Sidebarred_ A Legal Briefs NoveL - Emma Chase Page 0,3

Great. Cool.

Said no guy ever.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. Just . . . later.” She gives my forearm a squeeze—right over the tattoo with her and all the kids’ names on it—and walks to the table to replenish the eggs.

I sit down at the head of the table, snag a piece of whole-wheat toast, and ask, “What are the plans for today, team?”

Riley pipes up first. “I’m going to Peter’s.”

Peter Wentworth is Riley’s boyfriend of the last six months. He seems like a decent kid—doesn’t piss his pants in my presence, like some of her past suitors. So I give him points for bravery. But . . . he’s just such a fucking dork. A cosplaying, World of Warcraft–obsessed, could-be-an-understudy-for–The Big Bang Theory dork. Even for puppy love, I just don’t think Peter’s good enough for her.

Raymond raises his hand. “I have to go to the library to meet my group to finish a summer project for astronomy.”

Rosaleen goes next. “I have piano.”

Then Rory. “I have baseball practice.”

And Regan. “I have ballet and tap today.”

Then, finally, Ronan, his sandy-blond hair sticking up because no one’s gotten around to brushing it for him. “I got nuffin’.”

I point my finger. “Then you’re with me today, kiddo.”

Chelsea sits down at the other end of the table.

“You’re going to see the Judge?”

I nod. “I’ll take Ronan with me, drop Rory at practice on the way, and pick him up on the way back.”

“Rosaleen can come with me to Regan’s dance class,” Chelsea says. “We’ll make it back home in time for her piano lesson.” She turns to Riley. “And you can drop Raymond off at the library when you go to Peter’s.”

It’s a solid plan. Except—Riley’s a teenager, so she whines, “Come on, the library’s on the other side of town.”

“That’s the thing about cars,” I tell her. “They can travel long distances. It’s amazing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you agreed to help drive the kids around when we agreed to buy you a new Camry instead of a used one. That was the deal, Riley,” Chelsea answers.

Robert and Rachel McQuaid had a sizable life-insurance policy when they died, so even with six kids to care for, money isn’t really an issue for us. The house is paid off, each of the kids has a healthy college fund, and being a founding partner of my own law firm, I do pretty damn well. But—thanks to the advice of my best friend and partner, Brent Mason, who inherited more money than he’ll ever be able to spend—we keep that info from the kids. It’s important for them to have ambition, to set goals for themselves—I don’t want them ever thinking they can waste their lives living off money someone else earned for them.

“Fine.” Riley sighs. She looks at her brother. “How long are you going to be at the library?”

Raymond cleans his Harry Potter–like glasses. “Three or four hours.”

“Okay—text me when you’re ready to be picked up.”

Raymond nods.

And just like that, plain old chaos becomes organized chaos.

This is my life now. And it’s pretty fucking great.

Chapter 2

I crouch down and pull out the weeds around the white marble, then brush away the grass clippings clinging to the etched name.

“Hey, Judge!” Ronan’s baby-sweet voice chirps. He places a pot of forget-me-nots at the base of the headstone proudly. “We got these for you. They’re like the color the sky gets sometimes.”

His round eyes look up at me. “Can I go look at the statues?”

I nod, smiling. “Stay where I can see you. And don’t run on the graves—it’s disrespectful.”

“Got it!” He scampers away, toward the large old crypt in the center of the cemetery.

The Judge passed away six months ago, but it feels like he’s been gone a lot longer. His last year was rough. Advanced Alzheimer’s is a bitch. He stopped speaking, eating, walking. It was almost . . . a relief when he went. Because the real Atticus Faulkner—the man who saved me from prison and from myself—would’ve never wanted to live the way he was living then.

I used to visit him in the nursing home every week. These days I stop by once a month, to let him know I’m still thinking of him, still grateful for all the things he taught me. And . . . because I just miss him.

“Hey, old man. What’s new?”

No, I don’t actually expect an answer. Chelsea’s Catholic, and so are the kids, but I’m . . . nothing. Our wedding