Chapter One
Lanie
I stare at my watch for the millionth time. The judge is late, which means that I am late.
Fucking great. I text my sister, Kylie, letting her know that dinner might be off tonight.
My leg bounces as I sit in the waiting room of the judge’s chambers. Judge Maloney is my favorite judge. He’s always fair and has never once been condescending to me because I’m young or a woman.
When he told me that he had a favor to ask of me, I jumped at the chance to repay him for his kindness and mentoring over the years. Years. I grin to myself. At thirty-two, I’m hardly a seasoned attorney yet, but I’m getting there.
My phone buzzes with a text. I look down and groan.
Di: Kyles – call me! URGENT! CRISIS!
Kylie: Seriously? Just wear the pink dress.
C-Dog: Dudes! This is the fucking family chat.
Mothership: Clark! Language!
Dad: Working . . . seriously, do any of my kids work?
C-Dog: Dad – still in school here
Dad: (eye rolling emoji)
Me: Busy. Just call Kylie, for the love of God.
Di: Oops . . . wrong chat . . . sorry peeps
KJ: (laughing emojis)
Me: (eye rolling emoji)
C-Dog: Backless, wear the backless dress
Di: Clark, it’s for a school dance that I’m chaperoning
C-Dog: As I said, backless
Mothership: Black, wear a black dress.
Kylie: Mom – it’s not a funeral.
Mothership: Little black dress
Kylie: Touché, but no
Me: Pink
KJ: No photos? How are we supposed to vote?
Di: This isn’t a democracy
Kylie: Yeah! It’s a cheer-ocracy! LOL!
KJ: Shoot me now!
Di: (two dress photos)
Me: Pink
KJ: Blue
C-Dog: Does the pink have a back?
Mothership: Pink
Dad: Pink
Kylie: Like I said . . . pink. KJ’s vote doesn’t count.
KJ: Excuse me?
Kylie: You told Tabby to wear a bridesmaid dress to a gala. You never wear those dresses again. Everyone knows that! You suck at this game. Give it up, big bro! You are fashionably challenged!
KJ: (middle finger emoji)
“Ms. Moore? He’ll see you now,” the judge’s secretary, Lisa, says. Lisa is one of the great classics of this chamber. She was a secretary when that’s what the position was called. She’s worked for three judges now. She’s almost eighty years old. And she says they’ll have to carry her body out of here. She’s the most organized person that I’ve ever met. She also knows everything about everyone who works at the court. So naturally, I always try to keep on her good side.
Yeah, I might want to be her when I grow up.
I nod to her and walk to the judge’s chambers, opening the heavy wooden door. Nothing, and I mean nothing, prepares me for what I find on the other side.
As the door opens, I see Judge Maloney sitting at his desk. He looks like Benjamin Franklin with shorter hair. His glasses rest on the tip of his nose, and he motions me into the office with a wave of his hand.
I start to step into his office when a movement to my right catches my attention. I’m not easily surprised. I mean, hell, as the survivor of childhood cancer, nothing shakes me up. That’s probably because, in a hopeless attempt for control, I have worked hard to control every aspect of my life that I can. And I have to say that I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it.
Until my eyes lock with Dr. Brix Crane’s eyes. I freeze like a deer in the headlights. My brain might have shut down. I imagine that right now there are little people inside my head running around, throwing papers in the air, and screaming to abandon ship.
I take a deep breath as Brix stands and walks over to me. Brix looks as good, strike that, better than when we first met.
“Lanie, it’s so good to see you again.”
I slowly, and probably only by the good manners beaten into me all my life, raise my hand to his. His hand is warm and strong as he shakes mine. OK, they weren’t beaten, but my mom would have given me her ‘look of death’ had I not immediately greeted him.
“Hello,” I murmur, looking back to Judge Maloney.
“You know each other?” he asks as he looks between us.
Brix turns to him with a warm smile. “Yes, we do, Judge. Lanie’s brother is my sister’s boyfriend.”
“Oh? Is that so? Kent or Clark?”
“Kent,” Brix answers, even though I’m pretty sure the question was directed at me.
“Have a seat, Lanie. I asked Dr. Crane to join us to discuss a most unusual case that I have before me.”
I sit down next to Brix and stare at the Judge. He unfolds his hands and pushes a photo forward on his desk. I lean in to get a better look. It’s a photo of a small boy.
“This is Ashton Nicks. He’s seven years old. He’s a ward of the state. His junkie dad left when he was a baby, and his mother died in a car accident two years ago. There are no surviving relatives who are able to care for him. He had been living in a foster home elsewhere in the county until about two weeks ago, when he was diagnosed with stage two acute lymphoblastic leukemia.”
I suck in a breath because that’s what I had when I was seven years old. I know what he’s going to ask before the words leave his mouth. He looks up at both of us. He’s going to ask for our help.
“This kid—he’s special. I had him moved into Mrs. Collier’s house.” He looks over at Brix. “Mrs. Collier is, in my opinion, one of the best foster parents we have here in the county.”
Brix nods his understanding.
“But I want to make sure we set Ashton up for success. I want to put together a team of specialists that will work together to make sure he gets everything he needs. I don’t want this kid slipping through the cracks of the system. Thus, if you are both amicable to the idea. I’d like to appoint you as his attorney and doctor. I know this case is not either of your specialties, but I also know he needs a team that has compassion and can work together to make sure he’s getting the best care possible.” He gives me a look; I know he wants to divulge my past illness. I nod subtly. My curiosity is piqued when he gives a similar look to Brix, who similarly nods.
Clearing his throat, he speaks. “Ms. Moore had this same type of cancer at the same age. Her pro bono work with some childhood cancer charities makes her, in my opinion, a wonderful advocate for Ashton. She’s also represented several young people in my court. She has what it takes to make sure Ashton doesn’t face any legal issues in getting the best care possible, regardless of his foster care status. And Dr. Crane and I go way back.” My eyes widen. What the hell is he talking about? “Dr. Crane sought emancipation when he was seventeen to qualify for a highly competitive scholarship, which he received. He has a background in pediatric oncology, now that he is back here working at the children’s hospital on a liaison committee of physicians looking at infectious diseases in cancer patients. I know having you both working together to make sure Ashton gets all the treatments he needs will give him the best chance to beat this.”
I’m stunned. I got nothing. I just nod and feel my fingers intertwine on my lap.
The judge pulls a sheet of paper out of a folder and places it in front of me. It’s an agreement to represent Ashton. He then slides a file folder toward me. I know inside I will find all of Ashton’s legal documents neatly labeled, likely by Lisa.