Kings of Linwood Academy - The Complete Box Set: A Dark High School Romance Series by Callie Rose (sight word books .TXT) 📕

He was so fucking close. I could hear it in his voice. He wants to help—whether because he really does like my mom or because he just hates to see someone get screwed over by Scott Parsons, I don’t know, and I don’t really care. He wants to help. And Mom needs help right now like I needed chemo—it could save her life.

When I needed treatment for my cancer, my mother moved heaven and earth to give it to me. She went into massive, catastrophic debt to give it to me. The same debt that’s made it impossible for her to hire better counsel now.

My jaw sets resolutely as I lift my head, and I look back at my phone, searching for an address before typing out a quick text to River.

ME: I’m guessing Linc told you. It wasn’t his dad. I just left the prison. My mom’s a fucking mess. I’m gonna try one more time to get Judge Hollowell to help. I’ll be back later.

I’m not really in a hurry to go back to River’s house anyway. This has to be the most awkward day of the year to be an unwanted houseguest—so I’m all for anything that keeps me away a little longer.

I flick on the windshield wipers and pull out of the parking lot, driving slowly on the snow-covered streets as I follow the GPS’s bland voice commands that take me toward Judge Hollowell’s house. He said he was at home, and if I don’t try one last time to convince him, I won’t be able to live with myself. He’s teetering on the brink, and since he’s not even the judge on Mom’s case, it’s not like I’m asking him to break the law.

And in person, he won’t be able to hang up on me.

It takes me almost twice as long to get to his house as the map app predicts, because I drive like a grandma on the snowy roads. His place is nice, not quite as ostentatious as the Black family mansion and more modern than the Bettencourt house.

Sliding out of the car, I tromp toward his door, shaking the dusty snow off my shoes as I go. I didn’t own a lot of winter wear when I got here, and I haven’t gotten a good pair of boots yet.

My heart starts hammering hard in my chest as I ring his doorbell, but fuck it, I’m already here. The worst he can do is call the cops on me, and I highly doubt he will.

There’s a good minute and a half before I catch sight of movement through the frosted glass panels that run alongside the door. When Alexander Hollowell opens the door, his brows furrow and then rise in quick succession, as he registers my appearance and realizes who I am in the space of a few seconds.

He’s dressed casually, in a dark blue button down with the sleeves rolled up and charcoal slacks. And he’s not wearing shoes, just dark socks.

A stab of guilt twists in my stomach. He really was just trying to have a relaxing day at home, and here I am, about to bust it up.

But even if this ruins his day, it can’t be as bad as what my mom is going through. I let that thought spur me on as I step forward, speaking more confidently than I feel. “Please, Mr. Hollowell. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but can I please have just five minutes of your time?”

He purses his lips, and for a second, I think he really might be thinking about calling the cops.

Then, finally, I see him crumble. That want to help wins out, and he steps back, opening the door wider to usher me inside.

“You’re a very persistent girl, Harlow. Your mom’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her, sir. That’s why I’m here,” I say breathlessly, stepping into the bright, open foyer before he can change his mind. The inside is as modern as the outside, with large window panes and lots of sleek surfaces.

He nods understandingly, then glances at my feet. “You can leave your shoes on the mat. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“No, thanks.”

I shake my head as I kick off my shoes, laying them on the mat. I don’t know how much time he’s going to spare for me, and I don’t want to waste any of it on chitchat or beverages if I can help it.

“All right. Come on in.”

He gestures for me to follow him as he heads toward the living room—although it’s hard to tell exactly where the foyer ends and the living room begins. The whole place is so open, there’s not a lot of delineation between rooms.

He holds a hand out toward a wide, angular couch, indicating I should take a seat. As I sink down onto it, he sits in a chair nearby, crossing one ankle over his knee.

“Scott Parsons is, to speak bluntly, an incompetent hack,” he says, grimacing as he rubs a hand over his chin. “I’m not sure of all the details of your mom’s case, but why don’t you fill me in a little, and I’ll see if I can find ways for you to… help him help you. She shouldn’t have to micromanage her lawyer, but in his case, it may be necessary.”

I nod, digging through my memories of what Mom has said about Scott. My gaze flicks around the room as I think, taking in the broad floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall and the large fireplace to my left. There’s an elk head mounted above the mantel and a stuffed fox on a sort of pedestal next to the fire. My brows pull together as my gaze bounces between the two animals.

They seem odd and incongruous in this fancy, sleek house. Those two dead animals look like they belong in a hunting lodge or something.

Judge Hollowell notices my expression and turns his head, tracking my gaze. He