27. If You Put Lipstick on a Pig…
27
If You Put Lipstick on a Pig…
OLIVER
July…
I ran the pad of my thumb over the diamond-studded ring on Leighton’s finger in slow, steady strokes—reassuring myself this was real. She stood beside me, looking like the perfect aristocratic mother in her navy dress and structured black blazer, her basketball belly front and center. Twenty-three, and already elegant enough to dominate any gala she stepped into.
Instead, she was here—humming quietly, worrying her bottom lip as the elevator carried us toward the second floor of the courthouse.
“Still surreal seeing you wear it,” I murmured to break the silence, though my voice came out tight. Strangled. A fitting match to the knot in my chest.
How could I feel so much joy—just knowing my best friend would be my wife before next summer—and still be weighed down by what we were walking into?
“If showers weren’t mandatory, I’d never take it off,” she said lightly, though her voice was tight, her teeth returning to her lip almost instantly.
It was also surreal knowing for the first time it wasn’t just me whose life would be impacted today. This woman had fallen in love with my kids as deeply as she had with me. She would do anything— anything —to keep them where they belonged.
But it wasn’t up to us anymore.
The elevator chimed a cheerful little ping, like lives didn’t get wrecked in these walls on the regular, and we stepped into the hallway.
Greyson was already there, leaning against the hideous wallpaper, his hands tucked into his pockets and his expression sharper than usual. He looked less like a diplomat and more like a man heading into war.
And really, that’s what it was.
My screwups as a college kid had put us all here. Grey. Leigh. The kids. All of us haunted by my poor decisions.
“Hell raiser,” he said with a smirk, stepping forward to tuck Leighton into a quick hug. “You look beautiful today.”
They’d found some sort of truce in the weeks since the Thunderstrike reveal. Captain Reynolds’ permanent post at our side probably helped—he hadn’t let the kids out of his sight since.
“Groucho,” she purred, reaching up to dust an invisible speck off his shoulder. “This suit looks spectacularly suity.”
Grey chuckled, but his gaze flicked to mine. “You ready for this?”
“Is anyone ever ready for this?”
“Valid point.”
“Is Alanzo ready?”
“She’s waiting for you.”
We said nothing more as the three of us made that slow march down the corridor. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the gallows, but my nerves sure as hell thought so.
Sure enough, outside room 208, Katie Alanzo—best damn family lawyer in the state—was hammering out a message on her phone at such breakneck speed I wasn’t sure my fingers could’ve kept up even if I was just mashing keys. She popped a pink bubble between her lips and casually tucked her stick-straight black hair behind one ear.
“Ollie, breathe,” she said by way of greeting, extending her hand. I obeyed the order as I shook it. She turned to Leigh next. “Nice to see you again, Miss Rhodes. You clean up well.”
“Really? You sure it’s not too politician-pandering-to-the-populace in an uninspired polyester pantsuit?”
Greyson made a strangled noise as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dare you to say that ten times fast.”
Katie’s lips twitched. “The dress is just professional enough.”
“Phew. I was afraid it was giving Hillary Clinton, circa early 2000s.”
Katie snorted, eyes flicking to me before returning to Leigh. “Relax, Miss Rhodes. If anything, it’s more Kate Middleton at a casual Saturday brunch.”
“Wow,” Leighton gasped, pressing a hand to her chest with a blinding smile. And damn if she didn’t look royal—dark chocolate hair curled to her ribs, makeup subtle and perfect, shoulders back, my ring gleaming on her finger as her hand cradled her belly.
“Imagine what I could do with taller heels and an iota of motivation to spend a day not bathing in glitter.”
Katie raised a brow at me. “Keep this one, Ollie. I like her. She’ll lighten you up.”
“That’s the plan,” I said, the lump in my throat turning that into more of a croak.
Katie laughed, slapped my back, and dumped her gum in a hallway trash can. “Come on, slugger. Let’s get this over with.”
“Please,” I muttered, guiding Leighton forward with a hand on her back. I’d rather be anywhere else. The feeling only worsened when I saw the empty faux-oak tables flanking the judge’s bench. Leighton followed Greyson into our usual row, but hesitated and turned back toward me.
Katie paused, pulling out her phone. “I’ll give you a second. You remember the rules?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I’ll see you up there.”
As she moved toward the front, I stepped into Leighton’s space and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s just five feet, love.”
“I know,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “I just wish I could be up there with you.”
“I know, baby.”
She forced a smile. It almost worked—if I hadn’t known the ache behind it.
She was about to say something else when the hinges groaned. We both looked up as Carly walked in with her lawyer, Niko Volkov. He made a beeline for the table, but Carly paused long enough to level a slow, smug glare at Leighton.
