“Your honor,” I said, clutching the folder I’d just raced to my table to grab. “If I could—”

“Miss Goodwin, thank you, but I believe I’ve heard enough.”

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel my ribcage reverberating with each thump. It reminded me of hearing Winston play the drums onstage, the sound of The Avowed resonating so that my entire body was buzzing with their music.

I had to focus.

“I’ll deliberate and you will have my decision in the coming weeks. Thank you to both counsel for your spirited arguments. And good day.”

With that statement, Judge Stokingham gathered his papers and swept out of the courtroom, his robes giving the motion a wizardly flourish that made me want to smile. I didn’t, though. Because when I had that thought, the first thing I wanted to do was share it with Winston.

I’d lost him.

It didn’t matter that the whole point of saying I couldn’t give a relationship a go was to preserve the friendship, because I knew that in some way, we’d never be friends at the same level again.

I ached every night with the memory of how much hurt was in his eyes when I left.

I sprawled in my creaky motel bed counting the hairline cracks in the ceiling plaster when I couldn’t sleep, trying to fend off thoughts of Winston.

It never worked.

In the weeks that had passed, he’d texted me wishing me luck in the trial. I’d thanked him. And that was it: our communication, reduced to the kind of thing you’d send a high school friend halfway across the country on her wedding day.

For all I knew, those texts were coming from a robot programmed to wish me luck.

Only, when I thought negative things like that, I nearly burst into tears. Because I knew that no one would program a robot to do something nice for me in that way other than Winston. Not that he knew anything about robotics. Just, the kindness and care for me was all him.

I missed him so damn much.

I was thinking about Winston when Mrs. Carmichael came up to me.

“I can’t thank you enough, Miss Goodwin,” she said, taking my hand in a languorous shake that bordered on slithering. “Truly excellent work.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Carmichael. I appreciate your confidence in me. It’s been a long road, but I think we should get you something better than what their lawyers are proposing.”

I nodded to the other side of the court, where Mr. Carmichael and his mother were chatting, eyes shifting to us every so often as if checking to make sure we weren’t up to something.

Fucking ironic, given that they were the ones manufacturing false evidence and trying to conceal documents from the court. Mr. Carmichael was lucky he hadn’t been charged with something for that alone.

As it stood, I thought there was a good chance Mrs. Carmichael would have sole custody, with Mr. Carmichael given visitation rights for some holidays and periods of time at Mrs. Carmichael’s discretion.

Mrs. Carmichael thanked me again and then wafted away down the hall to her waiting driver. I could hear the smattering of the paparazzi shutters as they tried, in a frenzy, to take pictures of her between the door to the courthouse and her car. Though it was horrible she’d gotten so much media attention for the case, at least it seemed likely she’d win the important things.

That was what counted, not the stress, the indignities of the court system, or the press: her family.

I wished I could shed the feeling that the only person who truly felt like family to me in Los Angeles was hurting because of me.

That I’d thrown away the important things for a chance at a job that, when scrutinized closely, was just another legal job. A career was important, absolutely, but how many things would I sacrifice at the altar of being a lawyer before it wasn’t worth it anymore?

Or maybe I was just feeling that way because I didn’t know yet if I’d get to stay on at EKT. Brad had been my second chair, helping with the research and taking notes during the hearings. He’d also been a great addition to managing Mrs. Carmichael in her most stressful moments.

But did that mean I would win?

* * *

Back at my desk, I stared for far too long into the middle distance, trying to decide whether to text Winston. I longed to tell him that the court session today had gone well. That I thought we’d win. But some deep-seated shame blocked me from reaching for my phone.

In the moments while I sat there hesitating, my office phone rang.

To say it made me jump would be an understatement, because I jolted, gasped, and then laughed at myself out loud from the shock.

“Hello?” I finally answered.

It was O’Donaghy’s gruff voice that responded. “Kaycee, glad you’re back from court. Listen, the partners would like me to see you. Have a minute?”

It was happening.

Whatever it was, it was going to happen today. This afternoon. Now.

I’d walk out of the EKT offices today knowing whether I had a job or whether I’d need to spend the final few months of my contract wrangling any connection I could into helping me find my next position.

The prospect of certainty, however, didn’t help quell my nerves as I strode down the hall to O’Donaghy’s office. It was the other side of the building, and I had to pass many other offices along the way. The eyes that followed me seemed to know something I didn’t. My imagination ran circles around me, convincing me that I was about to be fired.

Still, I kept walking. If I just held my head at a confident angle and walked with a quick pace, I could fool my body into thinking I knew good things.

Maybe that’d be enough.

“Kaycee, hello,” said O’Donaghy when I rounded the corner and knocked at his door. “Come in.”

