2. Monroe

CHAPTER 2

MONROE

" M onroe Phillips," the deep voice called out, making me hurry to my feet. The officer was so tall that I had to crane my neck to look up at him once he'd gotten close enough.

The jail cells here in Kalamazoo didn't look like what they did on TV cop shows. It wasn't all bars. This had three walls made of concrete block and the front wall was made of something else… plexiglass, maybe. I didn't know because I never wanted to touch it.

The officer opened the door and stood back. "You've made bail."

Of course I had and I bet the person who'd bailed me out was pissed as hell. "Thank you," I told him, as if he'd been the one to do it.

But I'd been arrested enough times to have learned that the nicer you were to the police who were arresting you, the nicer they'd be to you.

The tall, Latino officer led me out to the area where they'd give me my purse, which had, of course, been thoroughly searched, then I'd be released.

"You know, you could give your dad a break," he said as we walked.

"You know my dad?" Of course he did. Everyone at the police station knew my dad. "Then you know my dads are the reason that you've ever met me."

He chuckled. "That much is true, but you know you can do what you do within the confines of the law."

I shrugged. "Maybe, but that doesn't always get the message across."

He sighed and shook his head then went behind the desk to do whatever it was they did back there. In all the times I'd been arrested, I still didn't know how this worked on their end.

"Here ya go. Good luck."

Yeah. If he knew my dad, he'd know my dad was pissed right now and that I'd need the luck.

The door buzzed for me to walk through and after seven long hours, I was a free woman. Eh. I'd had to wait longer before. Then I saw my dad and the severe look on his face and I kind of wished I could go back into the holding cell.

After putting my purse over my shoulder crossbody style, I approached him.

Dad was dressed for work in a sharp as hell, expensive suit. His brown hair with the brushes of gray at the temples was perfectly coiffed in his normal style. The one that said he was a lawyer and wasn't messing around.

"Hello, Father," I said so much more formally than we normally spoke, but this was our normal when he picked me up from a police station. No. This wasn't the first time.

"Monroe." Then he turned and walked out of the building, fully expecting me to follow. Of course I did because he was my ride home. I hadn't had my car with me last night and even if I had, it would've been impounded or would still be in the parking lot of the bar we had left.

It wasn't until we were in his luxury, black Jaguar with the leather seats that felt like butter that he sighed and looked over at me.

" Again , Monroe? Really?" He sounded more exasperated than angry. After all, he was a very high-powered criminal defense lawyer whose daughter had just gotten arrested… again.

"It was for a good cause."

"The fourth time? The fourth time is for a good cause?" He threw his hands up in the air and let them drop in frustration. "What was it this time, Monroe?"

I took a deep breath then blew it out slowly. "Maybe it wasn't a good cause."

He nodded. "I figured as much, given that I can't think of any actual good cause that would make you throw a brick through someone's car window at two in the morning." This was back to his normal dad voice. "Come on, tell me what happened. You know I can only help you if you tell me everything."

That was true and I normally told my dads everything, anyway. The other three times I'd been arrested had been during protests. They'd raised me to be socially aware and change things when I could. Though after the second arrest, they'd asked me to tone it down a bit, knowing that I wasn't going to do that at all, but this… this was different.

"It wasn't a cause. I got angry."

He closed his eyes slowly then opened them. "We've told you to use your anger in productive ways. That's how we raised you. You're well aware, Monroe, that your actions have consequences and not just for you. You're twenty-one years old, about to graduate from college. You need to—"

I cut him off. "It wasn't just that I got angry. You remember Owen, right?"

He nodded. "The temporary boyfriend whom you weren't in love with and weren't heartbroken over."

I snorted. I'd said those very words to him and Papa so many times to assure them that I didn't need to wallow. We'd dated for two very brief months when I'd realized that he'd paid a lot of attention to every pretty girl we'd come in contact with while ignoring me. That wasn't a heartbreak. He had just been kind of shitty as a potential boyfriend and I wasn't here for that.

"Right. I was out with the girls last night. We were having fun." He'd know I meant my two best friends I'd had since elementary school. Asher and Kiana and I had been inseparable since second grade. Now, we all went to different schools and since it was summer, they were both back in town. Which meant it was time to catch up and have some fun. "Owen was at that bar. I didn't care."

"Mm-hmm." That didn't sound like he believed me, but I let it go.

Not every breakup was a heartbreak.

"Anyway," I said pointedly. "He was there. When we were leaving, we were outside and he was too. But he was harassing an acquaintance of mine who was there with his boyfriend. He was harassing them about being gay. Sure, Owen was drunk, but he was saying shitty things thinking he was funny."

