Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2) - Alisha Rai Page 0,42
stay in a nearby hotel when they’re not on the property. Eight-hour shifts. You won’t even know they’re there unless you need them.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He could imagine Lorne in her cushy D.C. office, short red hair tousled, freckles standing out on her pale skin. “How are you doing?” she asked.
“Good.” Jas paused. “Heard anything?”
Lorne didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yeah. A reporter contacted me. Said the pardon is basically a done deal. This week, most likely.” Lorne made a disgusted noise. “What I want to know is, if it is so certain, why aren’t the official sources contacting us?”
“I don’t know,” he said, trying to minimize the bitterness spilling over onto the words. Because the official sources don’t care about us. They used us until we were useless and then tossed us out, even while paying lip service to the ideals we were told we served. Jas had been prepared for some people to spurn him and Lorne when they’d accused McGuire. He hadn’t expected McGuire to have way more supporters, powerful supporters, than they did. That the man had been convicted at all was a shocker.
“Well, I’ve put in some calls. You know, I was prepared when we had to testify for McGuire’s parole hearing, for all the good that did. But a pardon?”
Lorne was right. A pardon was egregious, a mockery of the toll it had taken for a bunch of twentysomethings to hold one of their own accountable.
Jas hadn’t expected medals. But when he’d testified in a courtroom, his injury still fresh, he hadn’t expected to be brushed off either. “It was only a matter of time. You know how his parents have been spinning it all these years. Us against a poor soldier who was just trying to do his job.” That had always been the defense. That McGuire had merely been exercising his best judgment and if the country punished soldiers for doing that, then where would it be?
Lorne sighed. “Yeah, I know. Sucks his parents are so well connected, huh?”
That’s how life works. He clutched the phone tighter. “So the news is picking this up, huh?” He’d known that would happen. He shouldn’t be so dismayed.
“For sure. His parents are so powerful. They’ll want everyone to know their unfairly targeted son has been vindicated.” Lorne made a rude noise, and he imagined she was giving her office the middle finger. It had always been her favorite gesture.
It was an apt one right now. He squeezed his phone harder. “Did you tell the reporter you would go on the record with a response?”
“I did. I think we have to get our side out there, too, right?” Lorne’s tone was achingly gentle.
His stomach sank, though he’d been expecting the response. If Lorne voluntarily put her name in the news, he had to back her up. That had been his duty, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to shirk that sense of responsibility.
He thought of spilling his guts to a reporter, as he had in court, and at the parole hearing, only this time in front of a national audience.
He shouldn’t be so worried about it. Sure, his name and picture would be in the paper. Jas wasn’t as untraceable as Katrina, but it wasn’t the kind of story that would inspire people to come looking for him. Lorne was right, for the sake of justice, they had to make a statement.
He’d have to open up that emotional wound, and do it while speaking calmly and concisely. Damn it. “I suppose that’s the right thing to do.”
“You don’t have to do it, Jas.”
“No. I want to,” he lied.
The sound of hooves coming down the dirt road caught his attention. “I have to go. Can you call me when you hear anything more?”
“Absolutely. Hey, I’m going to be on your coast in a couple months. We should get together.”
He thought of how fun it had been to go out with Samson and his friends. “That would be nice,” he said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it.
Lorne sounded a little less grim. “Take care of yourself, Jas. Talk soon.”
“You too.” He hung up as Bikram came into view. Jas had already given Lorne’s company the photos of everyone who might drop by, including his whole family.
He stuffed his thoughts and feelings about the pardon and McGuire and his service into a box, tied an anchor around that box, and shoved it into the deep dark hole of his soul. As one does.