He gestured for me to take the seat in front of him and I had flashbacks to when Brad joined us at the start of the Carmichael case. I swore to myself that if Brad came along this time, I would stand up and excuse myself.

The indignity would be too much if they wanted to tell us who would be staying on while we were both in the same room.

“Congratulations on your case today, Kaycee,” said O’Donaghy. He stood and I briefly panicked, thinking someone else had come in. But O’Donaghy was actually on his way to the small liquor cart at the side of his office. He poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to me without asking whether I wanted it or not.

I did want it, though.

The insides of my gut were sloshing with nervous excitement. Scotch probably meant good things, right?

Or it could be a pity drink. Get the loser of the two liquored up just enough to make the ache of failure a little less painful.

O’Donaghy swirled the liquid in his glass, contemplating the movement as he held it up to his face.

“The law is a fickle mistress, Kaycee,” he said. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his personification.

“She takes our youth, our energy, even our hope and resilience about humanity at times, and hardens us into bitter, efficient people.”

What the hell do you say to a thing like that? From one of your bosses?

I couldn’t disagree with him, but it seemed like a trap. If I said something negative, he might question my commitment to the job. I settled on a bemused smile, trying to appear knowing and empathetic at the same time.

“Even so, in my opinion it’s the greatest career a person can have.”

Finally, something I could respond to. “I agree, the rewards are worth it.”

It was as if O’Donaghy hadn’t expected me to say anything. He blinked at me, then regained his train of thought and continued.

“We expect a lot of our associates. EKT was founded on principles of extreme dedication, and some of our most valued traditions come from that. It’s not easy deciding which of our many talented young people deserve a place at our table in the long term. I hope you appreciate that, Kaycee.”

I nodded, all of my internal organs now frozen as I sat there, unable to breathe, to move, to blink. I needed to know if I’d gotten it.

I needed to know if my sacrifices were worthless.

Winston’s face flashed in my mind and I bit my lip to fend off tears.

Not in front of a goddamn senior partner, Kaycee.

“We’re happy to extend an offer to you for a permanent position, effective at the end of your current contract.”

A smile just barely managed to crack through my paralysis. There was a drone in my mind, some unholy sound that rang out until I could barely remember where I was.

I was here.

I’d made it.

I eked out a “Thank you, sir, I’m pleased beyond belief,” before I excused myself awkwardly, downing the scotch in an unceremonious gulp and stumbling to the bathroom.

I vomited into a sink, lurching on my court shoes so I just barely managed to avoid splattering the firm’s linoleum flooring. When I was finished, my tear-streaked face reflected back at me in the mirror.

I was pale beyond comprehension, with pinpricks of flushed skin on my neck and chest. There was a glassy sheen to my eyes that made me look eerie.

And I was haunted. The victory I’d just learned of was welcome. Necessary, even. Only now, in the harsh fluorescent light of the EKT bathroom, I saw myself plainly in the mirror and knew I’d lost.

I’d let Winston slip through my fingers in order to get to this point, and now I had no one to tell. No one who would be at home waiting for me, pizza and beers set out and ready to be consumed in a celebratory frenzy.

No one who could smooth my sweaty hair back from my forehead, kiss me gently, and remind me what was really worth living for. I’d been so afraid of not securing the permanent contract that I hadn’t thought of how I’d feel if I did get the job.

Apparently, I’d feel like shit.

* * *

“Hear fucking hear!” yelled Malcolm, raising up a pint glass in his brawny hand. The rest of the group cheersed him, clinking glasses and commenting in a smattering of positive words how great I was, how lucky, how hardworking.

The smile on my face was a painful lie. I knew it was unconvincing, because my friends were looking at me out of the corners of their eyes, and I saw the worry. Concern meant nothing at this point, though. Concern wouldn’t fix my mistakes.

It might even make me feel worse about them.

I chugged half a beer without setting the glass down, and then paused only because a rivulet started streaming down my chin.

“So now that you’ll be the newest permanent associate at EKT, do you get a better office?” asked Tanner.

“I certainly fucking hope so,” said Freddie. “Our girl’s way too accomplished to be stuck in that dank cubicle for the next year. Promise me you’ll bring it up when you go in on Monday?”

I nodded, unsure of what I’d just agreed to. The only thing in my mind was a reverberating echo of the words Winston had said to me when I tore his heart from his broad, warm chest.

When I rejected the only person who had been there for me in the past ten years. Who’d seen me at my worst and not just tolerated it, handled it, but loved it. That was a special feat.

That was the kind of person you were supposed to treasure, not push away.

