Page 70 of American Love Story

The frustration made his voice tight, and I could tell that it wasn’t just about one more incident and optics. Easton was struggling with whatever was happening. I wanted to go to him—I did—but I stayed where I was. I could not let this turn into something about me and him. He glanced skyward then, and I wasn’t sure if he was regrouping or he if he just didn’t want to look at me for the next part. “One of the kids started convulsing and ended up passing out. Apparently he has pretty severe asthma but didn’t want to reach into his coat pocket to get his inhaler.”

Because he was afraid he’d get shot.

“He blacked out.” Easton’s tired exhale said it all. And to think only ten minutes earlier we were ready to start the day playing in bed. “He’s at Ithaca General, stable. The other two are fine.”

I nodded, because I didn’t have to say what we both knew. That things could’ve been much worse if that kid hadn’t been more scared to reach into his pocket than he was of passing out from an asthma attack. He could’ve ended up dead.

“I’ll deal with this, Patrice,” he offered, his voice pleading.

I ground my teeth together, my hands fist-deep in my coat pocket, hating this shit. Hating, that once again, something I wanted, something I yearned for, was being tarnished by other people’s actions.

“Easton, this is not something you need to resolve to appease me.”

He threw his hands up at my words and tried to move closer, then thought better of it and kept himself on the other side of the couch. “Of course it’s not about appeasing you, Patrice. I fucking know that.” He ran a hand over his face and exhaled before he spoke again. Ruthlessly, I wished he’d say something terrible,something condescending or flippant, so I could retreat and go back to the more familiar place of expecting the worst.

“I don’t do this job to piss off my parents, Patrice. I do it because I believe that I can play a role in seeking justice. I’m not naïve, I understand what it means that that kid risked suffocating to death rather than reach into his pocket. I will address this.”

“Will you address it in the press?”

This time, he was the one grinding his teeth. “That’s not up to me.”

My anger at his answer boiled up and then fizzled out just as fast, because I didn’t want to be doing this right now. I didn’t want to have to turn away from what I’d had just hours ago with Easton because of something that neither of us had done.

It felt so fucking unfair, but he was who he was, and I was who I was, and if I let what I felt for him change that, we’d be over before we really started.

I walked up to him anyway and did the thing that I would’ve never done before Easton Archer came into my life. I compromisedagain.I took his face in my hands and pressed our lips together. He opened up for me like he always did; there was no fight in Easton when we were this close. I licked into his mouth and pressed my fingers into his skin. My hands tightening on him.

Possessive, even when I didn’t want to be. That pull that made me want to forget myself. Always one brush of skin away from igniting.

“I know this is not all up to you,” I said just as much for myself as for him. We pressed our foreheads together, his hands gripping my wrists. We were there for one, two, three breaths, before pulling apart.

“I’ll call you later,” I said, pointing downstairs. “I’m going to go get ready for class. I’ll keep my eye out for any news on the jury. Good luck.”

Easton only nodded, his face subdued and worried, but said nothing and I wondered if like me, he feared that if we started talking about this, it would all come tumbling down.

I walked out of his apartment and took the stairs, my phone still in my pocket. When I drove off to campus a couple of hours later, I responded to the organizers of the peaceful protest in the only way I could.

You can count on me.

It was past four in the afternoon and already getting dark when Ted barged into my office. “The jury’s got a verdict.”

I looked up from my monitor and waved him in as I opened the tab to the local newspaper’s Twitter. They’d been posting updates.

“Looks like the judge is reading the charges.” Ted was now behind my chair reading it, too. His mouth twisted to the side when he saw some of the previous tweets about the latest traffic stop. “The silence is deafening on this,” he muttered, eyes seemingly regretful, and I assumed it was because he knew about Easton and me. But from the time I’d known Ted, I also knew he was not going to take it easy on me just because I was fucking one of the ADAs.

“They think people won’t notice because of the trial. Are you going to help out with the protest tomorrow?”

“Yeah, the director of the Ithaca Justice Project texted me this morning about it.” I was looking at my phone to see if there were any texts from Nesto—he always seemed to know the news before anyone else—when I heard Ted suck his teeth before a pretty astonished, “Holy shit, good for him,” came out of his mouth.

When I looked at the monitor, it was there in black and white.

Court Update: Jury convicts on all counts. Interim DA Easton Archer to run for DA in special election.

“What the fuck?” I said in genuine astonishment.

“You didn’t know about this?” Ted asked in a tone that brooked a very clear “I’m glad I’m not Easton.”

I lifted a shoulder and was about to say something offhanded when I saw a text come through on my phone.