Leather Pants

  “So…you understand that you’ll be here, doing whatever Luci asks, for the next four weeks, excluding weekends?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you know that if you mess this up, you’ll go to jail and miss your concert date.”

  “Yes.” He sighed with a tiny growl to his voice.

  This is shocking. But she’d never felt so pleased to have misjudged a person. “Okay, then. I’ll call next week to check on you.”

  “Can’t wait,” he said blandly.

  “Ha. Ha. And stay away from Juan.”

  He didn’t reply and kept on shoveling, his broad back to her.

  The way his muscles worked and flexed—it was so disturbingly hot. Look away. Look. A. Way.

  “Alrighty, then. Have a nice day, Mr. Young.” She turned to leave and noticed Colton’s little black notebook on the ground. It must’ve fallen from his pocket. “Hey, you dro…” She was about to give it to him, but had another thought. She bent down, picked it up, and slid it into her pocket. “See you later, Mr. Young.” Ha. Now I’ve got your precious little notebook! Whatcha gonna do about that? Huh?

  Later that evening, back at her apartment, Sarah sat at her kitchen bar with her laptop, sorting through her hundred-plus emails. Barb, her clerk, had to reshuffle another day’s worth of hearings and a trial. It would take weeks to get caught up, but that couldn’t be helped, and it was well worth the price now that Colton was on board with his community service. On the other hand, she still felt nervous that he might find some excuse to bail. But what could she do now? Stand next to him and watch him shovel poop? Her presence only angered him.

  I wish I knew why. She instantly remembered his little notebook. He seemed to be using it for more than lyrics, because she recalled him reciting that script from his lawyer regarding the drug charges. And, now that she thought about it, he had gone ballistic when Juan had taken it.

  Would it be wrong to snoop and see if she could find a clue as to why he behaved so strangely? Yes. Absolutely. On the other hand, she merely wanted to ensure he stayed on track.

  She stood from her barstool and went to her small living room—brown couch, shabby-chic-white coffee table made from a reclaimed door, and an old overstuffed chair with faded paisleys—and grabbed her purse from the table. She dug out the little notebook, expecting to see scribbles of words or poetry, but found something altogether different.

  Her heart fell through the floor. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “What is this?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  It took Sarah over an hour to read through the little spiral-bound notebook, and when she finished, she read it again. None of it made any sense. Some pages made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up, some brought tears to her eyes, and others downright confused the hell out of her. But when added all together, the pages painted a picture of a very tortured, very sick man. And, no, she didn’t mean “sick” in the twisted sense of the word. There was something medically wrong with him.

  Was it Alzheimer’s? Or some other illness that impacted his cognitive abilities? Because these were notes to help him remember things.

  Sarah went back to reread the pages marked with the word Warning at the top and couldn’t help covering her mouth.

  Dream or real? Woman has blonde hair and green eyes. She reminds you of second grade teacher. She is always watching.

  Colten had sketched a woman’s face—glasses and short hair—right beside the note. The woman oddly reminded Sarah of her own second grade teacher.

  On the next page Colton had written:

  I dreamed of her again. She planted the drugs. I think she caused my crash. I don’t know what she wants. Or who she is. Like a ghost.

  Five more pages of similar notations pertaining to dreams or things he “remembered today” were carefully written out. Everything was a clue or instruction to himself.

  Then there were other pages that tore out her heart:

  Forget the doctors. I am told I’ve seen everyone. No help. All the money in the world and there’s nothing to be done. Except hope for a miracle.

  The rest of the book seemed to contain notes about pending business, upcoming events, or people—his attorney, Mike, some guy named Bob, and his deceased mother.

  September first is the anniversary of her death. I think she liked sunflowers.

  Sarah even found a small note in the back about her:

  Judge Alma—obsessed with me. Stares at my cock all the time. She’s trouble. Steer clear.

  Really? Really? That was what he found noteworthy about her? Not “Hey, she’s smart and good at her job.” Or “I can tell she cares about making the world a better place.” Nooo…she was Judge Crotch Watcher. It almost made her hate him except she had actually ogled him and she found a bunch of scribbles on the last page that sent a sharp jabbing pain to her heart.

