Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (4 page)

“How about over there?”

Pulled back to the present, Paris glanced over at the window seat that Weaver had pointed out. “That’s fine,” she muttered. It was actually better than fine – it looked cozy, intimate in a way. This immediately brought to mind the heat of Weaver’s hand on her back earlier as he’d guided her here. She shoved the thought deep inside and focused on her surroundings. The hotel restaurant was busy and didn’t look to be horribly expensive. It also catered to downtown businesses and should offer a decent selection of food.

Not that she was very hungry.

He led the way and took the seat furthest away. She slipped into the closest one.

With a lift of a hand, the waitress came over immediately. As soon as she arrived, he ordered a double burger, fries, and coffee. When the waitress turned to Paris, she shrugged. “I don’t even know what you have here.”

The waitress rattled off the daily special and snagged a menu off a neighboring table. Except when she reached for the menu, the waitress mentioned fish and chips. Paris dropped the menu and said, “I’ll have that, thanks.”

After deciding on one or two pieces, and coleslaw and the fries, the waitress grabbed the menu. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with coffee,” she said, then hurried away.

“Have you eaten here before?” Paris asked. “You seemed to know what to order.”

“I had breakfast here.”

“Oh.” That explained it. Paris hadn’t slept well and had missed breakfast. She’d slipped into the lecture room with a take-out coffee and nothing else. At least she hadn’t had a sugary cookie with it. But she’d been tempted.

Fish and chips weren’t the healthiest of choices either, but she was really hungry and stressed and the afternoon was likely to be worse.

“So how do you see this report working?” she asked. “I’m used to being given a few more parameters than this.”

“Partly why Jenna didn’t give them to us.” He shrugged. “She also knows I’m in grad school, and we often have to come up with a thesis statement and write a report about it.”

Paris sat in quiet contemplation for a moment. “And what are you envisioning with this report then?” And how the hell was it going to help her? She dropped her gaze to the table, her finger aimlessly tracing the diagonal pattern in the tabletop.

“If you tell me why you’re so stuck on the one side of justice or how it has helped or hindered your transformation, then I’ll tell you mine. Our journey from here could be the report.”

Paris sat back against the vinyl bench seat and stared. “And what if that journey is beyond us to make?”

“The journey is the issue, not the end result. As long as we make the attempt, then that is the report.”

Holding back a sneer, she replied, “You don’t seem to feel you have any traveling to do on that pathway.”

He studied her, a surprised look in his gaze. “What makes you say that?”

“Your complete detachment at the concept. It doesn’t make you afraid or worried in any way at the thought of doing something like this.”

Instead of answering, he shifted his cutlery around in front of him.

And she watched, understanding she’d hit a nerve. “We all have something to learn,” she said gently. “Even when we don’t think we do.”

Lifting his head, his eyes shone. “I’m not saying I don’t have anything to learn. I’m just not sure I have anything to learn in this area…”

“Ah. Interesting.”

The waitress arrived, cutting off further speech. Paris watched as he attacked his plate of food with more enthusiasm than necessary. It said much about his state of mind. She smiled and lifted a fry. “See, you do have much to learn in this area.”

He froze, his burger mid air, his gaze dark, defensive. “What I might have to learn doesn’t mean I’m ready or able or indeed willing to do so here.”

“Ditto.”

There was a moment of silence as he chewed and swallowed his food. “So tell me what you think about Justice. And then tell me what you’d like your stance to be.”

How about the fact that she hated the topic? That she hated the concept of there being two sides to the issue. Since when was anything so clear-cut, so black and white. Figures that Jenna would pick up on it. Anything that made Paris feel so strongly was something to explore when it came to therapy. She stared out the window, wondering what to answer.

“I am not sure I have a stance on it, actually. I think the circumstances often determine my view.”

“Explain.”

She shrugged. “I’m not pro-abortion, but if the mother was raped, I could easily understand her not wanting the child.”

“Except it’s not the child’s fault, and it has the right to life.”

“Exactly what I mean.” Now they were getting somewhere. “There are a lot of debates and understanding required for either side. Gray areas.”

He frowned and continued to eat. “Or do you have a specific stance, but on a specific issue.”

Stopping suddenly, she could feel the flags of heat burn through her cheeks. “Maybe. And maybe not,” she snapped. “What about you? What are you so decided on that Jenna thinks you need to learn something different?”

He laughed. “Jenna doesn’t know anything about me.” Then he shut up.

“Did you attend her lectures? Her evening classes?” At his nod, she asked, “Have a special meeting with her about this seminar?”

He nodded again.

A smile spread across her face and she sat back. “Then regardless of what you think she might or might not know about you, I can tell you she understands more than you think.”

Did he see that? She looked for a glimmer of understanding, but when there was only a hooded glance her way, she wasn’t sure she’d gotten through to him. And that damn tiny knowing smile that played at the corner of his lips. What was with that?

