Pierced (Lucian & Lia #1)(55)
“You’re free to go, Lia; that’s what I came to tell you. The judge has called it a day, due to the mess your mother’s testimony created. Brian needs time to deal with the fallout. I’ll give Lucian a call when and if we need to return, but I would hardly expect this case to continue. There is nothing more to be gained from a cross-examination at this point.”
Lia slides from my lap, and I discretely button my suit jacket as I rise behind her. “Thanks, Max, I appreciate you being here today.”
Max takes my proffered hand then claps me on the shoulder. “Of course. I’ll be in touch. Turning to Lia, he says, “I’m sorry again about what happened in there. Just try to put this behind you. As I said, I believe this will be the end.” We leave the courthouse and find Sam waiting at the curb with the car. I open the door, helping Lia inside. Sam, always discrete, climbs in the driver’s seat, giving us privacy. Max motions for me to hang back, so I close the door after telling her I’ll be another minute. “Luc, I’m a little worried about this whole thing. I didn’t want to mention this in front of Lia, but Brian will probably have no choice but to dismiss the case against Lia’s stepfather. I would expect he will be free within a few days.”
“Shit, and now she’s back on his radar again.”
Max nods in agreement. “She testified against him, tried to put him away. I think the mother was trying to get to Lia, but I believe, in the end, she was also scared to go up against him. He probably threatened her. Just tell Lia to be careful. The usual stuff: walk in groups, check the door before opening it, be more aware of her surroundings, maybe have someone stay with her for a few days.”
“She will stay with me.” Max isn’t blind; he knows Lia and I are involved, but he also knows me well enough to realize I don’t have relationships…or haven’t in a long time. He is aware of my past; he has helped me legally deal with much of it. So, the surprise on his face at my statement is understandable and almost comical.
“I didn’t know she was living with you. That’s a big step.” I consider Max more than just my lawyer; he is also a friend. As such, he has been privy to much of my sordid past. He is still dealing with one big aspect of that past. Like Aidan, I know he is beyond surprised to find a woman other than a f*ck-and-roll in my life. He is also friends with Aidan, so there is little doubt he knew of Lia before I spoke with him.
I shift impatiently, ready to end the conversation before it gets too personal. I’m a bit like a science experiment to those who know me. The question always seems to be, ‘how many times will Lucian get knocked down before he gives up?’ No one knows how close that has come to happening in past years. If nothing else, though, I have proven to myself that I’m a survivor…thus far, anyway. “She isn’t officially living with me but does stay over frequently. With this, though, I need to insure her safety, and I can’t do that with her living in her campus apartment.”
I know he’s dying to say more. The lawyer in him wants to play twenty questions. Shit, when did my friends turn into a bunch of nosy old women? Instead, he simply says, “Good idea. So…how are things with…the other situation? Have you been there lately?”
“Couple of weeks back and nothing new. I believe Aidan is going soon. Anyway, I’ve got to get going.” Yeah, we both know I’m just trying to nip this conversation in the bud. How many years has it been since I’ve wanted to sit around and talk about the woman who damn near ruined my life? “Thanks for being here today. We’ll talk soon.” With those words, I join Lia in the car, and Sam pulls away. Lia curls into my side as I settle an arm around her shoulders. “Okay?” She gives me an eager nod, which I know is bullshit, but I don’t call her on it.
“I want you to stay in today and take it easy. I have to go to the office, but I’ll try to be home early. We can have dinner at Leo’s tonight.” I lower my head, running my nose against her ear. “The wine there is sweet…and spicy.” My words hit their mark, and her face flushes as she remembers our last visit there. She has no idea how close I was that evening to f*cking her on the tabletop. Leo, being a lusty Italian, would have probably overlooked the spectacle it would have caused.
She picks up my hand, playing with my fingers in what appears to be a nervous gesture. “Why would a mother hate her child, do you think? I mean…is the hate always there, or does something happen to cause it? Maybe the child cried too much as a baby?”
Here it is; a small window into all the pain I know she is feeling. Reliving her past today was painful; having her own mother completely throw her away is devastating. “Oh, baby, this isn’t on you. There is nothing an innocent child could ever do to deserve a parent like that.” This whole conversation completely guts me, more than Lia could know. This isn’t my first exposure to a situation like hers. I feel just as helpless now as I had the first time I had been faced with the evil a parent can visit upon their own blood.
She continues on as if I haven’t spoken, her voice almost detached as if she’s reading from a paper. “I tried for so many years to make her love me…or even like me. I kept thinking if I could just be perfect, then she would find something to be proud of. It was never enough, though; no matter what I tried, she hated me.
“I remember when I was thirteen; I got a letter from my teacher about a short story I had written. It was going to be published in the school paper. I thought…here it is…this is the moment that finally connects us.” Without interrupting her story, even though it is breaking my f*cking heart, I wipe the tears that track down her cheeks and let her continue. “She was in the kitchen cooking, which was pretty rare. We mostly survived on sandwiches or something microwaved. I ran up behind her, waving the letter, excited to show her. I…guess she hadn’t heard me come in because she jerked in surprise, causing her to dump the entire box of pasta she had in her hand into the boiling water. It…splashed out on her, and she started screaming. She was so…so mad. I backed away, trying to tell her I was sorry. She took the spatula she was holding and hit me with it over and over. While that was happening, do you know what I was thinking?” I don’t answer, knowing she doesn’t really want one. “Why was she cooking pasta with a spatula?” Isn’t that crazy? She is beating me, and all I can think about is what she is using to do it?” A bitter, almost-hysterical laugh escapes her lips. “I mean, did I really have a preference? When she was finished, she picked up the letter that had fallen on the floor, barely looked at it, then threw it in the trash, dumping the ruined food on top of it. That was it…that was the day I stopped caring about her and started just trying to survive her.”