  Beautiful woman at bar Friday night—first time I’ve been able to be with a woman in a year. Why did I leave without getting her name? Who was she? First time I’ve felt happy that I remember. Beautiful smile. Beautiful eyes.

  Colt had sketched her lips and eyes in the middle of his notes. They looked similar in shape to hers.

  So he did remember her. He just didn’t remember her. And he’d noted how she’d made him feel happy.

  So he hates me and likes me? Sarah drew a breath and gazed out the window, trying to puzzle it out. Colt had said something that night about how he would not remember her in the morning, hadn’t he? This was what he’d meant. Not that he didn’t want to remember her, but that he couldn’t.

  Sarah curled up on the couch, hugging the little book to her chest. What happened to you, Colton Young? Or what was happening to him? She would drive over after work tomorrow and try to find out.

  She drifted off to sleep, thinking a thousand different thoughts, but mostly she thought about how alone he sounded and how much that bothered her.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Sarah’s cell phone chirped on her coffee table, jarring her from a horrible nightmare where Colton was being chased by that crazy woman in his notebook. He was covered in blood, carrying a guitar, trying to sing as he ran, but his words kept coming out as screams.

  Sarah reached for her phone and glanced at the caller ID. It was Luci. “Hello?”

  “We had a deal! Now you either get him in line this instant, or I will call the sheriff, who also happens to be my son and will make sure our rude guest is locked up!” Loud crashes and thuds went off in the background.

  Huh? “What’s happening?” Sarah rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand.

  “He is tearing up my house, looking for that silly book! That’s what’s happening.”

  Oh shit. “I’m so sorry. Tell him I have the notebook! Tell him I’m driving over right now.” She hopped from the couch and began looking for her tennis shoes.

  “Why do you have it?”

  “Because I’m an idiot.” Of course, how could she have known about his condition? “Just tell him I’ll be right there!” Next to the front door, Sarah found her shoes and shoved her feet inside, smashing down the heels.

  “Very well,” Luci huffed. “But if he gets anywhere near my china or my cookie spices, I can’t be held responsible.”

  Sarah heard Ms. Luci rustling around and the noise of a door creaking.

  “Where the fuck is it!” Colton’s voice boomed in the background.

  “Sarah is on the phone,” yelled Luci. “She says she has your goddamned notebook, you lunatic! Now put down my lamp or so help me—”

  Crash!

  Sarah winced. There goes the lamp.

  “Who the fuck is Sarah?” Colton roared.

  “Demonios! That lamp belonged to my mother!” Luci snarled.

  “Who the fuck is Sarah?” Colton raged. “Tell her she’d better be here in two minutes or your other lamp gets it.”

  “No! Don’t you dare, young man.” Luci returned to the phone. “Sarah, I’m calling my son—”

/>   “No. Please don’t, Luci. Colton’s not well. Just try to calm him down. Please, I’m begging you. What if he was your son? Wouldn’t you want us to try to help him?”

  Sarah could hear Ms. Luci panting with anger on the other side of the phone, followed by a, “Dios mío. Que pendejadas! Esta gente tan loca.”

  “Just tell him, Luci,” Sarah pleaded, “tell him the woman from Friday night is coming over with his book.”

  Luci repeated and Sarah grabbed her purse and car keys. While she unlocked the door, Sarah heard Colton’s deep voice mumble in the background.

  “Hold on, child. He wishes to speak to you,” said Luci.

  “Is it really you?” said his deep, breathy voice.

  Shit. This is so weird. “Uh, yeah. It’s me.”

  “What did you have on underneath your dress?” he asked, likely wanting to test her.

  Shit. Getting weirder. Sarah made a little cough. “Uh, nothing. Dress was too tight.”

  “It is you,” he whispered in disbelief.

  “Yes. And I have your notebook. I’ll be there as fast as I can—I’m in the city. Just don’t break anything else, okay? Ms. Luci doesn’t fuck around.”

  “Why do you have it?”

