it was said in the heat of the moment.”
“And how is he to know that, Melody? I’ve seen you mad. It’s scary.”
The fake tremble of his last two words arches my lips higher. “You haven’t even scratched the surface of my mood swings yet—”
He stops me mid-sentence by clasping my hands in his and raising them to his mouth. When he kisses the edge of my palms, the pain in my chest weakens. He has a way of healing me even when I don’t realize I’m hurting.
“Give him the file, then come to bed.” A sprinkling of light orange hair falls into his eyes when he slants his head to the side to hide his wickedly immoral grin. It’s straight and perfect but filled with hidden cheekiness. The rumors about redheaded men being the spawns of rascal-like behaviors are true. “We have more important things to discuss than helping an old friend with a debunked case.”
When Julian strays his vibrant blue eyes to the file I brought up to authenticate Brandon’s claims the reports were buried deeper than a standard vehicular murder case, I follow the direction of his gaze. I still recall Marjorie Hawke’s case. I hadn’t commenced my studies in law school yet, but tell me one female who doesn’t get misty-eyed when they hear of a pregnant lady being run down by a drunk driver, killing both her and her unborn child.
Up until twenty minutes ago, I never knew the outcome of Marjorie’s case. I assumed the drunk driver was served a hefty punishment for his crime. I had no clue he was offered a plea bargain by the DA mere weeks before he disappeared. That DA happened to be Brandon’s father, Vincent McGee.
The erroneous mishandling of Marjorie’s case exposes why Brandon is interested in her file, but I’m still wary I am crossing a line by giving Brandon Marjorie’s sealed file. They were locked in a vault so tight, I had to use the head of my department’s credentials to find them. I wasn’t given access to his passcodes for no reason. He trusts me with them, and I’m not willing to lose his trust to help an acquaintance, but since the person asking is Brandon, I don’t know if I can say no.
After a few minutes of silent deliberation, I lock my eyes with Julian’s before nudging my head to my bedroom. “Why don’t you head up? I’ll join you in a minute.”
“I can wait.” His swift reply hides his excitement at being invited to spend the night, and I won’t mention how happy he is that I used my voice to express myself instead of my hands.
“It’s okay. Head up. I won’t be a minute.”
“All right.” When he tucks a strand of dirty-blonde hair behind my ear, I lean into his palm, seeking comfort for what I know will hurt me no matter how hard I try to brush it off as being nothing more than work. This is as personal as it gets for me. I’ll never see Brandon as just an acquaintance. “Don’t be too long.”
When I nod, Julian presses a second kiss to my temple before standing from his crouched position and making his way to the staircase of my loft bedroom. My apartment is barely five hundred square feet in size, but the loft bedroom perched above the living area makes good use of the space. Apartments in New York don’t come cheap, let alone ones close to the office. I’m only renting my apartment since most of my trust fund went toward having cochlear implants inserted into my ears a little over three years ago. They cost more per ear than four years of pre-law study. Were they worth it? I don’t know yet. I never felt disadvantaged being deaf—except that one time.
I snap out of my dreary thoughts when the shower in the attached bathroom of my room switches on. My hearing isn’t as good as a person born without profound hearing loss, and my voice is cringingly deep, but it’s good enough for me to hear my raging heart as much as I can feel it. It is thumping so fast it’s battering my ribs. Something so simple shouldn’t make me so nervous, but it does.
After a stern warning on how my past has no right to affect my future, I divert my focus to the screen of my MacBook Pro. Although the file Brandon is chasing is directly in front of me, it’s the scanned version