He Abandoned Our Wedding, I Destroyed His Life novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Haverty's

In Boston Audrey meets the club owner being sued, a single dad losing to his nine-year-old, tells him who she is, and hears that Jade kept playing after her 'injury.'

I didn't answer Chris's text.

I put the phone face down on the tray table and watched Rhode Island go by.

On Tuesday I signed my offer letter in my father's office on State Street.

He'd had it drafted for seven years.

He'd only had to change the date.

On Wednesday he sent me to meet the client alone.

"You'll like him," he said. "He argues with everyone, including me."

Haverty's was a red brick building on a corner in the South End, with a green awning and a hand-painted sign from 1968.

Inside it smelled like rubber, sweat and coffee.

The front-desk manager looked up from a crossword.

She was a woman in her fifties with reading glasses on a beaded chain.

She looked like she'd thrown men out of this lobby before.

"You're the lawyer."

"I'm one of them."

"He's on court one. Don't interrupt, he's losing."

Court one had a glass back wall and a little gallery of folding chairs.

On the other side of the glass, a tall man in a gray T-shirt was running himself into the ground.

His opponent came up to his ribs.

The boy had a mop of sandy hair and big glasses strapped to his head with a black sports band.

He hit the ball into the back corner, and it died there.

The man dove for it and missed.

"Ten-four," the boy called. "Dad, you're breathing really loud."

"I'm breathing a normal amount."

"You're breathing like Grandpa on the stairs."

The man laughed so hard he had to put his hands on his knees.

He saw me through the glass and straightened up.

Then he lost the next point while he was looking at me.

"Eleven-four," the boy said. "Game. Who's she?"

The man opened the glass door, wiped his face on his shoulder and held out a hand.

"Finn Haverty. That's Robbie. He's nine, and he's never going to let me forget this."

"Audrey Whitford."

"The daughter." He nodded. "Your dad said you were sharper than him. I said that's not possible. He said wait."

His nose had a bump in it.

His eyes had laugh lines, even though he couldn't be much past thirty-five.

He led me upstairs to an office over the courts.

It was a mess of trophies, invoices, and crayon drawings of squash rackets.

He moved a box of balls off a chair so I could sit.

"Before we start," I said, "there's something you need to know, and then you need to decide whether you still want me on this case."

"Okay."

"Jade Carlisle's lawyer is Chris Abruzzo."

"I know. He sent us a letter with a lot of capital letters in it."

"He was my fiancé. Until Saturday."

Finn looked at me.

"Saturday."

"We were supposed to get married. Ten minutes before the ceremony, Jade hurt her ankle on the roof, and he left with her."

"The same ankle?"

"The right one."

"The same ankle she says my floor ruined in April."

"Yes."

"And she was walking on it Saturday."

"She was dancing on it Saturday night. In heels. I have a video."

Finn didn't say anything for a second.

Then he started laughing.

Not at me.

He laughed the way you do when the universe finally tells you a joke you can follow.

"I'm sorry," he said, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry. That's the worst thing I've ever heard. Was this the first time?"

"The third."

"Third wedding?"

"Same man. Same dress."

He stopped laughing.

"And you showed up to work four days later."

"I'm told it's a family trait."

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is a conflict of interest. I have a personal history with opposing counsel and the plaintiff. Chris will say I'm out for revenge. You'd have to sign a written waiver saying you understand that and want me anyway."

"Do you want revenge?"

I thought about lying, and didn't.

"Some."

"Good." He held out his hand for the waiver. "You've got more reason than anybody to know when she's lying."

He read it all the way through, which most clients never did.

He asked two good questions about the fee.

Then he signed it with a pen that had a dinosaur on top.

"Robbie's," he said. "Don't tell him."

I put the waiver in my bag.

"Can I ask what happens if we lose?"

"Insurance covers a million." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My grandfather opened this place with a loan from a priest. The New York club was my idea. I wanted kids there to have what kids here have."

"And above a million?"

"Then we find out what a building in the South End sells for."

He said it lightly.

His hand had gone flat on the desk.

The office door banged open.

Robbie came in with a racket under his arm and a juice box in his mouth.

"Dad, the desk lady says you owe her a dollar from the bet."

"Robbie, this is Audrey. She's our lawyer for the lady who says she hurt her foot."

Robbie took the straw out of his mouth.

"Which lady?"

"Jade Carlisle," I said.

He frowned behind his glasses.

"That lady? With the white hair and the pink bag?"

"Yes."

"She came to our New York club twice after she hurt her foot. She played."

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