  “It’s a long story, but I’ll explain when I get there,” she said, carefully closing the front door so she wouldn’t wake up Maria or her family, who lived on the second floor of the house above the garage. The hundred-year-old house creaked like an old rocking chair. “I’ll be there in forty minutes, okay? And I promise everything will be fine.” A completely empty promise, of course. She had no clue what was wrong with him.

  Sarah finally reached her car, which she’d left parked on the street. “Can you put Luci back on?”

  Without a word, she heard Luci come on. “Hello?”

  “I’m getting in my car. I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Try to keep him calm, okay?”

  “Yes. I will do that.”

  “Thank you, Luci. I owe you one.”

  “Hmph! Don’t you forget it, Your Honor, because I won’t, and I always call in my favors. So far, you’re up to three.”

  Yeah, I bet you’ll call them in, you scrappy little woman.

  Luci ended the call, and Sarah pulled out onto the road. A silver sedan came out of nowhere, driving like a bat out of hell. The car swerved at the last moment and honked its horn in a prolonged fuuuck youuuuuu toot.

  “Motherfucker!” It was three in the morning on a residential street. “Watch where you’re going!”

  Sarah shook her head and began driving north toward the Golden Gate.

  CHAPTER TEN

  At almost four in the morning, Sarah arrived at the Happy Pants Ranch in her pajamas—yoga pants and gray sweatshirt. She put her ear to the front door, relieved not to hear any more screaming.

  On the other hand, maybe Luci killed him. She couldn’t imagine that woman would let anyone get away with breaking her stuff.

  Sarah knocked lightly, and Luci answered with a shockingly bright smile. “Ah, Sarah. We’re in the living room.” Luci wore pink fuzzy slippers and a satin pink robe, looking like she might be going to a girly slumber party.

  Sarah followed her past a large staircase and down a narrow hallway that led to the living room. The room was painted a pale yellow with ruffled white curtains and cream couches. Two dainty teacups sat on the small round table in front of Colton, who looked utterly edible in a plain T-shirt and sweats, his long hair down over his broad shoulders. Sarah tried not to notice how large he looked sitting on Luci’s little couch or how he had the physique of a sex god.

  “We were discussing Colton’s situation,” said Luci, taking the cream-colored armchair across from Colton and gesturing for Sarah to take a seat next to him.

  Sarah lowered herself slowly onto the sofa, afraid to say anything that might set him off. The poor guy seemed like he’d been through enough. “Oh?”

  “Yes,” Luci said. “It seems that Mr. Young experienced his very first panic attack.” She looked at him. “I used to have them all the time after my Jeffrey died and left me with three children to raise.”

  Colton stared at Sarah, his hazel eyes twitching. Sarah tried to pretend she didn’t notice his irritation.

  Luci continued, “But like I told him, the Lord works in mysterious ways. And then sometimes life simply fucks with us,” Luci added sweetly. “Well, I’m sure you two have much to discuss, so I’d better be off to bed. I have a long day tomorrow and those cookies won’t bake themselves.” Luci stood and gave Colton a wink. “Remember what I said, mijo.”

  Colton smiled, and Sarah couldn’t help but gawk. It was the same dimpled smile, brimming with confidence, that he’d given her the other night.

  “I won’t forget, Ms. Luci,” he said. “That is, I will write it down as soon as someone gives me my notebook.” He looked directly at Sarah, and his smile melted away.

  Uh-oh. He’s not happy.

  “Good night, Luci,” said Sarah.

  Luci gave her a little nod and disappeared. From the sound of the creaking above them, her bedroom was on the second floor.

  “So,” Sarah folded her hands neatly in her lap, feeling guilty as hell, “I guess I owe you an apology.”

  “For which part? Taking something that didn’t belong to you or reading my notebook?”

  How’d he know she’d read it? Well, she had, and she wasn’t going to lie. “Yes, to both. I’m so, so sorry, Colton. I didn’t know something was wrong with—”

  “This must all be some sort of joke to you.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “What? God, no. I would never think this is funny. And I would never try to hurt someone with a condition.” She blinked. “What is it anyway?”