“Still playing house?” she drawled, just as the bailiff cleared his throat. “ Cute . One way or another, someday our kids will know you stole them from me, Oliver. They’ll come home. To their real mother.”
Leighton didn’t so much as flinch. She ran her tongue across her teeth, lifted her chin, and turned back to me with icy poise.
Me, though? My hands started to shake. Goosebumps crawled up my neck. All the months of prep felt suddenly, completely inadequate.
But before I could react, Leighton grabbed both of my hands in hers and curled my fingers over the backs. She brought them to her lips and kissed each knuckle, then pressed her forehead to mine.
“Hey,” she whispered. “This is going to go our way. Don’t let her see you rattled.”
I nodded.
But God—was it hot in here, or was it just the noose tightening around my throat?
“Ollie,” she breathed, squeezing my fingers. When I forced my eyes to meet hers, she nodded incrementally. “We’ve got this. I’m right here.”
The bailiff signaled for the beginning of our session, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead before moving around the divider in a rush, sitting just in time to be told to stand for the judge entering the chamber. As we all sat, I shot a glance backward, my chest constricting when I found my brother with my girl tucked under his arm—I wasn’t sure if it was in comfort or to keep her from rocking in her seat like I wanted to. She offered a smile, which I returned quickly before forcing my game face on and looking up at the woman who would determine our future.
She looked bored—like she’d smoked one too many cigarettes on the roof, thinking dark thoughts about petty human drama. The judge rifled through the folder in front of her, letting out a deep sigh before announcing, “This hearing is regarding the motion filed by Ms. Carly Hart…”
My mind went blank—a dull buzzing in my ears as we went through the agonizingly familiar motions of introductions. It wasn’t until Niko said the words, “Petitioning for full custody based on evidence that the change will be in the children’s best interest,” that my soul snapped back into my body. As he assured the judge they had evidence to present, I glanced at Katie, who sat with her hands folded together, elbows braced on the table, looking entirely unfazed.
My job —that was Carly’s angle. That I was gone too much, that my career meant I was neglecting my kids.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
My kids were my fucking world. My heart pounded, my head spinning with a million variations of the same question—how could she do this? How could someone so selfish pretend to want the kids she’d walked away from?
My shark in a pantsuit set her hand on my forearm, and I realized I was trembling. I quickly stuffed my fists beneath the table, settling them in my lap, flexing and balling them against my thighs as I listened to Katie counter through what felt like a hundred-foot tunnel.
“Your Honor, my client, Mr. Oliver Hart, has had full custody of both children for the entirety of their lives. He has provided a stable, loving environment for them, and we strongly oppose the motion to change custody.”
The judge turned her attention to Niko, whose smug face looked spectacularly punchable.
“Your Honor, we are requesting full custody of Matilda and Beau Hart, as we believe Ms. Hart is the more capable parent and better equipped to meet their needs. She simply seeks the opportunity to care for them.”
Or pocket child support, since she’d made a habit of blowing through her alimony like water.
“Noted,” the judge said dryly, then glanced back at Katie. “Counsel for the respondent?”
All five feet of Katie Alanzo stood beside me, hands folded with military precision.
“Your Honor, my client, Mr. Hart, has been the children’s primary caregiver since the initial custody hearing more than four years ago. His record of providing a safe and loving home is well documented, reinforced by updated testimonies submitted to the court, including letters from Matilda’s principal and therapist.
“By contrast,” she continued, “I’d like to draw your attention to existing documentation in our case. Most notably, the incident that led to the divorce: Ms. Hart’s neglect and abusive behavior culminated when she left young Matilda and infant Beau in a hot car while shopping. The event was reported and properly documented by authorities, along with several others that ultimately led to Mr. Hart gaining full custody.”
And paid the misdemeanor fine with my fucking money.
“These were not isolated lapses,” Katie went on, her voice calm and clinical, “but part of a persistent pattern of neglect. Ms. Hart has not demonstrated meaningful improvement—in fact, she continues to display patterns of narcissistic abuse. In light of that, we maintain that preserving the current custody arrangement is unequivocally in the children’s best interest.”
“Thank you, Counsel,” the judge said. Her attention shifted to Niko, who stood and shuffled his papers, tongue working at a back molar like he was chewing the world’s most tasteless gum.
“Your Honor,” he began, “while the petitioner’s past may not be spotless, we must consider the significance of reuniting a biological mother with her children. That bond cannot be overstated or replaced. My client is taking steps toward rehabilitation. She is currently attending therapy, enrolled in a parenting course, and has secured full-time employment.”
“I see,” the judge replied flatly.
