“And before you sit there and start thinking that a judge wouldn’t give you hard time for your first real offense, think again.”
How in the hell did Ben know what I was thinking? “Fuck that. I’m as clean-cut as they come besides the shit we all did as kids.”
“You mean as clean-cut as rockers come, right? Because let’s face it, the Abercrombie & Fitch look works in your favor, but you still have a documented press record of being the hotheaded rebel: club fights, paparazzi run-ins, a penchant for fast cars….”
“And your point is what? Being hotheaded and being a fucking drug dealer are two different things, right?” Vince speaks up and shifts forward so his elbows rest on his knees. The guy would go to bat for me in a goddamn football game if I asked him to.
But of course so would Ben. At least my back is covered from all angles.
Then his comment about prison hits me again and I shudder at the thought of who else might want my back if I was to be convicted. Fuck me.
I blow out a frustrated breath and close my eyes, knowing I’m going to piss somebody off regardless of the decision I make. It sucks when doing what’s right and what is required of you are two completely different things.
So let’s add a few more people to disappoint to my list. Save Hunter and then possibly my mom and keep my promise, or let him sink, lose my integrity, but make everyone else happy?
But what makes me happy? None of the fucking above.
“True, but a judge would just love to make an example of that pretty face and your public status. The women screaming they want to have your babies may boost that ego of yours but they aren’t going to do you an ounce of good influencing a judge on the length of your sentence.”
Vince snorts beside me. “I wouldn’t put it past his fangirls…. I’m sure a few would offer the judge their blow job services in order to save this asshole. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Meet me in my chambers,’ right?”
I roll my head against the back of the chair to glare at him but he ignores me. And I know he’s pissed, know he’s fed up with Hunter’s bullshit affecting me and in turn the band.
So I stare back at the ceiling, head and heart in conflict but only because I know this is wrong, that I’m just as guilty for enabling Hunter. Know that when I tell myself this is the last time I’m going to save his ass at the expense of mine that I have to really follow through.
Blood is thicker than water but you can still drown in it all the same.
I lift my head up and look at Ben again. “What are my options?” I refuse to talk about whether it was really me or not again for the umpteenth time. Subject’s dead.
Ben twists his lips as he looks at me with confused disbelief over why I’m standing my ground but he shouldn’t be, he knows my history. “Man …” He sighs in resignation. “I wish you’d reconsider, but I knew you weren’t going to, so I spoke to some associates of mine who know the judge on your case and well … and there is a possibility …”
“A possibility? Dude, I need something concrete here,” I tell him, glancing over at Vince, who’s staring at Ben in anticipation of how he’s going to fix the impossible situation.
“Well, the judge is an alumnus of USC and likes to make his status and success known by giving back to the school in unique ways.”
He’s fucking lost me here. What does this have to do with me? “And …?”
“Well, my associates suggested that maybe if you agree to do a seminar about public media and the pressures on the modern-day public persona—”
“A seminar?” I swear to God Ben’s lost his mind. Does he not remember that school was not my strong suit? Shit, I was so busy daydreaming about song lyrics and escaping into their notes, I never paid attention. Well, unless she had a short skirt, a tight top, and an appreciation for the backseat of my car. I sure as fuck paid attention then. “Like teach, lecture, whatever one class?”
“More like twelve classes,” he deadpans and pushes the jar of chocolate across his desk, using my notorious sweet tooth to try to soften the blow.
“Hell no!” I say the same time Vince bursts out laughing hysterically like a goddamn hyena. Did Ben take the blow from evidence and get high? Because hell if he doesn’t sound like it with that suggestion. School was a sour note played on an out-of-tune guitar to me, and now he wants me to teach?
Clearly Ben doesn’t think our laughter is very funny, because he just sits and stares at me until our laughter dies down. He’s just about to speak when the intercom on the desk beeps. “Yes, Jennifer?”
“Mr. Levine’s here to hand deliver the contracts and wants a quick word with you if possible?”
“Tell him I’ll be right there but I only have a minute because I’m with a client,” Ben says as he rises from his chair, holding a hand up to me. “I’ll be right back. It’ll give you time to think this over … and you do need to, Hawke. You’re in some serious shit here. Twelve lectures and you’re in the judge’s good graces, meaning the possibility of a lighter sentence if any at all.” He buttons his suit jacket as he moves from behind the desk toward the door to his office. “Your options are limited: no band and jail time or teach the seminar and finish up the album.”
He puts his hand on the door and turns to meet my eyes again. “Don’t toss the idea. You need this, Hawke. If you’re protecting Hunter to help your mom, what do you really think will happen to her if you’re gone? The one person who’s really looking out for her?” And with that he opens the door and leaves the room as I bite back the expletives I want to hurl at him.