Page 52 of American Love Story

“Let’s go.”

The usual Friday crowd of townspeople and students were scattered all over the popular brewery when we walked in. We spotted two stools at the end of the bar and headed over. As we dodged bodies on our way to the empty seats, Patrice leaned over and spoke into my ear.

“How did today end? I saw on my news feed that you guys finished with your witnesses.”

I settled in my seat and looked around to see who was within earshot. A habit of being a small town prosecutor. “It’s going well, there is a lot of evidence,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “The issue will be whether a jury will actually choose to believe that any of what happened was consensual.” I grimaced, thinking about the pile of photographs from the victim’s medical exam after the assault. “It’s not likely.” I lifted a shoulder. “But you never know.”

He dipped his head and I could tell he was thinking hard about something. Before he answered, the bartender came to take our drink orders and distracted us for a moment. When he walked away, Patrice picked up the conversation again, his face serious. “That is a huge amount of pressure on you.”

I ran a hand over my forehead, ready to give an answer along the lines of “well I’m just doing my job” and then thought about the way he’d said it: “is” not “must be.” That distinction rocked me for a moment, because it was not very often that people inmy life acknowledged that the pressure of this job sometimes could be paralyzing. For once, I didn’t try to alleviate the other person’s worry, I just said it.

“Itisa lot of pressure. We’ve worked our asses off, and prepared as much as we possibly can, but the jury ultimately decides. We have good witnesses, and the sheriff’s department did a really good job with the investigation part. So we’ll see.”

He ran his hand over mine before speaking, “I can’t imagine what having so much hanging on me would be like. No matter how I feel about the justice system, it is not an easy job that you have.” He then moved closer and asked in a low voice. “Any news about the sheriff?”

I shook my head and tried not to show the frustration I felt. After the meeting with Day, he’d followed up to let us know he’d “made it clear” to the deputies that they needed to be more careful, but there didn’t seem to be any real sign he was taking things further than that, at least for now.

There was only so much I could tell Patrice anyway, so I just shook my head. “No, not really. I’m sorry.” I meant that sincerely.

I worried that my answer would shift the mood of the evening but Patrice just nodded and ran his hand over mine again. He gave me a tiny smile and when he spoke, his tone was intentionally gentle. “I know this stuff is not all on you. I just want you to know that I’ve worked with some of the groups in town, and people are organizing for whenever it happens again.”

My heart sped up then, worried for him, and once again feeling like we were making a huge mistake with our silence.

“Patrice.” I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say, but he lifted his gaze to mine as if he was also thinking of how to say what was on his mind. I leaned closer, waiting for his answer, when a voice from behind startled me.

“Well, well, well, and here I was worried that I’d have to show my new colleague around. I guess he’s doing just fine.”

I pulled back to see who the voice belonged to, and when I glanced at Patrice, he was barely containing his annoyance. I didn’t blame him; Brad Gunham was a piece of work. We’d known each other since we were kids and had had one very underwhelming date when I was trying and failing to get Patrice out of my system, so I couldn’t exactly pretend I was blanking on who he was.

“Brad.” Patrice’s flat tone made it clear that though they might be colleagues, they were not friends.

While I was still trying to figure out where this was going, Brad leaned in and spoke very close to my ear, completely violating all personal space rules. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, Easton.”

I sat there wondering what exactly this guy thought he was doing. We’d gone on one bad date that ended up in mediocre sex before we went our separate ways. Why he thought he needed to come and talk to me when I was obviously with someone else was a mystery to me, especially given our history. Which I really hoped did not come up tonight.

I leaned further back from him until I was flush against the bar before I spoke. “Brad, I’d make introductions, but you know Patrice.” I extended my hand, intentionally ignoring his comment.

When I turned, Patrice was sitting upright and sending a very unfriendly look in his colleague’s direction, then trained his eyes on the spot on my arm Brad was touching.

When he spoke, his voice was a barely restrained growl. “We work together.”

Brad’s smirk was condescending enough to make me want to smack it off. He gave his back to Patrice as he spoke.

“Oh Dr. Denis and I go way back; I was on his hiring committee. There was a lot of talk before we hired him, as there usually is when the department takes a big chance on a candidate.”

Before Patrice could answer, I stood up, grabbing our drinks. I was not going to let Brad get up to his usual shit stirring and ruin the dinner with Patrice that I’d been looking forward to all week.

I glared at him, my tone cold as ice. “I’m sure the pressure was high to make the best offer possible to Patrice, considering all the options he had.” I looked over to the man in question and he was standing with his back against the wall, his face completely closed off. Then I turned back to Brad. “We’re headed to our table, have a good evening.”

I handed Patrice his drink and we started walking. Patrice muttered something that sounded a lot like a curse word and was at the table before I had taken two steps there.

When we sat down, his face showed the frustration that I was sure he’d held back at the bar.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said as I looked over and saw that Brad had already left, probably looking for someone else he could fuck with. “Brad is an ass.”

Patrice looked over in the direction that we’d been sitting, his gaze icy. “Brad thinks he can talk to people however he wants.” He paused then and I could tell he was working on letting go of the annoyance of the last few minutes. He took one breath, then another and lifted both shoulders as if to shed some of the tension there, the whole time his eyes trained on mine.

He opened his mouth to say something, but instead of saying whatever was on his mind, he did something he’d never done. He reached across the table and grabbed my hands possessively. His eyes locked with mine. “What bothers people like Brad is that I don’t take his bait. He wants to get a rise out of me, sowhen I curse him out, he can point at me, say I’m trash, and that I don’t know how to act. He knows I don’t give a fuck about him getting off on talking to me like I’m the help, and that just makeshimlook bad.” It was clear he was not done talking about all the ways Brad pissed him off, and the way he was looking at me made me hold my breath. “But if I see him pawing or talking to you like that again, I’m going to pop him in the mouth. I don’t care what kind of influence he has in the department.”