The Replay (Boys of Richland #3)

6. Cecilia

cecilia

. . .

“My son won’t be tried for rape,” she tells me.

My jaw tightens. “I’m aware,” I tell her. He and the others already got away with what they did to me. Assuming anyone bothered to believe me now, there’s no evidence. I never got a rape kit. I didn’t save the clothes. It’s been almost a year now since the assault, and at this point, it’s just my word against his. I already know how that goes.

“But he did try to kill me, and he was stupid enough to do it on campus where the surveillance cameras caught him.”

She sighs and settles back into her seat. “Yes. I’m aware.”

“He’s going to prison.” There’s no way Austin can talk his way out of it. Not this time.

A muscle in her jaw ticks. “That’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re going to ask me to drop the charges. That’s my answer. No. Austin has spent the better part of a year doing everything he can to ruin my life. That man will get zero sympathy from me. I hope they throw the fucking book at him. He deserves to rot in a cell for what he did.”

When I finish, my chest is heaving. Anger simmers beneath the surface of my skin. Jaymin is quiet for several seconds, and it’s obvious she’s mulling over her response.

“Have you gone to trial before, Ms. Russo? Have you witnessed court proceedings beyond what you’ve seen on television?”

Shaking my head, I keep my eyes cast out the window.

“Allow me to walk you through what comes next.” There’s a haughtiness to her voice, one that says she’s about to teach me a lesson. “Austin may have been arrested, but there will still be an investigation. This can take anywhere from three to four months. After which, the charges will be reevaluated and either confirmed or modified. There will be an initial hearing and plea followed by any pre-trial motions and discovery. This can take another six to nine months.”

The blood drains from my face. Nine months? On top of another three to four?

“Then we will conduct jury selection. This will be another month. The trial itself will take two to three months where you will be expected to testify.”

Nausea rolls in the pit of my stomach.

“It will not be pleasant. For the victims, it never is.

Once the trial is complete, you’ll wait through jury deliberation until a verdict can be met. The decision must be unanimous, and Ms. Russo, I don’t believe you’ll receive the verdict you’re after.”

My breath hitches.

“My son is a very charismatic boy with a bright future ahead of him. Juries don’t like convicting people like him, but,” she shrugs as if to say she doesn’t have a care in the world, “it can happen. This adds another week after which if he is found guilty, he will be sentenced approximately one month later. All of that is to say that you will not see my son behind bars for at least a year, though it can take up to two. And I assure you as both his mother and legal counsel, I will do everything in my power to prevent and delay that fate. If convicted, there will be appeals. You will go through the trial process all over again if necessary.”

No. I ? —

Grinding my teeth together, I manage to force out my question. “What’s the point in telling me all of this?” I knew this wouldn’t be easy. Nothing with Austin is ever easy. But … I didn’t expect all of this. A year? Maybe two ?

Hasn’t Austin taken enough of my life as it is?

“The point is to ensure you have a full understanding of what you are entering into. Despite the evidence, this case will not be swift. It will be time-consuming and exhaustive. You will be forced to relive your trauma for public consumption. There will be media. Your father is a prominent member of the community, and my family is well known and well respected. Every news outlet will want an exclusive and we will give it to them because in the court of public opinion, perception matters. You will be hounded relentlessly. Every mistake you’ve made, every skeleton in your, or your family’s, closet, they will all be brought to light.

The trial will put a strain on both your relationships and your studies, and in the end, it still may not result in a conviction.”

Nausea churns in my gut. I knew all this, but hearing it said out loud … “Wonderful. Thank you for this enlightening conversation.”

“I’d like to save you that experience, Ms. Russo,” Jaymin says. “If you’ll let me.”

I bark out a laugh. “Oh, really? And how is it that you’ll manage that? Because you don’t strike me as the type to just walk away and let your son rot for his crimes.”

She purses her lips. “I’d like for us to discuss a plea deal. One that is mutually beneficial.”

My eyes widen in disbelief. “You want to negotiate his freedom?”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can really register what it is. Anger? Concern? I don’t know.

“There are no winners in a case like this,” she tells me. “Only compromises. If we can come to an agreement, we can both save ourselves months, if not years, of emotional turmoil and stress. I mean this to be a collaboration, Ms. Russo. We can both walk away from today’s conversation with some level of satisfaction.”

