False Start: A Football Romance (10 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Callum

Ten minutes.

I just need ten minutes to grab some clothes and a few other things like deodorant. Yeah, deodorant would be great.

I hate to leave the hospital, even if it is just for ten minutes. Even if Amelia has all but tossed me out of there. She can’t have me thrown out of the whole hospital, so I plan to wait in the lobby or the waiting room until she needs me, which she will.

She always does.

I wish she didn’t try to be so strong.

I wish she would just let me be there for her from the beginning, but she won’t, and I know this. After five years of loving her, there isn’t much I don’t know about her.

The doorbell chimes through the house, and I think about ignoring it, and then in the next second, I wonder if it has something to do with Carson, so I race down the stairs and throw the door open. My heart stops beating when I see the three officers standing on my doorstep.

I can’t breathe.

I don’t know how on Earth I am still standing.

“Mr. Johnson? Can we come in?”

“Is it Carson? Is he okay?”

“Carson? No sir, we are not here for a Carson. Is Griffin Martin present?”

“No. He’s at the hospital with Amelia and Carson.”

“I see. May I?” The lead officer asks, gesturing inside, and I step out of the way, letting them pass.

“What’s going on?”

“We have a search warrant for the premises.”

“A what? Why?”

“It’s all stated here, if you’d like to read over it.”

I take the sealed document from him and tear it open, glancing at the names at the top and then following it down to the body.

“Drugs? We don’t do drugs.”

“No one does, Sir. At least not when the police are at the door.”

I don’t know what else to say, so I sit down on the bar stool and wait while they sift through my house. About fifteen minutes later, two of the officers come back carrying large black bags. They set them at the entrance to the kitchen and nod to the lead officer, who stayed with me.

“Do you want to cooperate now, Mr. Johnson?”

“What the fuck? No. I’ve never seen those bags in my life.”

“I see. Mr. Johnson, you are under arrest.” He continues reading me my rights and places the handcuffs tightly around my wrist before leading me out the door and placing me in the backseat of the squad car. I can’t believe this shit. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I know for a fact that I don’t do drugs, and I haven’t ever had any type of drug in the house.

I need my lawyer.

Now.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Amelia

A knock on the door pulls me from sleep. I wipe my mouth on the edge of the blanket and turn to find three officers standing in the doorway with a nurse.

“I’m sorry, Miss Hart. I asked them to wait, but they insisted.”

My pulse jumps.

Callum.

Please God, no. I can’t lose anyone else right now.

“No, its fine,” I reply, crawling out of the bed and trying my best not to awaken Carson.

“Would you mind stepping out in the hall, Miss Hart?” The tallest officer asks. I read his badge. Carter.

Officer Carter.

I don’t reply, walking on wobbly legs past them all into the hall. I pause outside the door and wait for one of them to give me the news that I know will break me in two.

“Miss Hart, do you currently reside at 1410 Marbury Lane with Callum Johnson and Griffin Martin?”

“Yea—Yes. I do. I just moved in there a few days ago, after I had an accident.”

The cop nods his head like he already knows this and leads straight into his next question.

“And what is your relationship with the gentlemen above?”

“Um . . . Cal, I mean, Callum, and I are a couple . . . sort of. I think. And Griffin is his roommate.”

“How long have you and Mr. Johnson been dating?”

“I’m sorry, but what is the point of this?”

The officer in the back, who up until now has been completely silent, steps up. “Miss Hart, how long have you been selling drugs for Mr. Johnson and Mr. Martin?”

“What?” I squeal. Of all the things I expected to hear them say, this is, by far, the last thing I ever anticipated.

“Drugs, Miss Hart. Specifically, marijuana.”

“I don’t sell drugs. They don’t sell drugs. What are you talking about?”

“Miss Hart.” Officer Carter is speaking again, trying to diffuse the situation, “I know we got you at a bad time and that you have a lot going on, but in situations like this, it is best for you to cooperate with the law as much as possible.”

“Of course. I understand that.”

“Why don’t you come you down to the station in the morning so we can discuss this more in detail?”

“But—”

“Let me rephrase. It would be in your best interest and the best interest of your family for you to come down and speak to us of your own accord tomorrow morning. Here is my card.”

I stand there, frozen, as they disappear one by one down the hall and around the corner, wondering what the hell just happened.

Drugs?