Dad's face softened. "What things?"

I shook my head. "I'd rather not repeat them. But what was I going to do? Fight him? I didn't think it was a good idea, so I grabbed a brick from the alley and smashed his window to get his attention off them and on me." I bit my lips together quickly. "I might have also kicked his car, which resulted in a dent."

Dad rubbed his forehead with his thumb and finger then sighed. "Monroe."

"I know. Not the smartest thing I could've ever done. He just… I saw red," I said. And Dad would know why. He'd heard the stories about what Papa had gone through when he'd first come out. They stuck with me. "There's no way I could stand by and watch that happen."

Dad reached out and wrapped a strong hand over my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. "I know, sweetheart, but you could've been hurt. I need you to think about that before you do these things. I don't know what Papa and I would do if something happened to you."

"I know. I'm sorry that I make you worry, but I couldn't stand by and let that happen."

He sighed, probably because he knew there was no way for him to change my mind about what I'd done. "I'll reach out to the prosecutor. You be ready when I call."

"I will be." Pushing myself up, I wanted to kiss him on the cheek. That usually made him melt a little, though I knew he wasn't really mad at me. He was upset that I lived in a world where I could be hurt. "I'd say I'm sorry," I told him, "but you made me this way."

He chuckled and nodded his head. "I probably did. Or at least I'm half-responsible."

Dad drove me home without any more of a lecture from him. It wouldn't have done any good anyway. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd walked away and not looked back. Worse than that, I never would've been able to look my fathers in the face again.

He pulled into the driveway and told me to get some sleep, but not too much. He was going to see if he could meet with the prosecutor today and he'd want me there for it. I promised I'd just take a cat nap.

Instead of going through my entrance in the garage that led to my apartment, I went into the main house, where I knew Papa was waiting with nervous energy that wouldn't dissipate until he saw me.

Once I'd gotten through the door, something clanged in the kitchen, so I headed that way.

Papa was two years younger than Dad. He was only slightly shorter, but his hair was a medium blond without a trace of gray. Either Papa wasn't as stressed as Dad or blond hair didn't show the gray as easily. I used to think I'd gotten my strawberry-blonde hair—blonde that had been "kissed by a strawberry," Papa used to tell me—from him, but no. That wasn't the case since we weren't biologically linked. It had to have been the donor egg that they'd used. None of it mattered to me, though,

I didn't care if Dad was biologically related to me and Papa wasn't. They were both my dad.

"Hey, Papa," I said as I slid into a seat at the island.

He turned to me and tried to look stern, but that wasn't as natural to him as it was to Dad. "Monroe Phillips. What were you thinking? Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving, actually." Papa turned to start making me breakfast. He had everything out, as if he'd just been waiting for me to get here. That was when I realized Dad had probably sent him a text that we'd been on our way. "And I was thinking I wasn't going to let someone I know get bullied."

As he cooked, I gave him the same rundown of what had happened that I'd given Dad when he'd picked me up. It was better to get it out of the way.

"Monroe. You could've been hurt." He slid the scrambled eggs onto a plate followed by two slices of bacon and a piece of toast.

"I know. I've already gotten the lecture from Dad."

"Well, you'll get it from me too." He leaned his arms on the island across from me as I shoveled a big forkful of eggs into my mouth. "I told you about what I went through because it was part of knowing me. Not to make you feel like you have to put yourself in harm's way to defend someone else."

"Papa, I wasn't in harm's way. I'm pretty sure Owen was too drunk to find me even if he'd wanted to."

"And you?"

I shook my head. He should've known better. I had rules about drinking and he knew it. "I hadn't been drinking at all. It just really pissed me off and I had to do something to get him to leave those guys alone."

Papa nodded. "I get it. I don't like it, but I get it."

"Hey, why aren't you at work?" I asked, to which he scowled.

"You think I'm going to go off and carve tables and make chairs before I know that my daughter is OK?"

"I was fine. You knew where I was and that Dad would be the one to come get me. Plus, I was alone in the holding cell. I even slept for a while."

He groaned. "You're getting far too comfortable being in a police station."

A laugh burst from my chest. They should honestly blame themselves for that. I'd been raised to be socially conscious. Was I perfect? No. But there were closely held beliefs that I'd stand up for no matter what.

Would that get me hurt one day? Maybe. I didn't think so, but it could. Though sacrifice was part of making a change, I was always careful. And Dad had coached me early on about what to say if I encountered police and what I had to comply with versus what I didn't have to comply with.

The message was mostly to keep my mouth shut until he arrived. As my lawyer, he'd do the talking.

