Sean shifted on the hard metal bench. He rested his head in his hands and ignored the pinch that still lingered from the handcuffs. With a sigh, he raised his head and tugged at the uncomfortable tie that felt more like a noose.

Wearing a suit in a jail cell seemed like a joke. He’d never wondered how the inmates featured on television switched from street clothes to ill-fitting suits, but now he knew. Lawyers. They could make anything happen.

He’d been blackout drunk during the entire thing. Well, mostly. He remembered little glimpses of the arrest, sparks of light and recognition. But he couldn’t trust himself or his head. How much of it had really happened?

The reports his lawyer had gone over with him hadn’t mentioned her, but he knew she’d been there. Harper had appeared like a saving grace, but it had been too late. That had been two weeks ago, and the scent of shame still clung to him tightly.

He remembered being drunk, or getting there at least. It had been all shiny, fuzzy and warm, a safe cocoon that had felt like home. He vaguely remembered the police showing up, but not the finer details. Sean knew he should have felt some kind of fear when they’d appeared, but the whiskey had numbed it all.

It hadn’t been until Harper showed up, that look of horror on her face, that he’d started to come out of the stupor. It had shot him clean through, straight to his heart. He’d tried to force out the right words, to apologize, but he couldn’t be sure he’d managed to say anything at all. And what does she think of you now?

Two weeks. It had been two weeks, and every waking minute since then all he could think about was how sorry he was. When Connor showed up, it had been all business. Sean sure as hell didn’t want to bring her up, and when Connor lightly broached the subject, Sean shut down. It was obvious Connor didn’t want to be there, was embarrassed of his mess of a family and was simply going through the motions. And who could blame him? Their family was wholly fucked up. If one of them were to get out, of course it would be Connor.

He stood up when he heard the boots of the correction officer down the short hall. Even though the suit was his, it felt wrong. It had been expertly tailored, but something had happened in the past fortnight that made Sean feel like his body wasn’t his. He felt like a phony.

“Cavanaugh, you’re up,” the officer said gruffly. Every time the bars of the cell opened with a loud groan, it sounded like a macabre announcement to the world.

His lawyer waited just outside the steel doors. She was one of the best in Los Angeles, but even though she was being paid a princely sum she always shifted restlessly like she was doing Sean a favor. Her name was something exotic, stuffed with sounds that were foreign in Sean’s mouth. He thought of her as T, T for tidy in her little black suit, and just didn’t call her by name aloud.

“Mr. Cavanaugh,” she said stiffly, “this way.” As they walked toward her car, another compact little machine just like her, she rehashed the charges. “ … assaulting an officer and being under the influence …”

Well, he knew that was right. He had punched that cop, but it had been right after Ashton had tried to blame him for the drugs. What the hell had they expected him to do?

“ … and the original crime of being under the influence, and possession with intent to distribute …”

He opened his mouth to argue, but clamped it shut again. That charge was bullshit. It had been almost an ounce of cocaine, that was it. Ashton could have shoved that up his nose in a week, easy. And the prescription Adderall with some random girl’s name on the bottle? He’d never figured out where the hell that had come from. The handful of Valium was a mystery, too. It had to have been some of Ashton’s stash, because Sean never touched that shit. I’m just a drunk, he wanted to yell. Not a fucking pill and blow junkie.

“ … the charge with the theft of Adderall, and using a prescription that isn’t yours, along with possession of a controlled substance …”

Would you just shut the fuck up? But Sean listened, dutifully, as T continued to tick off the charges. She was fed up with him, he could tell. And Sean had started to consider whether maybe the scripts really had been his. Or, more accurately, that he’d stolen them. He’d been so fucked up on fifths of whiskey every day back then, who knew what he’d done? Maybe he had stolen those pills, or even a prescription pad, but he didn’t have a clue.