I highly doubt that.

“What are you proposing?” I already know whatever it is, I won’t like it.

“Three years probation and a settlement in the amount of two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars to cover any pain and suffering you’ve endured.”

My mouth drops open. Is she for real?

“You want to bribe me?”

Jaymin tuts. “Don’t think of it as a bribe.” She taps one finger against her chin. “Think of it as restitution for everything you’ve been through. A sum in this amount has the potential to significantly alter the course of your life. It could cover tuition. You can purchase your first home?—”

“I don’t care about any of that,” I snap, cutting her off. “There is no amount of money in the world you can offer me that would make up for what he did. I’m not letting him buy his way out of this.”

She purses her lips. “What is it that you want, then?”

“Jail time. That’s my bare minimum.” I won’t settle for anything less.

“He is my son?—”

“Then hold him accountable!”

Jaymin’s eyes narrow and she considers me. “If we go to trial, there’s a reasonable chance he could walk.”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” I tell her. “I won’t settle for anything less than Austin behind bars.”

“One year.”

I choke on a laugh.

“Not good enough.”

“Two, and we still provide you restitution. The same amount.”

My heart races. Two years? No way. “No. Two years is nothing.”

“Alright.” She holds her arms out wide. “What do you want, then?”

Biting my lip I tell her, “Fifteen years.”

Jaymin scoffs. “That’s the maximum sentence for a second-degree murder charge. This is his first offense, and there is no evidence to show it was premeditated.”

Bullshit.

“You asked me what I want. This is what I want. I want fifteen years.”

She lets out a soft, almost mocking laugh. “Be realistic, Ms. Russo. We’re both sensible adults here. Two years is more than fair.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You heard me. No.”

“Are you aware of the sway the Holt name has in this town? Your father is already struggling simply by our withdrawal of financial support for his campaign.” I bite my cheek until blood coats the back of my tongue. “Imagine the strain it would put on your parents if my husband and I decided to truly set our sights on them. I could bury both you and your family. I can make it unbearable for any of you to remain in Richland. All it would take are a few phone calls to the right people, and the entire lot of you would be run right out of town.”

Ice slithers down my spine.

There she is. I knew the apple couldn’t have fallen far from the tree.

“You could.” I’m not naive. I know how much power Austin’s family has. They helped him get away with raping me, after all. “But your son would still be in jail,” I tell her. “You might bring me and my family down, but you’d lose too, and Austin behind bars would be satisfaction enough.”

Jaymin bares her teeth. “Four years.”

“No.”

“You insolent little—” She takes a deep breath and gathers herself. “He is my son.” There’s a plea in her voice, but I’m not buying it.

“He is a monster.”

“That may be,” she confesses. “But he is mine. My monster. For better or worse, I will protect him.”

Then she can go to hell with him.

“You’re likely not aware of this, but Austin is adopted.”

I wasn’t aware, but I also don’t see the point in telling me. He looks so much like his mother; it’s hard to believe she didn’t give birth to him. She must see the disbelief on my face.

“He’s my nephew by blood,” she tells me. “I had an older sister. We were never close. She went one direction in life, and I went the other.” She looks away and picks at a thread in her skirt. “She died shortly after giving birth to Austin. Drug overdose,” she confesses. “We’d already been estranged for years by that point, so I didn’t know Austin existed until he was already four and had been bounced around the foster care system.” She pauses to take a breath. “Nurture vs. nature. That’s what all the experts say, right?” She laughs, but it isn’t real. “I have loved that boy from the moment I laid my eyes on him. But, he had a hard start in life. And nurture can only overcome so much.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

Does she expect me to empathize with him? Because I can’t. I won’t. Austin Holt is a monster. His mom dying and being in the system sucks, but there are plenty of people in the world born into shitty situations every day, and they don’t grow up to become rapist assholes.

“I’m telling you so you understand where I’m coming from,” she tells me. “I failed Austin those first few years. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me. My son is not perfect, but I’m all he has in this world, and I won’t allow him to become a product of his upbringing. What he did to you was wrong, but I won’t abandon him when he needs me most. And I won’t stand by while he rots away in a prison cell.”