“You think I’m wrong, don’t you?”

“Not at all.” He shook his head. “But my situation is different from yours, so my discussion with Jenna would have been slightly different than yours would have been.”

Paris held back her smile. She understood. He thought he was different. Thought he didn’t have the same problems the other participants had. Well, she didn’t have that problem, but her brother sure had. At least until he’d been through one of these seminars.

Weaver, she suspected, would be the same.

“What are you doing at the university?”

He dropped his gaze to the table then hesitated, as if undecided as to what to say. Fair enough, she thought as she absentmindedly took another fry and bit off half of it.

“I’m completing my masters in psychology.”

Oh shit. That couldn’t be good. Then he really did it.

“Jenna was one of my Profs last year,” he said calmly. “I’m going to write a report on her workshop. She says if it’s any good, she’ll help me get it published.”

Paris dropped the rest of her french fry on her plate. Shocked, she said, “You mean this workshop is a school assignment? I’m supposed to be part of some damn study so you can get a professional checkmark?” Now that was too much. Blinking back the sudden moisture in the corner of her eyes, she got up from her chair and walked unsteadily out of the restaurant. Out of the hotel. Too bad she couldn’t walk out of the damn workshop.

*

He shouldn’t have
told her. He’d made a monumental mistake. Why? He knew better. But she’d gotten too close. He’d gotten defensive. Not wanting to believe her. He gazed out the window, deep in thought. The one time he needed to keep his big mouth shut. He cursed under his breath. Of course he knew better. This was a report. A study. One never told the subjects when they were involved, if they needed to give natural responses. Once they had the information of belonging to a study group, they acted differently from a different set of parameters.

Still, she might
not
be in his report. He hadn’t figured out how to target the report yet. And he’d never use names.

Given the little bit he’d seen of Paris, he didn’t think she knew what a parameter was. She appeared to be a ball of insecurity masquerading as something with poise and confidence and failing entirely. Like a five-year-old girl using mommy’s makeup and parading through the house trying to look grown up. Instead, she looked exactly like a little girl who was trying too hard.

Paris was definitely trying too hard.

Still, he’d done something horribly wrong. As he stared out the window, oblivious to the scene on the outside of the glass, he realized there was no help for it. The next step was to go to Jenna and confess.

Crap.

He hated being in the wrong. Hated apologizing. It always made him feel lousy. Something he never quite got over.

He learned from a young age that being wrong meant a good beating. Even now, he had to talk to the adult side of his nature and explain that getting your ass kicked for being wrong was a long time ago. This is what life is all about now. Deal with it.

“I
want a
new partner,” Paris said baldly from the open doorway. If she hadn’t been staring at Jenna so closely, she might have missed seeing the slight headshake before it firmed up.

Jenna lifted her head and gave Paris the sweetest smile.

“No.” Paris entered the room and plunked down on a chair beside her. “No excuses or platitudes about why this pairing is a good idea or anything else. I am no one’s assignment,” she cried out, her voice rising. Then anger bloomed. “And no way am I going into a damn report about my experiences this week.”

A cloud briefly dimmed the joy in Jenna’s face. “I’m not surprised you feel that way,” she said gently. “I would too.”

That made Paris pause. “Then why me?” she asked, her hands curling into fists. “Why would you pair him up with me?”

“Because he needs you,” Jenna said, compassion and understanding in her voice. “And you need him.”

“No way.” Paris shook her head, her long black hair flying everywhere. “I need understanding and tolerance. Patience. Someone to show me the way. To help me take the steps I need to take.” She glared at Jenna. “I don’t need someone who considers himself my superior in all ways. Who thinks he can analyze what makes me tick. Who thinks he knows what’s best for me.”

As Jenna opened her mouth to answer, Paris rolled right over her. “The only person who can know that, the only one who understands my life to that depth to make those types of answers, is me.”

She stood. “I won’t have it. I won’t be in his damn report.”

And she hurried to the door.

“What if I told you,” Jenna called after her, “that writing that report was his lesson?”

Paris hit the brakes at the doorway. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone is here to learn. Everyone here has some major roadblock in their life that they need to move past. How they move past is just as important as making sure that they do get past it. Weaver needs to write this all down. He needs to put it into orderly form. It’s all about control. Detaching from his own world, that he might understand how other people are learning to help themselves.”

“And what will that give him? Except boost his satisfaction of being better than everyone?” Paris asked in a hard voice. “It makes it very hard to like him, you know.”

Jenna smiled a breathtaking smile, as if she’d come to some major realization.

“Of course it does. So why do you think he does it?”

“So no one will like him,” Paris joked. Then as Jenna nodded slowly, she walked across the floor to stand in front of her. “He doesn’t think he’s likable, right?”

That smile rose brighter.

“He figures no one will love him anyway, doesn’t he?” And Paris understood. “So he’s going to push them away before he gets pushed away.”

She collapsed on her chair. “Damn.”

*