But the real kicker is if I get formally charged, I can probably kiss my senior year of football goodbye.
A class-A misdemeanor for simple assault will cost four grand in fines and might get me up to a year in prison.Aggravated assault, however, is a felony, and will cost ten grand and up to twenty years in prison.
My father’s right. I’m really fucking stupid. I don’t know why I wasn’t thinking about the legal ramifications of hitting that douchebag the other night.
This is definitely not the way to win over Coach’s approval or prove to Roxy that I’m a man she can rely on.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Shit. I hope Santos is okay. Roxy is probably worried sick over her father, and then I go and get arrested. Fucking brilliant.
“Do ya still want to wait for your attorney?” Hardy slides the cup of coffee over and pushes a box of donuts toward me. “If you make a statement, you can have some breakfast.”
This guy must also think I’m an idiot. I don’t remind him that it’s my constitutional right to remain silent. “Thank you, sir, but I’ll wait.” My father said he’d come down last night. He’s probably trying to teach me some kind of lesson. I get it. I shouldn’t punch people in the face in the middle of a crowded restaurant.
I’m sitting with my hands folded. Granted, the cuffs restrict my movement, but I’m using it as a reason to hide my scuffed knuckles.
The door opens again, and a guy in an Armani suit strolls in. “William Babcock? I’m Corbin Shaw. Your father hired me to be your attorney.” He turns to Hardy. “A little privacy, please?”
The cop shrugs and shoves half a donut in his mouth before he shuffles off to the other room with his box of snacks.
Shaw tosses a legal pad on the table and takes the seat opposite me. “Anything you say right now is private due to attorney-client privilege. You’re looking at a potential assault charge, but whether it’s a misdemeanor or felony depends on whether you broke the other guy’s nose. Tell me what happened and start at the beginning.”
I’m not sure why I was expecting to see my father, but I’m obviously not thinking clearly. He’s a divorce attorney, so he hired a criminal attorney. That’s some basic law shit I should know growing up in my family.
“Uh, we were on a double date. The other guy, Ezra Thomas, got my girlfriend pregnant.” Shaw stops writing to look at me. “This was before we got together. I knew she was pregnant when we started dating.”
He doesn’t say anything, but based on the expression on his face, he thinks I’m a dumbass for dating Roxy. “Continue.” He jots down notes as I relay the story.
He might claim attorney-client privilege, but since my father is footing the bill, I have to assume Shaw is going to share these details with him, and he is not going to be pleased.
When I’m done, Shaw taps his pen. “We could argue that you were defending your girlfriend from a verbal assault,and—”
The door swings open, and Hardy sighs. “Charges have been dropped. Mr. Thomas says you two were just pulling a prank that went sideways. Says those concussions from playing football made his memory a little foggy, but that’s off the record.” He scratches the back of his head. “You coulda just said it was a prank, you know. Saved us all a lot of time.”
A prank? Why the hell would Ezra Thomas say anything in my defense?
I keep my expression impassive, as does my attorney, who tucks away his notepad.
Hardy gives me a stern look. “You’re lucky the DA loves the Broncos. He’s not willing to press this issue if our quarterback isn’t on board.” He finally smiles. “By the way, great third quarter interception in the championship game. I was rootin’ for ya.”
I clear my throat. “Th-thank you, sir. Appreciate it.”
After Hardy leaves, Shaw leans forward. “I’m going to do a little digging just in case. Because a victim has two years to press formal charges after an altercation, and you don’t want this to bite you in the ass down the road. So don’t say a fucking word about this to anyone, do you understand? No one is your friend right now. You’d be surprised by who will testify against you if this eventually goes to court.”
This shit will hang over my head for two more years? I nod, still recovering from the whiplash of the last few minutes.
“And no more fights. I doubt the next one will be as easy to dismiss.”
About half an hour later, I’m finally released, but there’s no time to celebrate because my father’s waiting for me in the lobby.
My attorney’s reprimand is nothing like the riot act Warren Babcock reads me on the way out of the precinct.
The windshield wiperscan’t come fast enough to clear the rain. They squeak and squish in time with the vein throbbing in my father’s temple.
Waiting for me to get out of his Bentley, he taps a finger against the steering wheel. He just spent the drive back to my apartment tearing me a new asshole.
“I’m not breaking up with her.” He said I had a nut loose for wanting to date a girl who was pregnant with someone else’s baby. I’ll admit it’s not ideal, but I love the bean, regardless of who her dipshit father is. I haven’t mentioned that I told Rox she could name me as the father of the baby on the birth certificate for fear my father might drive me back to jail.
He glances at me sideways. “You have some big post-graduation plans I’m not aware of? Because it looks like your NFL potential is disappearing as we speak. Assuming Santos even lets you play next fall.”
