Chapter Thirty Archer
Chapter Thirty
Archer
“Analise, we’re going to be late.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Where were you? You didn’t tell me you were running an errand.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was home in plenty of time, calm down.”
“I am. I’m so fucking calm.”
“Is that why your face is turning red?”
I yanked at the neck of my collared shirt. “Probably because I can’t breathe. It’s too tight.”
“I told you not to wear a tie. You’re just handing in some paperwork and showing her your letter, it’s not like you’re going on trial.”
It felt like I was going on trial. The calm I’d felt leaving Dad’s was long fucking gone.
My entire life, there’d been a plan laid out for me on how to proceed.
Eat these foods. Run this many miles. Do this many reps.
Lift weights. Go to practice. Go to class.
Do your homework. Get better. Get better. Get better.
Be the best.
But you hit a certain point when there was no one forcing you to do anything.
Life became yours to mess up. And yours to change, should you realize that staying the same wasn’t an option.
Analise and I jogged into the courthouse, and at the sight of multiple paparazzi in the parking lot, I fought the urge to break into a run, just to get this over with. Clutched in my hand were two envelopes.
One was for the judge, something I’d practiced all night.
One was for Remi, if by some miracle she decided to come.
If she didn’t, I’d call her. I’d ask her out on a date. I’d give it to her then.
I wasn’t done with this woman. Not by a fucking long shot.
I’d never felt so vulnerable, rushing into the courthouse not knowing whether she’d be waiting for me or not. We were on the second floor, and instead of waiting in line for the elevator, Analise and I opted for the stairs.
The door at the end of the corridor opened with a sharp snap, echoing loudly through the hallway of gleaming tile floor. Three minutes until my appointed time with the judge.
The bailiff at the correct door gave me a look of consternation when we rushed toward where he was waiting.
“Sorry,” I told him. “We got held up.”
Analise smiled prettily. “It was my fault.” She held up her phone. “You know how us young kids can be. I got distracted. We really appreciate your patience.”
The bailiff softened, nodding his chin toward the heavy wooden door. “Head on in. They’re all waiting for you.”
I blinked. “Who is?”
Before he could answer, Analise stopped, straightening the collar on my shirt and smoothing my perfectly smooth tie. “You’ll do great. Just . . . just do what you practiced. You have both of your letters?”
As I batted her away with one hand, I held up the other, showing the slightly squished letters.
“One for the judge,” she said. “And one—”
“We don’t even know if she’s here,” I answered gruffly, fighting the knot of nerves at the base of my throat. “But if she is, yes, I know what to do. I think. As long as I can find a private moment with her and she’s willing to hear me out.”
Analise nodded, her eyes lingering on the door.
“Why do you look nervous?”
“I’m not,” she said. Nervously.
There was no time for this. I shook my head as I pushed into the courtroom, expecting a bunch of empty rows and the stern expression of the judge, just like last time.
Except it wasn’t empty, and the judge’s expression wasn’t stern. She was peering over her glasses, smiling.
And the room . . . the room was full.
Almost every head turned in my direction, and my lungs ceased functioning.
In the back row, team captains and some of the defense.
In front of them were Coach King and his wife. Assistant coaches. Mitch, my quarterback coach. Even Coach King’s scary assistant, Bridget, sat next to the team’s owner, who was dripping with diamonds and whispering to Coach’s wife.
Brooks, Williams, Smith, and half of the Buffalo offense sat in the middle two rows.
“How?” I whispered.
Analise gently gripped my hand and squeezed. “I told you I was busy this morning,” she whispered back. “You needed to see people who are proud of you, and there’s so many more than you realize.”
My eyes jumped from face to face, humbled beyond words at what I saw but still looking, looking, looking for the one face I really wanted to see.
In the front row, I saw her, and I couldn’t breathe.
Remi.
Pops was to her right, Ness on her left, and a silver-haired woman I recognized from my first day at the shelter.
Remi’s boss, if I remembered correctly. Everyone was looking at me, smiling or nodding or showing some variation of support.
Except Remi. All I saw was red hair, straight and smooth down her back, as she faced the judge.
She was here. She was here. She was here.
Maybe I’d still have to climb Mount Everest to overcome the damage I’d done, but God, I’d do it. I’d do it a thousand times if I had to.
Finally, she turned.
When her eyes met mine, my heart pitched erratically in my chest, wondering what she might be thinking. And then she smiled.
