Chapter Twenty
I am a royal asshole. I've known guilt before, but nothing like
this. It's eating me alive. I watch her warily as we dress for
court, terrified that she's going to panic again.
She rolls her eyes. She
thinks I'm treating her like glass, like I'm
overreacting.
But she didn't have to see
what I did. She lived it, yes, but she didn't have to watch it.
The girl I love fighting for breath on the balcony, her eyes
rolling back, unseeing, unable to hear a word I said.
And she doesn't have to
stomach the guilt of blame. Of lies.
I hate myself. I fucking
despise myself.
But there's no other
choice. Not right now.
I try calling her mother
again, but again, it goes straight to voicemail. I leave her a
third message, asking her why court was delayed, why she isn't
riding with us to court, and to please call me back.
I wipe my sweaty palm on
my suit pants before I take Rory's hand. Her brows pinch together.
My nerves are out of character and for the first time I wish she
didn't know me as well as she does.
Her friend Chip is waiting
inside the courthouse just past security. He asks about the delay,
and neither of us can offer more than a shrug.
No one is in the hall when
we arrive, and we're only two minutes early, so we head right
inside.
I freeze at the scene that
greets us.
I don't understand
it.
Rory's mother stands with
the prosecutor, huddled over some papers, marking things
urgently. That motherfucking bastard sits
dejectedly at the defense's table, and his father sits beside him,
his own expression reflecting that of his son, but with an added
veil of anger. Their lawyers talk to them, or at them as they don't seem
especially responsive, and then one walks over to the prosecutor to
murmur something.
But the strangest thing is
Rory's father. He's sitting behind the prosecution's table. On the
wrong side of the room.
Something's happened. But
what? We haven't talked to anyone yet, haven't reported the
Facebook message. I look down at Rory who obviously has no clue
what's going on either, but she's so confused by the scene that I
worry she might panic again. I squeeze her hand in a reassurance I
don't actually feel, and lead her to the bench behind the
prosecutor, as far away from her father as possible.
Her mother sees us and
motions for us to sit, too preoccupied to even tell us what the
hell is going on, and it pisses me off.
"What the hell is goin'
on?" Rory voices my very thoughts, her accent betraying her
nerves.
"Seriously," Chip
adds.
He's a nice kid and he
seems to really care about my girl, and fortunately not in a way
that makes me want to kick his ass, but right now I wish he wasn't
here. I don't know what's going on and it all feels too
personal.
I slide my arm around
Rory's shoulders, no longer giving a shit what the judge—who isn't
even here yet—will think. "I don't know, baby girl, but it's going
to be okay, I promise." I hope to fucking God I didn't just tell
her another lie.
The bailiff comes in to
announce the judge's arrival and silence falls over the room. We
all stand automatically, but fuck, now we can't even talk to the
prosecutor, or Rory's mom, who's now standing beside her as if
she's her second chair.
Rory and I exchange a
worried glance. The judge tells us to be seated. Rory's grip on my
hand tightens almost painfully and I rub little circles on her
shoulder with my thumb.
It's going to be okay,
baby girl. It has to be.
"So I hear you've all had
a busy morning," the judge says.
I hold my
breath.
"Yes, Your Honor," both
the defense lawyer and the prosecutor say in a stagger.
"Do you have the
agreement?" the judge asks.
"Yes, Your Honor," the
Prosecutor says again, and the judge motions her
forward.
Prosecutor Counter
approaches the bench and hands the judge the documents she and
Rory's mother had been working on until the moment the judge
arrived. The judge skims through them with interest.
Agreement. What fucking
agreement? Would they
have gone behind Rory's back and pled that
motherfucking bastard out? Would Rory's
mother do that to her?
Shit, I need to tell them about the Facebook message before it's
too late!
"Amy," I loud whisper,
trying to get her mother's attention. She turns back to me and
presses her index finger over her lips, indicating that I should be
quiet. Fuck that. "Amy," I whisper louder.
She turns again, her face
intently serious and she fucking shushes me. I'm so stunned by her
dismissiveness that it actually does shut me up.
"Okay," the judge says
loudly, seemingly satisfied with whatever she's read, and we all
turn back toward the bench.
I tighten my hold on
Rory's shoulders.
"So, Mr. Forbes, you've
decided to change your plea then?"
I was fucking right. A
fucking plea deal.
Goddamn it.
Rory was right all along.
I can't believe I let this happen! And I can't do a thing other
than sit here and watch it unfold.
That motherfucking
bastard's lawyer nudges him and he
stands.
"Yes ma'am." His voice is
toneless.
"And it is?"
"Guilty."
Rory audibly gasps. I
don't know if she thinks this is a good thing, or if she
understands the implications—that this is just part of the
deal.
What is he getting?
Probation? Community Service? The thought makes my stomach coil
into a tight knot.
"You have been charged
with knowingly violating an Injunction for Protection against
Aurora Pine, sexual assault and battery. You plead guilty to all of
these counts?"
"Yes ma'am."
What the fuck?
Rory looks to me, but I
can't even spare her a glance. I have no answers. This makes no
sense. There is no reasonable scenario in which he would cop to the
violation of his restraining order. Not unless he knew he'd lose
the motion.
Did someone else see the
Facebook message somehow?
"Do you have anything
you'd like to say to the court?" the judge asks.
There's a pause, before he
grits out "No, ma'am."
The judge sighs. "Well I
suppose we can move onto sentencing then."
"Sentencing," Rory breathes. I don't
even think she meant to say it, I think she's just in
shock.
"Robin Wayne Forbes,
you've been found guilty of violating an Injunction for Protection
against Aurora Pine, sexual assault and battery. The charges
together carry with them potential for up to fifteen years. As a
result of your plea agreement with the Prosecutor's Office, I
accept their recommendation of seven to ten years, of which you
will serve the minimum with good behavior." The judge sighs again.
"I hope that will give you ample time to reflect on your choices up
until this point in your life, and make better ones in the future.
You made a wise decision." A meaningful pause. "I'd have given you
the maximum."
It's then that I'm able to
unglue my gaze from the judge enough to remember the most out of
place piece in this game—Rory's father sitting on the same bench as
us, perched at the opposite aisle.
His conversation with
Robert Forbes from yesterday, his story about the vase, it all
ricochets through my mind and I finally understand.
The fucking asshole
finally took up for his own daughter.
In that same moment I also
realize—with no small amount of heartache and shame—I hurt Rory for
nothing.