Chapter 6 – Riley
“It’s amazing how many military personnel are arrested while serving or shortly thereafter,” Tim explains, handing me a thick binder full of information.
Veterans’ Legal Alliance, Inc., it reads on the front cover, and then: How to represent a service member or veteran charged with a crime in state criminal court.
“I’m not really knowledgeable about…” I begin, but Tim holds up his hand and smiles kindly at me.
“We know you don’t have criminal law experience,” he says, easing my fears. “But since you routinely handle complex commercial litigation and white collar crime- type fraud suits between business partners and the like, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it quickly.”
I look at him skeptically, hoping he’s right.
“These kinds of cases are more difficult in some ways but the basic procedures will be a cakewalk for you,” Tim continues. “And we are here to train you and provide you with all the support and resources you need.”
“‘We’ being…?” I ask, looking around the room and noting the lack of any other lawyers.
I suddenly feel a presence immediately behind my right shoulder and jump, realizing that Mr. Not My Type is standing directly behind me. I’m not sure how long he’s been there. I feel goosebumps spring up all over my body, and it’s not because I’m afraid, or cold.
“Myself, as director of the organization,” Tim continues, “and all other staff and attorneys. I must admit we run a slim ship, which is due to the lack of willing personnel, but those who are available to help are incredibly passionate and talented at what they do.”
“I see,” I say, trying not to blush and hoping that Mr. Not My Type can’t tell what an inexplicably powerful effect his presence has on me.
The inmate clears his throat and says, “Mr. McDonald?” in a polite yet bold tone of voice.
I can literally feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck, as if he had whispered his question right there in public, in one of my most intimate spots.
“Yes, Jensen?” Tim responds, with a smile. “Call me Tim. And this is Riley Morrell. She might be volunteering temporarily with our organization. Riley, this is Jensen Bradford.”
“Hello, Riley,” says Jensen, extending a well-built forearm in my direction.
There’s something about the way he says my name that sounds so foreign and new, as if I’ve never been called it before in my life.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I say, reaching out to meet his grasp.
He shakes my hand like a lumberjack and I wonder how tall he is. Definitely quite tall. But his eyes remain focused on Tim’s.
“Mr. McDonald,” he continues, dropping my hand and leaving it to feel suddenly completely empty. “I’m wondering if Dylan is here? He said he’d talk to me about my arraignment hearing before it starts, and that’s relatively soon.”
“I believe he was held over in court,” Tim answers. “He has a busy docket today. But I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
“All right, thank you sir,” Jensen says. “I’m glad to hear it because I’d really like to talk to him.”
He returns to the table on the far side of the room without so much as glancing back at me, and I feel slighted, even though I have no idea why I want this prisoner to talk to me, as eloquent and polite of a prisoner as he may be.
Sure, he’s tall, athletic, muscular, and gorgeous. But that doesn’t mean I should have an instant crush on him, I remind myself.
I’m in a relationship, even if that fact is so easy to forget these days. After protesting against my choice of pro bono work, Charles didn’t even bat an eye this morning when I told him I was leaving the office and wasn’t sure when I’d be back. Although he had been against me going to the jail in theory, once I’d told him I was going, he seemed not to care one bit.
In fact, I don’t know if he even heard me, even though I’d repeated myself. I have to admit that ours has always been a relationship built on politics and convenience more so than on passion or romance, but lately Charles has become more distant than ever.
I try to focus on Tim’s explanation of the process for representing veterans. But I can’t help sneaking glances at Jensen.
A few times, he meets my gaze and stares back at me unabashedly. It’s enough to cause my heart to race just as fast as when I’m delivering a closing argument in trial.
“Many of our veterans aren’t used to life after the military,” Tim explains. “They’ve been taught different ways of handling conflict than are acceptable in or expected by the rest of society. Sometimes they experience flashbacks or fight-or-flight reactions due to PTSD, either already diagnosed or as yet undiscovered.”
“I see,” I say, nodding my head but wondering how I can represent clients that Tim describes as seeming unpredictable if not dangerous.
I’m really not sure this pro bono gig is for me. I guess Charles will be happy to hear that, if he’s listening when I tell him.
“Much of our work involves educating the judge on the effects of war and the symptoms of PTSD,” Tim continues. “It’s our most common defense and applies to most situations.”
“I see,” I say again, distracted as Jensen— all six feet six inches of him, if I had to guess— stands up and nods towards the doorway.
Someone— I’m assuming the lawyer named Dylan— approaches and shakes his hand. Then they head over to a small lawyer/ client meeting room.
Just before heading into the room, Jensen turns around and winks at me. And I feel like a Disney princess starring on Broadway.
What the hell has gotten into you? I scold myself. You meet a prisoner and you’re suddenly swooning and turning into some air head? Straighten up! Be professional.
“Ms. Morrell?” Tim asks me, his eyebrows furrowed together in concern. “Is your silence an indication that you have to think about it?”
I can only assume he must have asked me if I was ready to sign on as a pro bono lawyer volunteering for the VLA, and I missed the question because I was swooning. I clear my throat and open my mouth, ready to tell him that I’m not sure. It doesn’t really seem like the place for me.
Then I remind myself that I need the relevant military representation experience to satisfy my firm, and so far, no other military organization has even returned my call. And maybe I might get to see Jensen again, even though he already has Dylan as the lawyer assigned to his case. And even though I shouldn’t even be wishing for the opportunity to see him again, since he’s an inmate, and I’m in a relationship.
“Take all the time you need to think about it,” Tim continues, and I’m grateful he’s not rushing me into making a decision right away.
“I understand that right now you just want to volunteer a few hours a week to meet your firm’s pro bono requirements," he says. "But if you find that you enjoy this type of work— which many lawyers who try it out surprisingly do— then there might be room for a new staff attorney, at least part-time, and that’s a position you could be paid for. Granted it’s not nearly as much money as you’re used to but it might be a bit more fulfilling than…”
He trails off, obviously not wanting to offend me, but I know where he was heading. More fulfilling than representing rich old dudes and helping them fight with other rich old dudes about who screwed over whom financially? I want to say.
Instead, I just smile at him, because he’s a nice guy, although a bit misguided. He looks like a hippie from California or Vermont. He clearly got into the legal field due to a desire to help carry out social justice.
He doesn’t have fire-breathing dragons for parents, always standing over his shoulder harping at him about his career choices and salary and opportunities for professional advancement. And he must not need the money that my cushy law firm job provides.
He can afford to follow his dreams. Heck, he can afford to have dreams.
“I’ll think about it, Mr. McDonald,” I say, standing up to shake his hand. “I do appreciate you meeting with me today.”
“I need to speak with a few of the men here now about their cases,” he says. “But I’ve arranged for a guard to escort you out.”
I start to think about how crazy it is that I’m in a place where I need a guard to escort me out. But as I begin to make my way back towards life as I know it, I can’t help having a little bit of a fantasy of being locked in with Jensen.
Since he’s in this place, he probably has a checkered past and a dark soul. I bet he’d know how to rough me up in ways that Charles has never thought of. And I bet I’d enjoy every second of the new and different experience.
Too bad my current circumstances are so set in stone. Because in a different life, I’d love to take a walk on the wild side with the handsome, troubled inmate named Jensen Bradford.