Chasing Innocence | ✓

25 | significant corroboration

I wake early the next day. Groaning softly, I stretch out my arms and legs before wincing. I'd completely forgotten about my leg or last nights events. It all races back and I wipe my tired eyes.

My phone is buzzing on Sof's side table. I reach for it, noticing her sleeping form as she faces away from me. I feel guilty that I'd taken her bed last night, unsure of how I even got there.

"Hello?"

"Rhea," Davina says, breathlessly. "I need you to come to the firm. Urgently."

I sit up in bed, biting my lip as I move my thigh. "What's wrong?" I frown.

"There's— one second," she takes the phone away from her ear, a rustling sound filling the line as she speaks to someone in the background. "Sorry, Rhea. I have to go. Get here as soon as you can. I'm calling Braxton in too."

"No need," I blurt, before realising my mistake. "I mean... you sound busy, I'll do it."

She thanks me before hanging up and I breathe a sigh of relief. I hadn't told Davina about living with Brax, and I don't think she'd appreciate knowing. It doesn't seem all that professional on my behalf. Plus, I really don't want to explain to her the circumstances of how I ended up here.

I reach for my suitcase under the bed, rifling through the clothes until I find my favourite pair of jeans. I pull them on, aware of Sof as I pad slowly out into the hallway.

The house is quiet. I do a quick scan to see if anyone else is awake, but it doesn't seem to be the case. Instead, I knock lightly on Brax's door.

Drowsily, he rubs his eyes, opening the door a crack. His dark disheveled hair flops into his eyes as his gaze flickers over me.

"Davina called," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "She wants us to come down to the firm. Now."

His eyes scan my casual attire and I feel my skin heating unexpectedly. "Why?" he frowns, clearing his throat.

I shrug. "I don't know, but it sounds important."

He closes the door in my face before reappearing a minute later fully dressed. He's got his keys now, and I follow him out the front door.

"Should we drive sep—"

"Get in," he interrupts.

I don't object, too tired to argue.

We don't talk for the entire ride to the firm. Not a single jab from Brax or a comment from me. I notice how tense he is; the way his shoulders highlight the definition in his muscles. He's worried. So am I.

What could Davina possibly have to say one week out from trial?

We arrive sooner than I thought and I wonder for a moment whether I blocked out Brax's speed with my own thoughts.

We walk side-by-side across the busy road, the looming firm standing before us. The sun blinds me as I take in the expansive windows, wondering if I'll be up there someday, one of these offices mine.

Or whether I'd be sitting in a prison cell, known as the getaway driver.

We take the elevator up in silence. Brax presses the button for Davina's level, not waiting for the man that asks him to hold the door. I bite my tongue.