Sidebarred: A Legal Briefs Novella(7)

I push my cart up beside my wife’s. “How we doing?”

She sighs. “Twenty items down—only about a hundred left. And that’s not counting the epic saga of backpack selection.”

I don’t remember needing so much shit when I was in school. It was a good day if I had a pencil in my pocket.

Chelsea lifts her purse and gestures to the box under it. A pregnancy test. “I picked this up for us. It says it can show results five days before my period’s due, so even though I haven’t missed it yet, we can take the test tomorrow morning. Fingers crossed.”

Her eyes dance with hope. With excitement. When Sofia was pregnant with Samuel she experienced morning sickness. A lot. So I squeeze Chelsea’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. The way we’ve been going at it, you’ll be puking your guts out in no time.”

She smiles.

Then her lovely face straightens as she remembers something. “Speaking of which, you should talk to Riley today. You didn’t forget, did you?”

“No, I didn’t forget. Unfortunately.”

With sex and pregnancy at the forefront of our thoughts lately, Chelsea thinks it’s important that we talk to Riley about safe sex.

And by “we” she means f*cking me.

She read somewhere about the positive effect a male relationship has on young girls and she thinks, coming from a guy, the information will have more of an impact.

I get it. It’s just going to be the most awkward, uncomfortable conversation I’ve ever had. And I’ve had some winners, believe me.

Chelsea runs her hand over my chest. “What’s the matter? Big, tough guy like you afraid to talk to a teenage girl?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Afraid? No. Just never thought I’d think of the time I took her to a One Direction concert as the good old days.”

Chelsea laughs. Then walks over when Regan calls her to look at puppy-covered notebooks.

“I’m booored,” Ronan whines from his seat in my cart.

“We’re almost done.”

“This sucks.” He frowns.

“Don’t say ‘sucks,’” I tell him in my best “parental” voice. “It’s not a nice word.”

His devil-cute blue eyes meet mine. “But it does suck.”

I hold back a grin. Because I have a weakness for the pure honesty kids have at his age—before they learn to weigh their words or shadow their opinions.

I rub his head, messing up his thick blond hair. “Yeah, it does.”

****

That afternoon, I bite the bullet and stick my head through Riley’s bedroom door—she’s lying on her bed, phone in hand.

“Hey.”

She plucks an earbud from her ear. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Got a second?”

Her long-lashed eyes narrow. “I didn’t do it.”

Preemptive denial—always suspicious.

“Do what?”

“Whatever you want to talk to me about. It wasn’t me.”

“Noted.” I jerk my head toward the spare bedroom. “Come on.”

She gets up and follows, throwing her brown curly hair up into a messy bun. We walk into the yellow-walled spare bedroom a few doors down the hall, and I close the door behind us. Riley sits on the bed with a half-annoyed sigh—like I’m wasting her precious time. As if there weren’t a hundred other things I’d rather be doing—like getting a root canal without Novocain.

I cross my arms, look at her, and imagine I’m in court, talking to a witness. Calm, cool, and steady—that’s my job. And I’m f*cking good at it.

“So . . . you and Peter . . . how’s that going?”

Her brow wrinkles. “Uh, fine?”

“Six months is a long time in high school years.”

“I guess.”

“Is that like a candy anniversary?”

And now she looks even more weirded out. “What are you talking about, Jake?”

“Okay, here’s the deal—your aunt and I have noticed that you and Peter seem . . . pretty serious. And . . . we want to make sure you’re being safe.”

The last word hangs heavy in the air. Like one of Cousin It’s rancid dog farts.

Riley’s face turns a startling shade of fire-engine red. “Oh my God. Is this really happening?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I know, I know, it’s f*cking awful.” Then I open my eyes and tell her the bare honest truth. “But this is important, Riley.”

Her eyes hit the floor and she breathes out a quiet, “Okay. But I’ve already had the sex talk. Like, years ago, with my mom. I know about being safe.”

And there goes the eye roll—it was only a matter of time.

I nod. “Knowing isn’t the same as doing. Especially when you’re in high school.” I open the nightstand drawer and pull out the box of condoms inside it. “So, this is always going to be in here. For you to use. No questions asked. Me or your aunt will replace the box as needed—again, no questions asked, Riley.”

Trust me—those are answers I do not want to hear.

“Just to be clear, this isn’t us saying we’re okay with you having sex. This is us being realistic and wanting you to protect yourself . . . if and when you do.”