Hardass (Bad Bitch)(72)

“Trent—”

“That’s it, Wash. She’s gone.”

“Fine, she’s fucking gone,” Wash yelled.

If my heart had stopped, it began to beat again, but only like a bird in a cage, flapping its wings too hard against the bars and destroying itself in the process. I backed down the hall and grabbed my shoes, my tears hitting the floor in small, silent splashes.



I sat in my car, for once glad I didn’t get the choice parking enjoyed by the partners. I could stay here for a while and just let the tears fall. No one would see me. Not Mr. Palmer, not Wash. Their conversation was on repeat in my mind. Wash putting his career, his firm’s reputation, ahead of what we might have had together.

I wanted to go home, crawl under my covers, and stay there until I heard Terrell’s key in the lock, but he wouldn’t be home for days. I was alone. My tears came faster at the thought, and I couldn’t cover my sobs anymore. I was the stupid associate who fell for the boss and would pay the price. God, had I not seen enough movies or read enough books about this very thing? I was a living cliché.

Wash’s bright eyes flashed across my mind, his dimples, his messy hair. All of it was a dagger embedded beneath my ribs. I let myself cry, let the hurt out in the small space of my car, surprised the windows didn’t burst from the pressure.

I toyed with blowing the case and driving to Lafayette to see Terrell. No. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let the boys’ club win. I forced myself to dry it up, to sit up straight, to stop being the girl Mr. Palmer had painted me as.

The gaping hurt in my chest wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Only I knew it was there. I flipped down my visor mirror and examined the wreck that was my face. With shaking hands, I reached into my purse and grabbed my makeup bag. Fifteen minutes of work and I looked human again. No more tear streaks, no more smeared mascara. I looked almost like the same person who walked out of my apartment this morning. Only I knew the difference.

I started the car, resolved to see this day through and then start job hunting. I couldn’t think about Wash. I wouldn’t. I drove to the hospital in a mourning haze. The conversation was still stuck on repeat, but this time playing like a dirge. The bright sun rising over the river didn’t seem to notice the darkness that had sucked me down.

I followed the familiar path to the morgue, greeting the man at the front desk and telling him I was there for the autopsy. He waved me through. I took a deep breath and pushed past the first set of doors, the now-familiar smell of death wafting to my nose.

Everything seemed so sterile, so impersonal, but it did nothing to erase the smell of decay. It brought me back to the here and now, to doing my best for my client no matter what was going on in my personal life.

I entered the room with the drain in the floor and found Matt, Toby, and a couple of other troopers standing around. Dr. Snider was scribbling notes on a clipboard, and his assistant was laying out an array of shiny metal instruments. The hum of the fluorescents created an undercurrent of discomfort, though I supposed nothing in the room was designed for anything other than utilitarian purposes.

Dr. Snider stopped writing and straightened up. “I assume you’re with the defense attorney’s office?”

I nodded and played along with the charade. “Yes. Caroline Montreat.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dr. Snider grinned a bit, clearly enjoying our cloak and dagger routine. “Well, looks like everyone is here. We can begin.”

Toby waved me over. “Good to see you again. Maybe one day we can meet under circumstances that don’t involve a dead body.”

I did my best imitation of a smile despite the pit in my stomach. “That would be nice, actually.”

“Where’s Wash?” Matt asked.

“Had another appointment.” I gave him a look over my shoulder. His nose was a mottled blue toward the top, and his eyes had dark half-moon slivers beneath them. Wash had clocked him good. Wash. I pushed the thought of him down, as far down as I could.

“Pussing out on the autopsy and sending the baby lawyer instead?” He sneered. “Figures.”

“The last person I recall pussing out was you on the floor of the courthouse grabbing your nose and crying like a five-year-old,” I snapped.

Toby whistled before holding his fist out. “Damn. Nice one, Caroline.”

I bumped it and turned back toward Dr. Snider.

“Who the hell do you think—”

“If I could get quiet, please, then we’ll begin.” Dr. Snider’s sharp tone cut off Matt’s impending rant.

“Settle down, Matt,” Toby said. “Doc, do your thing.”