Being with Michael: Part 1 (Book Two)

Chapter Fifty Three

Paige gives Michael a slight smile and clears out the lump in her throat. She slowly turns her head back to the steering wheel and rubs her hands against it as she takes in the excitement bubbling up in her stomach. Among the excitement, though, is also a feeling of nervousness for how this night is going to play out.

She clips her seat belt in and rests back against the seat. She feels the form of the gun tucked underneath her tank press into her back. She's not sure how welcoming everyone is going to be tonight, so she decided she isn't going to take any chances. And she's actually surprised Michael didn't notice it before, but she's definitely glad Michael didn't notice it before.

She glances at Michael and he buckles his seat belt, too. Since the Challenger is a sports car, it has a manual transmission, so Paige shifts the clutch from park to first gear. She starts to accelerate and the engine roars as the car moves forward. Michael's holding a tight grip on the door handle as Paige pulls the car back onto the street and begins driving to the race.

Eventually, the sun sets and Paige drives along a four-lane road with empty desert surrounding it. She presses a button on the dash and blue lights illuminate the interior of the car. She smiles and looks at Michael, and he raises his eyebrows and smiles back, impressed once again.

Paige's phone rings and she glances down at it sitting in the cup holder. The call is coming from Tom Mesereau, the family's lawyer in the case to bring criminal charges against the group that caused Paige and Paris' accident.

Paige picks up the phone and continues to drive with her left hand. "Hi Tom, what's going on?" she says into the phone. Instantly, Michael looks over on high alert.

He watches Paige's expression as Tom talks to her through the phone and he notices her body tense up as he speaks.

"Okay, thanks for letting me know, Tom. I really appreciate it. Enjoy the rest of your evening," she says. There's a pause before she hangs up, "Thanks. Bye."

She puts the phone back in the cup holder and looks out onto the road as she drives. Michael asks her cautiously, "What did he say?"

Paige swallows and tells him, "They're pleading not guilty. It's going to trial."

Michael sees Paige's eyes water up and she says, "One of the first things that's going to happen is Paris and I have to testify."

Michael's heart sinks at the news because they were all hoping they wouldn't have to deal with the torture of a trial.

Suddenly, the car swerves as Paige pulls over onto the side of the road and stops the car. She sits there looking forward with her hands on the wheel. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm going to have to see their faces, Michael," she says dispiritedly.

Michael begins to say, "Oh, honey-" Then Paige interupts him by punching the wheel with her hands and almost yelling, "I'm going to have to look them in the fucking eye!"

She starts crying and Michael reaches out to hold her shoulder and try to comfort her. "I'm so sorry, I know exactly how this must feel for you. Look at me, come on, look at me. It's all going to be okay. They're going to be put away for a long time. There's solid evidence against them."

Paige turns her head to look over at Michael. Shrugging and shaking her head, she asks him, "How'd you do it? In 2005?"

Michael rubs his finger across her face trying to dry off the tears. "I almost didn't. But I guess I focused on my kids, what it would be like for them without me there. It scared the hell out of me, but I had no option," he says.

Then he tells her, "You have two options. You can go in there, look them in the eye, and show them that you're still going strong despite their best efforts. Or, you can go in there, not dare to even look at their faces, and show them that their mission in trying to defeat you and our family was successful." He's hoping what he says appeals to Paige's sense of personal strength and independence, knowing that the last thing she wants is someone else winning.