I’ll Be There For You (Lovesick Sinners #1)

Prologue

Dahlia

No one tells you what you’re supposed to wear to your ex’s murder trial.

I spent twenty minutes staring at my closet this morning.

Agonizing over the choice before finally settling on a plain black sweater and a pair of dark jeans that I hoped would help keep me invisible.

Kind of stupid in hindsight, considering it probably doesn’t matter.

Everyone in this town recognizes me by now.

The wooden bench creaks beneath me as I take a seat in one of the only open spots left in the courtroom. Dozens of eyes laser their focus on me and, as if on cue, the whispering starts.

I almost didn’t show up today.

After testifying last month, I promised myself I’d never set foot in this place again. But the verdict is in, and staying away just wasn’t an option.

I think I needed to hear it for myself. Needed to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else again.

Christian sits at the defense table like it’s just another Tuesday for him. His posture is relaxed, his suit is pressed, and his golden-brown hair is styled perfectly, with not even a strand out of place. He looks normal. Sane even. Nothing like the monster he’s proven himself to be.

“That’s her.” A woman behind me whispers. “The girlfriend.”

Ex-girlfriend, I mentally correct, not that it makes a difference to any of these people.

“I still think she put him up to it.” Another woman whispers back. “I know the family. He was a good boy until he met her.”

Swallowing hard, I wrap my fingers around the edge of the bench beneath me and let my nails dig into the thick varnish to try to help ground myself.

I didn’t put Christian up to anything. I know I didn’t. But I can’t help but feel the truth in what she’s saying.

I may not have had any idea what he was planning, but I caused this. I was the catalyst that drove Christian to do what he did that night, and I deserve to carry as much of the blame as he does.

“I don’t know how the hell she lives with herself.” The first woman adds, letting hate radiate from every syllable.

The truth is I don’t.

I breathe, I eat, and I sleep when I can. But I don’t live. I just exist. And honestly, after everything that happened, I’m not sure I even deserve that.

“She doesn’t care.” A man hisses, not even bothering to lower his voice. “They were her parents, for God’s sake, but that didn’t matter to her.”

At the mention of my parents, grief slams into me with such crushing force it nearly knocks the wind out of me. My head drops, and the tears that I’ve been desperately trying to rein in since I got here finally spill over.

Fuck.

I can’t do this. I can’t be here.

It’s too hard. It’s too much.

I shake my head, and my watery gaze drifts to the empty seats beside me. The ones Mom and Dad would be sitting in if it weren’t for me. I can almost feel Dad’s hand patting my knee, in that awkward, stoic way of his. Can almost hear Mom’s lovingly teasing words in my ear.

Don’t cry, Anak. Papangit ka.

Don’t cry, daughter. You’ll get ugly.

A sad smile spreads across my face.

God, I miss them.

And it’s not just their presence that I miss most; it’s all the little things.

Their laughs. The ones that were too loud and way too infectious.

Their food. No one, and I mean no one, can cook like my dad.

Their love. It was never really expressed out loud, and honestly, I used to resent them for that, but now that I know what it feels like to be without it, I know I felt it in everything they did for me. Every fucking thing.

More unwelcome tears slide down my cheeks, and I swipe them away with the sleeve of my sweater and try to pull myself together.

Stop it. Stop crying right now. You need to be strong, if not for yourself, for them.

Blowing out a shaky breath, I blink back my tears and force my head up, only to find Christian turned in his seat, staring at me.

I’ve seen him a handful of times over the course of the thirteen-month trial, but looking him in the eye hasn’t gotten any easier. It’s like my brain still hasn’t fully accepted that the monster sitting on trial in front of me is the same boy I fell in love with freshman year.

“I love you.” Christian mouths, the words, silent, yet somehow clear as day.

And I should have never loved you. I think to myself, fixing my eyes on the weathered wainscoting behind him.

Christian glares at me, and after a few tense seconds, he sighs and finally turns back around in his seat.

Seconds later, the bailiff clears his throat, and the courtroom dulls to a hushed silence. “All rise.” He says. “The Honorable Judge Walker is now entering the courtroom.”

Benches groan and metal chair legs screech across the scuffed terrazzo floor. A door near the front of the room opens, and the judge steps in with his black robe billowing behind him. He takes his seat, and the bailiff orders the rest of us to do the same.

The judge places his wiry glasses on the tip of his bulbous nose and looks at the jury. “Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

A bald man in his late forties rises from his seat in the jury box. “We have, Your Honor. On two counts of murder in the first degree, we find the defendant Christian Sanders… guilty.”

I don’t hear the rest of the verdict.

I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

The courtroom erupts in chaos around me, with everything ranging from screams to cheers to full-on sobs echoing through the tiny courtroom. A sharp wail rises above the rest, Christian’s mother, and the sound of her agony is so palpable, just hearing it brings fresh tears to my eyes.

I drag my gaze over to Christian, and he doesn’t even look fazed.

He’s still sitting at the defense table with his jaw flexed and an otherwise blank expression on his face.

Two officers approach him with cuffs in hand, and as his stone-faced lawyers rise from their seats, Christian turns around to face the courtroom.

“I did this for us, Dollface!” He yells, looking directly at me. His voice is laced with so much conviction it makes my whole body lock up. “I fucking love you. I always have, and I always will.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd as accusing glances dart my way. If people didn’t notice I was here before, they do now.

People shout over one another as reporters scramble toward me, and cameras flash like strobe lights from every direction.

I need to get the hell out of here. I need to leave right now before it gets worse. But the exit feels miles away, and the thought of turning around to face the crowd is nauseating.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I flinch, jerking violently before I can stop myself. It’s the bailiff.

“Miss, let’s have you exit through the side door.”

I’m numb. So fucking numb. But I stand up from my seat and follow him, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor.

Mom.

Dad.

They didn’t deserve this. They were innocent. I was the guilty one. I should've heeded the signs. I should've known what was coming. I should've fucking stopped him. But I was too stupid. I was too in love. And I have no one to blame but myself for that.

I used to think love was the answer to everything. That it was this pure and enviable thing that I could only dream of having. But now I see love for what it truly is.

A disease.

A sickness that infects your brain and destroys everything in its path. And my love just might be the most insidious strain of all.

It turned Christian into a monster.

It turned me into an idiot.

And it stole every single person I’ve ever cared about.

My love fucking destroyed me.

And I’ll never let it infect anyone else again.