  “I do not want your pity, Your Honor.”

  Sarah sighed. “So you do remember me?”

  “Yes,” he said coldly.

  “And do you know why you’re here?” she asked.

  “Luci helped me remember. But what she couldn’t explain was why you would lie and say you’re someone I wrote about in my notebook.”

  While his gorgeous face turned red, her mind stumbled on the fact he remembered her—the judge her.

  “Well?” he pushed.

  All right. This was no time for tiptoeing around the truth. Her only hope was that if she was honest, he might reciprocate.

  Stomach all aflutter, Sarah sucked in a big breath and let it out. “I didn’t lie to you. I am the woman you were with on Friday night. But you don’t recognize me for whatever reason.”

  He cocked a brow. He didn’t believe her.

  “Okay, here.” She reached for her purse. “Look at what you wrote down—”

  “I know what I wrote. I remember it.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did you write it down, then?” This entire thing was very confusing.

  “My brain is fucked up, that’s why. I can remember some things for a while and then they fade away. Sometimes, things disappear immediately. An occasional memory will stick, but I never know when. I write down everything important as insurance.”

  How awful. “What happened to you?”

  “Motorcycle accident about a year ago.” He lifted up the left side of his hair, revealing a shorter patch with a large horizontal scar going right down the middle toward the back of his head.

  “Oh crap.”

  “Yeah. Well, at least they were able to save my hair,” he said facetiously.

  “I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t imagine how hard it was having a sieve for a brain.

  “I don’t need your pity,” he snarled.

  Sarah narrowed her eyes. “You know, I’m allowed to be sympathetic. Stop being so hostile.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? You are a judge. You’re supposed to hold yourself to a certain standard of impartiality, yet since the day we met, you’ve behaved like all the other shallow people I come across.”

  “Shallow?”

  “I remember how you treated me. Wh
at was it you asked me to do? Oh, yeah, take off my pants.”

  “You remember that,” she said shamefully.

  “Yes. And I remember the woman from the club—her laugh, her smile, the way she kissed. I don’t remember her being you.”

  What an oddly flattering insult. “Ah. Well, that’s probably because I was drunk and had on way too much makeup and an extremely slutty dress. But ta-da!” She threw out her arms. “This is the real me.”

  He frowned.

  “Try not to look so excited,” she grumbled.

  He didn’t say anything. Did he have any clue how that made her feel? Awful. Really awful.

  In light of his condition, she decided to take the high road. “Well, I’m sorry I took your notebook. I also shouldn’t have snooped, but I did. And unlike you, I can’t forget.” This poor, poor man. What a crazy thing to live with. “But I’m far more sorry that you have such a huge chip on your shoulder and think I’m incapable of genuinely caring. I only came here because I wanted to offer my help. So here’s your notebook back, and if you feel like changing your attitude…” She reached into her bag for the notebook. Her hand shuffled around, feeling nothing but her wallet, cell, and makeup bag. “Shit.” She glanced at Colton.

  “What?”

  She winced, knowing this was going to get ugly. “I left your notebook at my apartment.”

  His eyes widened.

  “I’m sorry. You were freaking out, breaking Luci’s things, and she was about to have you arrested. It wasn’t intentional.”

  His nostrils flared, his veins popped from his neck, his arms tightened and bulged with tension.

  Sarah held out her hands. “Stay calm, Colton. I promise I’ll get it to you. I’ll drive home, grab it, and—” She looked at her watch, realizing she had to be in court early for a 7:30 a.m. closed session for an eighteen-year-old who’d been charged with theft. Ninety percent of the time, these kids were only being stupid and would learn from their mistakes or they were stealing out of necessity—food, clothes, whatever they weren’t getting from neglectful parents. She couldn’t miss it. Then she had a pretrial hearing for a “third time is a charm” rapist. The defendant’s parents had money and that meant his lawyer was exceptionally devoted to using tactics to get the guy free. She couldn’t risk the attorney filing for dismissal for failure to provide due process or something horrible like that.