Our eyes lock, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I don’t care when she leans forward in her seat, her icy blue eyes holding mine.

“Five years, with the opportunity for parole. He’ll serve jail time. That’s what you said you wanted.”

I shake my head. Five years isn’t nearly enough, but … she was right. Juries don’t like to convict people like him. Austin Holt is the golden boy. Good-looking. Athletic. A model citizen in every sense if you ignore what he did to me. I’m his one black mark. That we know of at least. But with parole, there’s a good chance he’d serve less time. Austin knows how to work the system.

“It isn’t enough.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “What if I can guarantee jail time for the other two boys who were involved?”

My spine straightens.

“How?” Gregory Chambers and Parker Benson were there that night. They … did things to me. They participated. And later, when Austin tried to drown me, they were there for that, too. But they didn’t actively participate. All the police have them on is being present and playing lookout.

My family’s attorney said probation and a fine was the most likely outcome given the circumstances. It was their first offense on the record. I hate them both almost as much as I hate Austin. They deserve to be behind bars too, but until now … I hadn’t really considered it a possibility.

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Jaymin says. “But if I’m able to secure jail time for both parties, two years with the opportunity for parole, will you agree to five years for Austin?”

I consider it. Like, really consider it. If I go to trial, there’s a chance Austin might serve a longer sentence, but then Gregory and Parker walk. If I take this deal, all of them have to pay for what they did to me. It’s not enough, but if I’m honest with myself, I don’t know that anything ever would be. They took something from me. No punishment can ever give it back. At least this way?—

“I need an answer.”

“Whatever I agree to now won’t hold up in court,” I tell her. “I can still change my mind.”

“I’m aware. But I’ll take a verbal confirmation now, regardless.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “All three serve time behind bars,” I echo her earlier statement. “Five years for Austin and I want three years for Gregory and Parker.”

“I can make that happen.”

We’ll see.

“And I want all three going through court-ordered therapy upon release.” They’re already menaces to society. This way … I don’t know. Maybe other women like me will stand a chance.

Jaymin nods, her movements slow and deliberate. “I’ll ensure the necessary arrangements are made.”

Then … silence as Jaymin rises from her seat without a word and slips out of the room, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor. The sound fades, and I’m left standing in the middle of the room, frozen, unsure of what comes next.

I turn toward the window, the heavy fabric of the curtains brushing my fingertips as I pull them further back to peer out. The alley is empty, devoid of life. No cars, no people. Just the quiet hum of a distant streetlight and the shadowy outline of buildings looming in the dusk.

The seconds tick by, painfully slow. My eyes track the flickering light at the end of the street, watching it go in and out, like my breathing. Steady, but not enough to chase away the anxiety gnawing at my insides.

I press my palm flat against the cool glass, my thoughts slipping into a dull buzz. My fingers curl into a fist, pressing harder, trying to ground myself against the growing unease. How long are they going to keep me here?

The room feels empty without her, but not in a comforting way. It’s the kind of emptiness that’s full of tension, wrapping around me like a cold hand on my throat. I clench and unclench my fists, feeling the soft satin of my dress between my fingers. I try to remember my therapist's grounding exercises.

I’ve got this.

Finally, the sound of a phone ringing cuts through the heavy silence like a sharp blade. My body jerks at the sudden noise, adrenaline flooding my veins. I whirl around as Jaymin steps back into the room, calm and collected as always.

Her driver comes in from the opposite end of the house. His phone is pressed to his ear. He doesn’t speak at first, just nods, his face unreadable.

After a pause, he lowers the phone and turns to Jaymin who stares at him with an expectant look.

“Your son is home,” he tells her.

She exhales, a slow release of tension I didn’t even realize she was holding. Her shoulders drop, her mask of cold indifference faltering just enough to reveal the relief beneath. “Well then,” she says, her voice softer than before. “It looks like we’re finished here.”

Relief washes over me, mingling with exhaustion, but I can’t bring myself to feel the same level of calm that she does. “Great. Can I go now?”

Jaymin retrieves my phone from her purse, holding it out to me with a small, polite smile that makes my skin crawl. “I’ll have my driver drop you off.”

I nod, clutching my phone tightly in my hand, the familiar weight of it somehow comforting now. “Fine.”