Chapter 12
Twelve
HARLEY
Kennedy sits on the edge of my bed while I finish applying my makeup. She hasn’t said much since she arrived twenty minutes ago, her blonde hair straightened to perfection and makeup flawless, dressed in a business casual pantsuit. She’s being called to the stand today to defend Easton.
I was surprised when she told me, especially since her emotions about that night are still scattered, but she doesn’t trust her boyfriend or his friends. She knows Easton only had good intentions toward us and was taking a stand.
She won’t tell me what’s going on with Ethan, just that she can’t believe he would defend his friend for drugging her drink.
Honestly, the more I hear about him, the more convinced I am that he told his friend to do it so he could do whatever he wanted to Kennedy that night.
The thought sends chills down my spine, and I haven’t had the courage to tell her either.
I apply a light layer of gloss to my lips and look over my reflection.
Easton never answered my letter about the next court date, but Rick called and informed me to appear as the heartbroken fiancée.
I hope the minimal makeup, circles beneath my eyes, and dress I’m wearing convey whatever it is the judge needs to see.
“Thank you for doing this,” I say. Kennedy is staring at her pink nails when I step into the bedroom, but her blue eyes soften when they land on me.
“I’d do anything for you.” She stands and wraps me in a hug. “You’re my best friend, and deep down I know, despite how angry I am at Easton, that he would never intentionally do anything to jeopardize your relationship. I hoped that Ethan was the same kind of man, but he isn’t.”
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”
She shakes her head. “Not today, I’m still trying to figure it all out.”
“My offer still stands, there’s a big empty guest room and I would love the company.”
She smiles, a tear rolling down her cheek. She’s quick to swipe it away. “You really want to be roommates again huh? And to think about how much we hated each other back then.”
“Isn’t the old saying to keep your enemies close or something.” I lift a brow and she bursts out laughing at my lame attempt to make a joke.
“Don’t ever quit your day job, comedy is not your strong suit.”
I shrug, grateful I made her laugh, and together we leave the apartment.
The ride to the courthouse is silent. I’ve been so nervous for today, I don’t know much about how the legal system works, but Rick’s informed me it’s a preliminary trial.
After a lot of research, I found out that today is actually very crucial to the case they’re forming against Easton.
I just pray Rick can work some kind of miracle.
The courtroom is colder than I expect. It’s not the kind of cold you feel in your bones, but the kind that seeps under your skin anyway, leaving you stiff and uncomfortable.
I told myself it’s just the air conditioning, but I know better.
It’s the atmosphere. The silence that presses down, thick with judgment and waiting.
Kennedy sits beside me, her arm brushing mine a steady weight against the shaking that won’t stop in my hands. I’ve twisted my fingers together so tightly the skin is red and raw, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except what’s about to happen.
And then the doors open.
The chains come first. I hear them before I see him.
That awful clinking that scrapes across my nerves and makes my stomach roll.
When Easton walks in, shoulders squared but eyes shadowed, my heart splinters into a thousand pieces.
He looks both like the man I love and someone I don’t recognize at all.
Confined. Diminished. Caged.
I want nothing more than to run to him. To touch his face, to tell him everything would be okay. But all I can do is sit here and grip Kennedy’s hand until my knuckles ache.
“Defendant seated,” the bailiff barks.
Defendant. Not Easton. Not the man who held me when I cried. Not the man who whispered he wasn’t going anywhere. Just another name in a file.
I hate it. I hate all of it.
The judge enters. “Case number 22-1564, State versus Easton Ryder Diggs.”
My throat tightens so hard I think I’m going to choke.
The prosecutor begins, her words like ice shards hurling across the room. “The defendant committed felony assault resulting in bodily injury…”
Defendant.
Assault.
Injury.
Dangerous.
Repeat offender.
Each word lands like a blow. I flinch, but I don’t look away. If Easton has to sit here and take it, then so do I. This is what I signed up for, whether I knew it or not, the day I said yes to being his wife. And even though we haven’t had the chance to say our vows yet, I’m not going anywhere.
The officer testifies next. His voice is flat, rehearsed, like Easton is nothing more than a line item in his nightly report.
No remorse, he said. My chest burns. He doesn’t know Easton.
He doesn’t know the man who spent countless nights tracing my hand under the covers just to fall asleep.
He doesn’t know the man who took notice of the world when no one else did.
And then the victim takes the stand. I want to scream. To shout that he’s lying, that he wasn’t the one who had almost been drugged. That he was the monster in this whole situation and not my beautiful man. But my voice stays locked behind my teeth. My nails dig crescents into my palms.
Kennedy’s trembling beside me. Ethan begged her not to testify; I overheard some of the argument when he found out what she was going to do.
But my best friend is strong. She stood her ground because she was the one who was almost drugged.
I know how hard it must be for her to sit still, to not claw her way up there and tell the truth herself.
So when Rick finally calls her forward, relief and terror tangle in my chest.
She sits tall, chin high and voice sharp.
“I saw him. He put something in my drink. Easton noticed it before I did and reacted immediately. I was on the dance floor with my best friend and thought my boyfriend would take care of it, but he didn’t.
Before I could do anything, he shoved Easton. And Easton defended himself.”
My lungs fill with air, the first time since the doors opened. Someone is finally speaking the truth. Someone is finally on our side.
The prosecutor tries to twist it, tries to make Kennedy’s loyalty a weakness, but she doesn’t falter. She holds steady. I want to hug her, thank her, fall at her feet.
But the judge’s face stays unreadable. Cold.
“Probable cause is established,” he finally says.
The words suck all the air out of the room.
Kennedy’s hand finds mine again, tight, grounding, but it can’t stop the tears from welling.
Rick stands, steady, still fighting. “Your Honor, given the testimony today, we renew our request for bail.”
The judge barely looks at him. “Denied.”
I break.
The sob tears out before I can stop it, my hand flying to my mouth too late. Tears blur everything—the judge, the prosecutor, even Easton. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. All I feel is the crushing weight of knowing he isn’t coming home. Not tonight. Maybe not for months .
Kennedy’s arm wraps around me, pulling me close, but I barely feel it. The sound of the gavel cracks through the air, final and merciless.
The deputy yanks Easton to his feet. The chains rattle again, louder now, because they’re the sound of loss. Of promises breaking. Of our future unraveling.
He turns once, his eyes finding mine. Wide, wet, wrecked. His lips form words I know, even without hearing.
I’m sorry.
And then the doors close behind him.
The walk out of the courthouse is a blur. My body moves because Kennedy tugs me along, but I’m hollow inside, nothing but shaking limbs and raw sobs I can’t swallow fast enough. Reporters shout questions. Cameras flash. I can’t hear them. I can’t see anything except the image of him being led away.
By the time we make it to Kennedy’s car, my legs are ready to give out, and I collapse into the seat, my whole-body trembling. I press my hands to my stomach, terrified that my excessive shaking will somehow hurt the tiny life inside me.
Kennedy starts the engine, her voice soft but fierce. “He’ll get through this, Harley. Rick’s good. He’ll fight it.”
I can’t answer. Can’t promise her, or myself, that it will be okay.
Because all I can think is that I’m carrying his child. And he might not be here when our baby comes into the world.
The tears come harder. I fold over, sobbing into my hands. Kennedy reaches across the console and squeezes my arm, steady even as I unravel.
I want to believe. I want to hold onto the picture of Easton free at my side, his hand over mine as our baby kicks. But right now, all I have is a cold courtroom, a closed door, and a hollow promise echoing in my ears.