Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Dash leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I took this case because of you three girls. No one should ever be bullied just because someone else holds power over them. What’s happened is grossly wrong, and I couldn’t let it pass. But it means we’re in for a tough fight. The people behind the harm have a lot to lose. They don’t want us to win.”
I reached for Dash’s hand and held it.
“Your paw agrees with me, and he’s not going to do well if you are given a hard time. We want the best kind of world for you to live in.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Mia said. Fisher followed, chirping her response. Dash looked pointedly at each of them. Probably the sternest look he’d ever given them, until he received a nod from each one down the line.
“All right, go get ready for bed. I’ll be up there in a few minutes to brush your hair, and teeth, and deal with your stinky feet,” I said and received a cacophony of groans and nos.
“Abuela, you do it. Paw hurts when he brushes. You don’t,” Ava explained rapidly.
“Okay, come on,” Amelia said, her warmth and caring nature filled the room. “I’ll do nighttime duties tonight.” She pushed away from the table, getting to her feet. The kids scattered. My grip landed on Fisher’s forearm to keep him here with Dash and me.
“I can tell you’re trying really hard and we’re proud of you. Be proud of yourself too,” Dash said, rising to go to the other side of Fisher’s chair. Our boy didn’t lack confidence. He jumped up, shoes on the seat, obviously knowing Dash was going to give him a hug. Fisher launched up before Dash was ready to catch him, but luckily managed it, squeezing Fisher tightly.
“I’m proud of you too, Daddy. Can you help me protect people the way you do,” Fisher sing-songed, bouncing his head back and forth. What an interesting interpretation of what he saw his dad doing. Then his legs locked around Dash’s waist. “Take me upstairs!” The grip he had on Dash’s fine dress shirt tightened.
“I will but show me how you plan to ignore anything ugly said about any of us.”
Fisher gave an instant angry look.
Dash shook his head no.
It took a moment of thought before his face went passive.
“Good boy. This house and your family are a safe place for you to react.”
“Yes, sir!” His fist charged into the air.
Fisher tried to whistle to gain Duke and Dixie’s attention. This time it worked, Dixie lifted her head. Duke followed. They lumbered to their feet.
“Perhaps it’s time to remove the gates,” Dash said to me, though Fisher, of course took the lead.
“Hunter’s tall enough now. He only falls when I push him.”
Dixie came between my legs for a rub down. The weight of the world seemed to hover over us like a dark cloud, but not inside these walls. I hoped it stayed out, giving Dash the safe place he tried to give to everyone else.
Dash
October 2024
Lately, deafening silence was my constant companion. The drive from my office to home was once filled with tunes from my lifelong love of music. Last summer, I’d begun a deep dive into revisiting the styles of music from the twenties. The 1920s. An era that fascinated me. I believed it was the foundation of the music we knew today. But was it really?
I hadn’t cared about finding the answer since August of last year.
Huh.
The court of public opinion was relentless. A beast that fed on the scraps of truth and spun them into grotesque narratives. My immediate family had become the metaphorical toilet paper stuck to the bottom of a dirty shoe—dragged through the muck, yet still hanging on. Surviving each step of this lawsuit was one thing; watching Richmond Holdings hire the trash, mega-elite promotional company and equally as egregious law firm—known as the bastards of the industry—was quite another.
Of course, my father wouldn’t admit fault. He wouldn’t say, “You caught me. My bad.”
But he also hadn’t made any attempt to quietly negotiate a settlement. Not that we’d accept, but they hadn’t even tried to keep this mess hidden. Instead, their entire battle strategy was to make me into the ultimate villain.
My family, my sweet children, his grandchildren were collateral damage, branded as the unclean filth of my supposed selfishness.
The viral clips were the worst of it. The savagely trolled plaintiffs, their entire lives were turned upside down. And my beautiful husband, Beau. Somehow, he escaped persecution. The public had latched onto his image as the all-American college football-playing, mountain-loving fisherman. His charters were booked solid, even during the off-season. It was as if they’d forgotten he was my husband.
What was I thinking, letting this get to me? Why did my heart hurt every single day? I was a damned good lawyer, how they had wormed their way past my carefully placed walls was a testament of how much I wished things were different. But this wasn’t about me. The abused women deserved better from the system.