“So?” T asked impatiently as she maneuvered toward the courthouse. “Have you decided yet? Guilty, not guilty, no contest? This is unprecedented, you know, refusing to give me an answer—”

“I told you,” he said as rage bubbled inside. “I’m innocent of anything having to do with drugs. But everything from the day of the arrest is my fault. The assault, being drunk, all that.” He looked out the window as green parks whipped by. It might be the last time he’d see them.

He saw her purse her lips from the corner of his eye. T glanced at him and something in her face softened. “You’re a first-time offender,” she said softly. “You probably won’t get much time. Unless you want to make trouble.”

“I don’t,” Sean said quickly.

“Okay. Well, stay quiet unless the judge asks you a direct question.” T parked the car in a reserved spot and slapped a small sign onto the dashboard. “The judge is friendly, so hopefully we’ll get good news today. My goal is for less than half of the charges to stick.”

Sean nodded as T led him toward the special entrance for arrested defendants.

He’d imagined a scene like in a movie, a courtroom with rich mahogany wood everywhere and a big, thick desk he’d sit behind with T. It wasn’t like that. Instead, he was ushered into a room that was absolutely filled with people, T by his side. She directed him onto a bench where he was squeezed next to a large blonde woman who smelled of cheap perfume.

The judge, a burly man who looked like he doubled as Santa Claus in December, was already naming a punishment for a girl who looked like she couldn’t be older than eighteen. She hung her head and let the greasy locks hide her face.

“Uh …” he muttered and leaned toward T. She shushed him quickly.

As the bailiff called up the next defendant, this one a slim black man dressed in a suit that looked bespoke, Sean scanned the crowd. Some of them looked like criminals, and hadn’t even bothered to dress up. Others looked like accountants, mothers, yoga instructors and teachers. You never could tell.

He spotted Connor and Sam, though Sam seemed enraptured by the judge. Connor gave him an awkward smile and nod. But there was no sign of Harper. He felt his shoulders sag at the realization. Of course she didn’t come. Why would she? He hadn’t done anything even close to what they’d accused him of, but he couldn’t blame her.

“Sean Cavanaugh.” The bailiff’s deep voice boomed through the courtroom.

T grabbed his arm firmly. It felt like she had the strength to lift him up, even with her thin brown forearms and sky-high heels.

Sean listened to the click of those heels as he followed her to the front of the courtroom. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Connor and Sam again, but he felt all eyes of the courtroom on him. Some were bored as they waited their turn, but others drank him in like they could really use some juicy gossip.

He’d only partially heard the charges of those who came before him. Compared to him, they were lightweights. There were traffic crimes, animal abuse charges, and simple DUIs that just involved alcohol. Sean wondered how many of these people were actually here for a crime, and how many wandered in for the drama. He hadn’t realized that in most cases, these courtrooms were largely open. Just about anyone could sit in as long as they passed security at the door.

As the judge began reading the charges, he heard T’s all-business voice. It was surprisingly soothing, but he couldn’t concentrate on the words. Just keep quiet, that’s what she said to do. That was easy enough.

Still, as he stood before the room with the chipped furniture and the probing eyes, all he could think of was Harper. He couldn’t blame her. And wasn’t that what he’d been afraid of all along? He’d get attached, she’d get attached, and then he’d fuck the whole thing up?

He should have listened to his gut. The whole mess was one self-fulfilling prophecy. He’d tried, he really had, for so long to push her away. He’d warned her, he’d showed her glimpses of who he really was—he couldn’t have shown her the whole thing, that would have scarred her for life.

Behind him, somebody coughed and he heard the phlegm in their throat. Sean turned to see a downtrodden young woman, no older than twenty, with a glint of glee in her eyes. What the hell are you so happy about?

“ … not guilty to the charges of possession with intent to distribute …” T’s voice cut through his thoughts. Not guilty. Who would believe that? It was true, but it was what everyone said.

Still, when he stole a look at the judge, he saw nothing. Just the broad face of a man who looked like he had heard it all.

How did it all get to this point?