I cursed the clarity that came from having finished the court dates for Mrs. Carmichael. And with that curse, I drank again.

“Gotta say, Kaycee,” said Cole. “I expected you might be a bit happier about this. Something wrong?”

I resisted the urge to laugh in his face.

“Bit rich, coming from the guy who was basically an emo corpse after winning in his murder trial last time we were all in this bar. I should be the happiest girl in the world right now, right?”

I guess my bitterness had not been sufficiently concealed, because the comment landed like a shattering glass. I’d been aiming for a clever wink and nod, light sass to highlight the fact we were all celebrating me when the rest of my life was chaos.

But it obviously didn’t work.

“Why don’t you guys get us another round?” Freddie said, her tone indicating that refusing was not an option. Cole, Tanner, and Malcolm shuffled out of the booth, their eyes full of concern for me.

I kept my stare focused on my glass, a point in front of me that couldn’t judge. Couldn’t feel sorry. It just sat there, absorbing my own self-hatred.

Freddie turned to me once they were out of earshot. “What’s wrong, K?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of all my shame.

How could I choose the right words to convey it?

There was no way I could make Freddie fully comprehend the pain. Anything I explained was just words, just a shoddy imitation of the turmoil inside of me. Still, I was grateful she was asking.

I sighed. “I fucked everything up.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” she said. “No matter what the judge decides for Carmichael, the senior partners were impressed with you. And you signed the paperwork this afternoon, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not it. Winston.”

I could just barely say his name before my throat tightened to the point where I needed to stop talking. If I didn’t, there would only be tears and wailing from then on.

Recognition flickered on Freddie’s face, and then she shuffled closer to me.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

It felt like the top of my head was tingling, like the sadness in my body flowed from top to bottom, cycling around and around to make its presence known. I sighed, shaking my head slightly in an unsuccessful attempt to clear it.

“You were right,” I said. “He’s hot.”

“No doubt about that,” said Freddie, her voice gentle and low. It was an affirmation, not a lustful statement.

“And I don’t know what I was thinking, something about the breakup or the big case, I just…we slept together.”

Freddie’s eyes widened but she said nothing. She swallowed, and then bit her lip.

“That’s not that bad, K.”

“Hold on, there’s more.”

“Ah.”

We sat in silence for a moment while I fought the urge to cry. I was out in public, in a bar near the office. There was no way I’d let myself melt. Not here.

“We were sleeping together. While I stayed there, you know? And it wasn’t like I thought it meant anything, I just saw him in a new light I guess. It felt good. I wanted him a lot.”

Freddie ran her hand over my back, saying more through the gesture than she could with words. It was comforting in a way I hadn’t expected, and my eyes welled up with tears. Freddie was just a work friend, but I’d forgotten that people could surprise you.

You were wrong to think you had nothing, K. Stop thinking it’s you versus the world, alone.

“Anyway, long story short, we’d dated in high school. Broke up because of Winston’s band getting really famous, my college years, all that jazz. Only I guess Winston still had feelings for me.”

And I ruined it. I ruined him.

The mental picture of Winston in front of me, shirtless and still reverberating with the energy of his drum practice, made my heartbeat speed up.

I didn’t feel that I deserved his love.

“He told me he was in love with me, and I moved out.”

“That’s a hell of a summary, Kaycee,” said Freddie after a period of gazing at me studiously. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lose his friendship like that, risk everything that way. He’s been a rock for me, saving me from myself even. And I had the Carmichael divorce, everything riding on that.”

“So you’re saying you told him you didn’t love him back?”

And then the thin veil keeping me from tears dissipated, and I found myself sitting at a booth in a bar that was playing some crappy Aerosmith song, tears streaming down my face like I might never see Winston again.

But that wasn’t the case. I knew I could reach out to him, that he’d always be there if I needed him.

“Not exactly,” I said.

The gritty, painful truth of my tears was that I had only just realized something when Freddie spoke to me. That I’d pushed Winston away, said no, begged excuses of all sorts, and yet I hadn’t actually told him that I didn’t love him.

Because that wasn’t true.

I did love him. I always had, at least in the way where he was my friend and confidant and partner in all sorts of crimes. Even if we’d never dated, that would have been how I felt about him. But I also loved him in the way that a heart connects with someone, truly fuses with their being, wanting all of it—body, mind, soul.

Every moment since moving out of Winston’s house had been agony, and it wasn’t until I had the thing that I thought I wanted that I realized what I’d actually lost.

“I think I’m in love with him,” I said to Freddie, wiping at my face though it was barely making a dent in the mess.

“I think you are, too, hon,” she said. She kept rubbing my back, passing me a glass of water to help me compose myself while I reeled from that notion.