It wasn’t big and it wasn’t showy. Closed lips, no teeth, and I felt like I was a hundred feet tall.
I needed that smile to keep breathing, for my blood to keep pumping, my legs to hold me upright when I felt really fucking unsteady.
My nervous system lit the fuck up like she’d clipped it to a live wire.
That smile staked a claim in the corner of my mind that hadn’t stopped thinking of her for the last four days.
Unthinkingly, I raised a hand and settled it over my heart, the thrashing beneath my palm a strange comfort when I’d felt disconnected from my own life for so long.
Remi saw the gesture for what it was, read the relief behind it, and her smile softened even further.
“Mr. Evans, welcome back.”
The judge was happier to see me today, and I pulled in a deep breath before laying my hand on Analise’s arm. “Thank you,” I told her, then lifted my chin toward the bench seats. She leaned up on the balls of her feet and laid a quick kiss on my cheek, then took a seat next to Pops.
The envelopes in my hand were crumpled to hell as I made my way to the table where I’d sit to face the judge. The same seat where I’d sat next to my father and kept my eyes down and my mouth shut, just waiting for it to be over.
There was no point in letting shame boil over, because that feeling only held power when you continued to define yourself by your worst choices.
Shame had no place here because I wasn’t ever going back.
As I took my seat, someone else joined me. When Williams stood behind the chair at my side, I blinked up at him. “Rookie, what the fuck are you doing?” I hissed.
He ignored me. “I’d like to stand in as his legal representation today. He has no one to act in that capacity, and, um, I don’t want him to feel alone up here.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Grant, go sit down.”
He ignored that too.
The judge eyed him warily. “And you are . . . ?”
“Grant Williams, sir.”
A low swell of laughter worked through the room, and the judge arched a brow very, very slowly.
He blanched. “Ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
She sighed. “Your Honor works just fine, Mr. Williams.”
“Of course, Your Honor. I’m a teammate of Archer’s. I’m . . . I’m his friend. I think. He intimidates me a little, but I still like him.”
Slowly, my hand dropped, and I finally glanced up at his face. He was nervous, yes, but determined.
This fucking kid would be the death of me, and now I’d never want to get rid of him.
The judge gave me an amused look, then shifted her attention back to Grant. “Do you have a license to practice law, young man?”
“No?”
“I didn’t think so.” She sighed. “It’s illegal to practice law without a license, but I’m feeling unexpectedly generous today by this display of goodwill and support for Mr. Evans. You may sit with him—but first, why don’t you bring me the signed paperwork from his community service hours.”
“Yes, ma’am. Your Honor,” he corrected on a rush.
I handed him the paper bearing Remi’s signature, and Williams walked it up to the judge’s bench like it was the most important thing he’d ever done in his life. While she studied it, I laid both envelopes on the table. One was void of any writing, and the second held the judge’s name.
The adrenaline rush from Remi’s smile had ebbed a bit now that I wasn’t facing her, and nerves quickly eclipsed anything else I was feeling.
This wasn’t a trial, I reminded myself.
Williams took his seat and smoothed his hands down the front of his dress shirt. “How’d I do, QB?”
“You’re a natural, Williams,” I answered dryly.
He grinned.
“Fucking rookie,” I heard someone mumble behind me, followed by the sounds of a few teammates laughing.
“Quiet, please,” the judge murmured, peering over her glasses briefly before she set the paperwork down. “This isn’t a football game, and I don’t appreciate vulgarity in my courtroom, gentlemen.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” they all said in unison.
I tipped up my chin and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
“You finished your community service incredibly quickly, Mr. Evans,” the judge said, folding her hands on top of each other on the surface of her desk.
I stood up. Was I supposed to stand up?
“Yes, Your Honor. I enjoyed my time at the rescue very much.”
“And what sort of duties filled your time?”
It was on the paper, so she damn well knew what I’d done, and the gleam in her eye gave her away.
I exhaled a quiet laugh. “I was on poop duty, Your Honor. Cleaning up the yard. Litter boxes. Mopping the kennel floors when they got messy.”
“Were they trying to teach you a lesson?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And did it work?”
My smile faded, and I gave her a serious nod. “Yes, Your Honor.”
She made a small humming noise. “I’m told you have a statement you’d like to make for the court?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Hopefully, it includes more than those three words,” she said pointedly.
I grinned. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“All right, would your nonlegal legal representation please bring a copy forward?”