its edges as I prod him for the answer I want. “As in three-month type of indefinite?”

“You know I respect you. You know I know this project is a continued success because of you and that the boys are contributing members to society because of all the time and hard work you’ve put in.” I hate that all of a sudden Teddy sounds like he’s speaking to a room of stiff suits instead of me, the woman who has worked for him for over twelve years. However, I understand his protective wall of detachment more than he knows because I’m fortifying mine too right now. I have to. It’s the only way I’ll be able to get through this conversation when he tells me I am no longer mother to my boys. To my family. When I don’t respond, he continues, trying to find his footing in a world where he is boss, mentor, and friend. “I swear to God I went to bat for you, kid . . . but with the board vote coming up,” he says, shame in his voice but I get where he’s coming from. The annual vote to approve his position is next month and if he fights too hard, he might not get renewed.

Teddy losing his position would be a colossal mistake; the boys would lose both of us—their biggest advocates. I bite back the bitterness, the want to argue, because with him still in the mix, I know there will at least be one of us working with them.

“It’s temporary. I promise you that. Just until the attention dies down.”

Yeah. Temporary. The bitterness returns. Disbelief overwhelms me and shakes loose a new thought: what if his contract isn’t renewed? Would I still have a place at Corporate Cares?

The fear replaces my rage, allows me to calm down and realize fighting him is like preaching to the choir. I just need to fade into the background regardless of the fact I feel like I’m bathed in a neon light. It will be hard as hell but I don’t want to rock the boat for him any more than I already have.

“Okay,” I respond softly, my voice anything but certain. And I want to ask him how he knows it’s temporary—need some kind of concrete here—but know it’s useless to ask. This is hard enough for both of us as it is, so why throw false promises in there too?

“I feel like I’m selling you out for the donations—”

“No—”

“But we need these funds,” he murmurs.

Desperately. Non-profits always need funds. I’ve been doing this way too long to know there’s never enough and always so many we can’t help.

“I won’t risk the project, Teddy.” And I know he’s having a hard time finding the right words to ask me to step down. And the fact it’s hard for him shows just how much he believes in me, and that means the world to me. “I’ll step down effective immediately.” I choke on the words as tears clog in my throat and drown out all sound momentarily, my mind trying to wrap itself around what I just said. Colton’s reaction is reflected in the tightening of his fingers on my shoulders, and I immediately shrug out of his grip, push myself up off the couch, and walk to the far side of the room. It is almost a reflex reaction to feel the need to come to terms with this on my own. Yet when I turn to look at Colton and the unwavering love in his eyes, I know I’m not alone. Know together we are a unified front.

“Ry . . .” The resigned sadness in Teddy’s voice is like pinpricks in an already gaping wound.

“No. It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m just . . . it’s okay,” I reiterate, unsure whether I’m trying to assure him or myself. I know neither of us believes it.

“Quit telling me it’s okay, Rylee, because it’s not. This is bullshit,” he swears into the phone, and I can hear how he feels in the single word that keeps coming up over and over.

“But you’re handcuffed. The boys come first,” I say, immediately hearing Colton’s earlier words said in such a different way. “They always come first, Teddy.”

“Thank you for understanding the situation I’m in.”

I nod my head, unable to speak, and then I realize he can’t see me. The problem is that I don’t understand. I want to rage and scream, tell him this is a railroad because the video does not prevent me from doing my job whatsoever and yet, the die is cast. The video is viral. My job is not mine anymore.

Holy shit. The one constant in my life for as long as I can remember is gone. Talk about going from having a sense of purpose to feeling completely lost in a matter of moments.

How can one video—a single moment in our lives—cause this gigantic ripple effect?

“I need to see the boys one last time.” It’s the only thought I can process.

“I’m sorry, Rylee, but that’s probably not a good idea right now with . . . with everything.”

“Oh.” My plans for them before I took maternity leave are now obsolete; the bond I was building with Auggie will be non-existent when I return.

If I get to return.

The thought hits me harder than anything else. With Teddy still on the line, I drop the phone and run to the bathroom where I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

Within moments I feel Colton’s hands on me: one holding my hair back and the other rubbing up and down the length of my spine in silent reassurance as dry heaves hit me with violent shudders.

“I’m so sorry, Rylee. I know your job and the boys mean the world to you,” he murmurs, as I sit there with my forehead resting on the back of my hand atop the toilet seat.

The first tear slips out; the only show of emotion I allow. I can feel it slide ever so slowly down my cheek. With my eyes closed and the man I love behind me, I allow myself to consider the endless uncertainty.

Is this all about me? And if so, whoever did this just got exactly what they wanted. To devastate me. To take my heart and soul—my boys—away from me. To hand me a punishment capable of breaking me.

Taking Colton or the baby away from me would be the only thing worse they could do. And that sure as hell isn’t going to happen.

I may be down, but I’m not out.