Not a good sign for them. I could feel it, the tiniest undercurrent in her tone—one of skepticism, not sympathy. Still, it took every ounce of discipline not to shift in my seat as the nerves gnawed through my insides like maggots.
The judge turned her gaze to Carly. “Anything you’d like to add, Ms. Hart?”
From behind me, I could practically feel Leighton and Greyson trying to glare her into a pile of ashes as Carly stood.
“Your Honor, I’ve done everything I can to land on my feet after our divorce,” she began. “And frankly, I’m appalled I’m being treated like a mother who doesn’t deserve her own babies. I’m not playing games,” she said, flinging a glance Leighton’s way with a smug smile. “Oliver is an absentee father at best, relying entirely on hired help to raise my children. He consistently demonstrates immaturity—” she gestured at Leighton “—as evidenced by knocking up his much -younger nanny out of wedlock. What kind of example is that for a young girl like Matilda?”
“Your Honor,” Katie cut in crisply, not missing a beat. “Mr. Hart’s fiancée and their unborn child have no bearing on his parenting capabilities.”
“Agreed,” the judge said with a curt nod, directing a glare at Carly that made my heart thump. A single raised brow, and I felt hope surge in my chest. Carly might torpedo her own case.
“This court is concerned with the well-being of your children , Ms. Hart. Your opinions about your ex-husband’s fiancée are irrelevant.”
Niko grabbed Carly’s arm, trying to pull her down, but she wasn’t done.
“Of course. My apologies,” Carly said. “It’s just so important that my kids know their real mother?—”
“ Enough , Ms. Hart.”
The judge’s voice cracked like a whip, and Carly flinched. Her cheeks flushed red, eyes going wide. What the fuck did she expect? Applause?
“We are here to determine where these children will be safest and most supported. I don’t need additional time to review. Frankly, my decision is clear. Given the existing and extensive record of neglect and—bluntly—emotional and physical abuse, your efforts at rehabilitation fall drastically short. Court-mandated classes do not constitute initiative.
“Granting full custody to Ms. Hart would be a failure in judgment. In fact, granting any form of custody without concrete evidence of reform is out of the question.”
“This is ridiculous—it’s been years!” Carly snapped.
I couldn’t even look at her—I’d laugh. She was imploding on her own, and we hadn’t even pushed her.
The judge’s expression hardened. “Given your continued outbursts, I’m also ordering supervised visitation, effective immediately.”
“ What? ”
I turned my head just in time to see Niko trying—and failing—to drag her down into her seat. Carly’s face was too busy turning various shades of mottled red to comply.
“Given the severity of evidence,” the judge finished, “I would advise against further petitions without meaningful behavioral progress. Your current arrangement is more than generous . You will provide proof of therapy and parenting classes to maintain visitation. Court is adjourned.”
The gavel cracked.
I sat frozen until Katie elbowed me and muttered, “That’s your cue.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I stammered.
She dipped her chin in acknowledgment, waving us off as Carly erupted again—insults flying toward her attorney, who was now shoving his files into a case without even bothering to organize them.
Slowly, I stood. I turned first to Greyson—his face was calm, proud. Then my gaze slid to Leighton. Her hands were crossed in front of her chest, eyes shining with tears, lips trembling as she smiled through it.
I moved to her, offering my hand. She took it without hesitation. Greyson supported her other arm as she rose—more graceful than any woman carrying that much baby had a right to be.
The moment we stepped into the hallway, we whirled simultaneously, and she threw her arms around my neck. Mine found her hips. And then we kissed—chuckling softly when Carly’s yelling filtered down the hall.
“Scariest thing ever,” she whispered, her voice still shaking. “When he said full custody, I thought I’d keel over.”
“We knew that’s what she was going for,” I murmured, unable to take my eyes off her.
“I know. But hearing it like that ?” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine not seeing them every day. Can’t fathom them living in a house that doesn’t feel like home .”
“I know,” I said again, just as Katie stepped up beside us.
“Ollie, I’d like to talk through next steps with both of you,” she said.
Relief swept over me, full and blinding—until it stopped cold.
Greyson’s posture stiffened. His phone pressed to his ear. And his eyes—haunted and sharp, locked onto mine.
“Excuse me,” I muttered, already moving toward him. He grabbed my bicep as soon as I was close enough, his breath coming faster, tugging me further down the hall.
“Leigh!” I called over my shoulder.
She turned. And I watched the color drain from her face as she saw Greyson’s.
She said something to Katie, but I didn’t hear it.
All I could hear was the roar in my ears.
All I could hear was Greyson’s voice, raw and tight, as he repeated words no parent should ever hear.
“Slow down, Jax. What do you mean? Where are the kids? ”