Walking back into the room, I check on Carson and then grab my cellphone. Six missed calls, all from a private number. I dial Callum’s cell and wait, only to be met with his voicemail. Hanging up, I call Griffin’s. Halfway through my call, the private number beeps in. I press
accept
.

“Hello?”

“Please press five to accept a collect call from . . . Callum.” The automated voice speaks over the line, followed by Cal saying his name. I press five and wait for him to come on line.

“Hey, baby, are you there?”

“Cal? What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, sweetie, but I am going to find out.”

“The cops just left here, Cal. They said you and Griff were selling marijuana? They said I was selling drugs!”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Listen, baby, I’ll handle this. I promise. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I won’t let you go down for anything.”

“What about Carson? What about—”

“It’s going to be okay, Amelia. Do you hear me? Carson will still get what he needs. This is just a bump in the road.”

“Okay.”

“Alright. Listen I’ve got to go. I’ll try to call you again in the morning if my lawyer doesn’t have me out by then. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Callum

I pace back and forth in the cell, waiting on my lawyer to show up. It’s been two hours since I spoke to him and an hour and fifty-nine minutes longer than I wanted to have to wait in this filth, waiting to be released. This is the last place I need to be right now. I am supposed to be by Amelia’s side, helping her through this time of need, not adding to the fuckery.

I’d like to wrap my hands around the neck of whoever decided to trump up these bogus ass charges against me and Griff. One good squeeze would feel great right about now. I haven’t even gotten a chance to speak to Griff yet. They booked him in and locked his ass up tight in a cell down the hall as far away from me as they could get him. I guess in their minds, they needed to make sure we didn’t corroborate stories or some shit, but really, I just wanted to know if he had any idea what this shit was about.

Pieces from the last few months keep coming back to me in spurts. Like the ad in the paper with him looking for a roomie and the brief telephone interview. I shake my head, pushing all those thoughts away. I’ve lived with Griffin for almost seven months, and in that time, the only thing he’s kept from me is the fact that he’s gay. Not that I give two fucks.

There is no way he is a drug dealer.

I would have known.

“Johnson.”

My name is called, and I don’t waste any time getting to the gate.

“Step back.”

I take a step back and wait for him to open the gate and usher me through. The clank of metal against metal vibrates through me as the gate slams back closed. I follow the guard to booking, where he hands over my belongings and then points toward the exit door.

The first thing I feel when I step outside is the cool, moist air on my face. It’s got to be close to nine in the morning. The sun is up bright in the sky, already warming the streets of St Louis.

“Mr. Johnson, good to see you again.”

“Mr. Goins.” I nod my head toward him and walk toward the car I can only assume is his. It’s the only Lexus in the lot, and it’s still running. My suspicions are confirmed when he climbs in the driver’s seat. I settle into the passenger seat and relax for the first time in twelve hours.  I feel disgusting. I never got a chance to take a shower last night, so I’m still covered in sweat from yesterday’s game and I stink from being caged in a nasty ass jail cell all night. I need to soak in bleach for about an hour and then scrub my skin with an S.O.S pad and scalding hot water.

Mr. Goins makes a right onto University Boulevard, and for the first time since leaving the jail, I take notice of my surroundings.

“Where are we headed? I need to get to the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson, but that is not possible. I was directed to bring you straight to the stadium and not make any stops along the way.”

“What the fuck? Directed by whom?’

“The team owner and Coach Morris. I don’t know if you realize it or not, but these charges are quite severe, Son. Quite severe indeed.”

“Yea think? Fuck. I need to check on someone at the hospital first.”

“Sorry. No stops.”

Fucking figures. I slam back into the seat and pout like the fucking two-year-old I’m being treated like. This is such total bullshit. I pay my own damn lawyer to bail me out of jail, and he takes orders from someone else? How the fuck does that work?

We pull up to the stadium and Coach meets me outside.

“Listen, I know this rubs you all the wrong ways, but just take it like a man. Say yes, sir and no, sir and make whatever promises you have to make, okay, Son? Your team needs you, and whether you like it or not, you need them.”

I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to be here listening to some cockamamie bullshit speech, but I know he is right. My team does need me, and no matter what, I don’t let the people around me down.

“I’ve got it, coach.”