I took four more bites of my breakfast then hopped off the stool to take my plate to the sink.

"Thanks for the food," I told him before pushing up to kiss him on the cheek. It wasn't even much of a stretch this time since he was leaning his elbows on the counter while sipping his coffee. "I'm going to get some more sleep then take a shower."

"It should be the other way around."

I waved over my shoulder and kept walking. He was right. I should've washed the jail cell off of me before climbing into bed, but a shower would wake me up and I wanted to sleep a while longer. This just meant that I'd have to change my sheets when I woke up.

Sleep kept me longer than I'd intended, but it'd been a long night and while I hadn't lied about getting some sleep in the holding cell, it hadn't been restful. At least in my own bed, I was comfortable.

Until the constant dinging of my phone woke me up. For that to happen, I must've already been on my way to waking; otherwise, it was unlikely I'd hear my phone. There were texts from my friends asking if I was OK and from my dad asking me to be home for dinner tonight. I sent him a thumbs-up and then rolled back over in my bed. I'd call Asha an Kiana later.

Eventually, I did get my butt out of my super comfortable bed and dragged it to the shower so that I could get my bedding washed and be over to their house for dinner.

I didn't exactly live with my dads. They had their house and my place would affectionately be called ‘an in-law suite.' It was basically a separate apartment from their house with its own entrance and everything. So they were right there, but I had some independence. I'd chosen a local university with a great Political Science program and could commute, but they also wanted me to be responsible for my own place without having the added pressure, I guess.

I didn't have to pay rent or the utilities. Dad and Papa agreed that I wouldn't be paying that if I'd decided to live in a dorm. They'd pay it as part of my tuition but I had to keep the place up, clean up after myself. All the things I would've had to do anywhere I lived.

The bedding was already washed, dried, and put back on my bed by the time Papa came in with pizza and Dad had joined us. Dad took the pizza to the table while Papa got the plates and I rounded up what everyone wanted to drink.

I liked to have dinner with my dads and did it often, though when school was in session, I didn't always have the time. Eventually, I'd graduate—next year—and move out, but right now, I kind of loved living close to them while also having my own space.

Thought they were clear that there was no rush for me to move even after graduation. Multi-generational houses were normal in other parts of the world and they loved me being close.

"Did you find something out?" I asked once the three of us had sat at the table in the kitchen. There was a formal dining room, but we rarely ever used it.

"I set up a meeting," Dad said. He was still wearing the same suit he'd picked me up in this morning, but now the tie was loose and the top couple of buttons were undone. He'd also lost the jacket somewhere.

"A meeting?" I asked. I'd figured he'd just deal with the whole thing because he had before.

Dad nodded while Papa watched him intently. "We're going to meet Monday morning with the prosecutor and probably Owen to see if we can work out a deal."

"A deal?" This was all new to me. In the past, I'd been booked for protesting and not leaving when I'd been told to. It was basically a ticket that was paid and I got to move on with my life. But this… this was different.

"Yes. Hopefully, Owen will agree to drop the charges if you agree to pay for the damages."

"And probably stay away from him," Papa added.

I groaned. "Staying away from him won't be an issue. I didn't mean to go around him last night. He was just here."

"Whatever the case may be," Dad continued, "you'll have to get a job to pay for the damages."

I nodded, having figured that would be the case. I'd wanted to get a summer job, anyway, but there was zero chance either of them would be all right with me dipping into my college fund to pay for this.

"You're in luck," Papa said as I took a bite of pepperoni pizza. "One of my guys' wife owns a coffee shop. He mentioned they need some summer help."

After swallowing the pizza, I smiled. "Sounds perfect."

Was it my dream to work in a coffee shop? No. But I needed the job and this meant I could start sooner.

"Listen." Dad leaned onto the table with his hands folded in front of him. He and Papa were a lot alike. Both were tall, though Papa had more muscle than Dad because Papa worked with his hands. Personality-wise was where I really meant. They were both calm, collected kind of dudes and neither ever panicked when I got into trouble.

Dad had only yelled at me, I mean really yelled at me, once and that was because he'd been afraid. I'd done something stupid, which had put me in harm's way and that had scared him. Otherwise, the two of them were big on talking things out.

"I need you to find a way not to react with violence in the future," Dad continued.

I nodded. "This was a one-time thing. I promise. It was just…"

He held his hand up. "I understand, but let's make sure it doesn't happen again."

After agreeing, they dropped the subject. Monday morning, I'd find out whether Owen was going to be reasonable or not.

My guess was not, but I wasn't sure how far he'd push this.