His lawyer approached the bars, a grave expression etched on his face. "Timothy," he began, his voice low and measured, "I managed to secure your release for now. But I won't sugarcoat it—the evidence against you is damning." Timothy's heart sank at the lawyer's words. He nodded grimly, knowing he
The sight of the officers approaching our car filled me with a knot of anxiety, their stern demeanor sending a ripple of unease through me. I glanced at Timothy, my concern mirrored in his eyes as we awaited the impending confrontation. When one of the officers signaled for us to roll down the windo
As I stepped into my apartment, the echoes of the meeting with John Waters still reverberated in my mind. I felt lost, uncertain of what to do about Timothy's situation. The dimly lit living room welcomed me, but I found no solace in its familiarity. I slumped onto the couch, the soft cushions prov
My heart sank. "What do you mean, not playing?" I asked, my voice rising. Timothy appeared unusually subdued. "I'm not being allowed to play," he explained. “Conflict of interest.” "So they’re really going with this little tale, huh? Who told you to step down?" "The coach," Timothy replied. "He t
His invitation caught me off guard, the implications of such a gesture weighed heavily upon me. I found myself at a loss for words. "I... I don't know," I stammered. "Going to Stella’s funeral just seems odd." Timothy nodded understandingly, a flicker of disappointment fleeting across his features
The pulsating lights and echoing chatter of the bar just felt like extra noise. I didn’t want to just numb myself to the issue at hand. I should’ve been staying diligent. "Come on, Evie, try to relax," Aria said, handing me another drink. I attempted to focus on the glass in my hand, but my attent
The car ride to Stella's funeral felt endless, the weight of apprehension hanging heavily in the air. Sitting beside Timothy, I couldn't shake off the sense of unease that had settled within me. He’d taken my hand for reassurance whenever we came to a stoplight, squeezing it every so often. Despite
"Let go of me," I demanded, trying to pry my wrist from Mr. Fitzgerald's firm grip, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. His grip tightened, cutting off my words, and his voice was low and venomous. "You. Stay away from my daughter." The weight of his words hit me like a sledgehamme