“That’s my boy,” he says, slapping me on the back.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked in the owner’s office, but it wasn’t him sitting behind a desk surrounded by lawyers. All eyes are on me as I enter, followed by Coach Morris and then Mr. Goins. I’m sorely underdressed, and I see one of the lawyers snicker when he sees my rumpled clothing. It should make me feel unworthy or self-conscious, but instead, his self-righteous attitude only serves to boost my self-esteem. I hate people like that—people who feel the need to laugh and ridicule others because of the clothes they wear or the way they look.

I stand up taller, squaring my shoulders, and make sure every single ounce of my 210 pounds is felt when I enter the room. I meet the gaze of every single person sitting at the table, letting my eyes rest for a few extra seconds on the lawyer who snickered until he squirms in his seat. I may look like complete shit right now, but I don’t carry my power around in the clothes I wear or the car I drive. I am my own powerhouse.

“Mr. Chambers, a pleasure to see you again, although not under these circumstances,” I state, shaking the owner’s hand. No time like the present to dive into this meeting. I have other shit I need to handle today, and the quicker I get this taken care of, the quicker I can get to my priority.

Amelia.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Amelia

I tossed and turned all night long. So much so that eventually, I had to get out of the bed with Carson because I kept waking him up. At that point, I just sat in the chair at the foot of the bed and stared at him, watching his chest rise and fall. I love him so much. I can’t imagine the world without him in it, and yet, that is the world I am looking at if we don’t find a match for him soon.

I’ve said at least a dozen prayers since we got admitted. Prayers that he will be healed. Prayers that God will take me instead. In the end, I know I just have to turn it all over to him and believe HE will take care of it. I have to believe that, because without it, I have nothing.

Standing from the hard leather chair, I stretch my arms high above my head and then bend over to touch my toes, stretching my lower back. Sitting in that damn thing half the night killed my body. I don’t know how people sleep in them.

I walk over to Carson’s bedside and kiss the side of his face. “I’ll be back soon. I love you,” I whisper to him and then I sneak out the door, careful to not wake him. On my way out, I stop by the nurse’s station and let Carla, our nurse, know that I have to run an errand, and that I’ll be back as soon as possible. She knows where I have to go, even though neither of us says it.

“Be careful. I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.”

I'm met at the front desk by two detectives. One is a short little Napoleon-looking guy, and the other is a tall, fat, jolly-looking fart.

I'm scared to death because I have no idea why they would want to talk to me and no clue how any of this works. I mean, why didn’t they just talk to me last night?

They lead me to an office with two desks and three chairs. Napoleon sits on the left and the jolly one almost breaks his chair sitting down. I feel my hands shaking. I try to tuck them between my legs when I sit down to ease it, but it doesn’t help.

They still haven't told me anything.

Napoleon starts it off.

“You’re in a ton of shit, Miss Hart. Pardon my French. We searched the house yesterday and found twenty-three pounds of marijuana.”

“I don’t know anything about that. I don’t do drugs. Test me now. I can prove it.”

“Not every person who sells drugs does them, Miss Hart.”

“Sells drugs? You think I sell drugs?”

“Don’t you?”

“No! I have never. I have a good job and a good—”

“That’s enough, Miss Hart. Listen. We have enough weight and enough evidence to put you away for a very long time. That means bye-bye Carson and bye-bye to that baby on board too. The state will pick them up.”

My mind is racing. I can't go to jail for something that isn't mine and I didn't know about.

Can I?

Napoleon is getting louder and louder. His face is turning red with rage.

“You’re going to tell us everything you know, or this is going to be hell on you.”

“I don’t know anything! I didn’t know there were drugs in the house! I wouldn’t have been there if I had.”

“Stop lying!”

I jump back, afraid of the man in front of me. Police are supposed to protect us and this man is standing over me, screaming at me like I’m some sort of convicted felon. The jolly cop interrupts him, thankfully.

“Calm down, Jon. Let me take over.”

“Listen, Miss. I know this is scary and crazy. You seem like a nice girl who probably just got involved with the wrong crowd. Tell you what. We are gonna help you out. Okay? But for us to help you, you have to help us. You have to give us something to work with.”

“I can’t. I literally know NOTHING.”

Now I've seen enough TV to realize they are playing good cop, bad cop. On TV, it's always bad when they do this. I'm scared to death, I have no idea what they are talking about, and they are acting like I'm going to jail. I tell the jolly, friendly cop again that I have no idea what he's talking about.

“I really would love to help you, but there must be a mistake.”

“I see.”