Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Colton
Ican’t stop my leg from bouncing under the table.
Up and down, up and down.
It’s one of those nervous habits I’ve had since childhood.
And today, something feels off. The courtroom seems even smaller, the air thicker, and I struggle to breathe.
I steal a glance at Mira across the aisle, perfectly poised in her designer dress, not a blonde hair out of place like always.
I don’t know how I fell for her fakeness.
I was stupid. Saw legs and boobs and that’s about it.
She catches my eye and her lips curl into something that might look like a smile to the judge, but I know better.
She has something on us. Beside me, Jenna shuffles papers with quiet efficiency, her face an unreadable mask of professional calm.
I trust her with my daughter’s future, but the weight of that trust sits heavy on my chest. We worked a lot on this case over the past few days, and she told me it’s not looking good for us—and I hate it with my entire being.
“All rise for Judge Brennan.”
I stand automatically.
Judge Brennan settles into his chair; glasses perched on the end of his nose. Since he’s become responsible for our case I’ve only seen him twice and each time he seemed very strict. He has a short, black afro and always wears his black judicial robe.
I wonder if he remembers our faces when he goes home at night, or if we’re just case numbers blurring together in an endless parade of broken families.
Although I doubt that we’re a normal case…
the internet is full of articles about it.
There are paparazzi photos of me going into court.
Mira’s out there doing interviews, talking shit about me like always, and I’m honestly thinking about doing an interview by myself just to clear things up.
Most romanticize Jenna and me on the internet.
Which is stupid because this case is so much more. It’s about my life. My daughter.
“We’re here to continue the custody hearing for Olivia Kirillov,” Brennan announces drily. “I understand there are new developments to consider?”
Goldblatt rises smoothly to his feet. “Yes, Your Honor. If I may?”
The judge nods, and Goldie launches into what sounds like a well-rehearsed speech.
“Your Honor, it has come to our attention that Mr. Kirillov’s mother has been hospitalized with a serious kidney condition.
” He pauses, letting that sink in and my stomach does sink.
About a mile. “While we sympathize with Mr. Kirillov’s family situation, this creates another significant obstacle in his ability to provide consistent care for Olivia.
He’ll soon have to travel through the US and Canada for work. ”
My jaw clenches so hard I hear something pop. How did they find out about Mama? I’ve only told the coach and my best friends. I look at Jenna.
“Someone at the hospital must have leaked it,” she whispers.
Yeah. Maybe. It was probably some orderly recognizing my name on the international calls log and selling the information. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I’m sweating. A lot.
Fuck. We’re fucked.
And then Jenna’s hand finds my forearm under the table, a silent command to keep my composure.
I force my shoulders to relax, but my mind is still racing.
Yes, Mama is sick. Yes, I feel like shit.
But I’d never leave Livy unattended—something Mira does weekly without consequence. I can’t believe this fact isn’t enough.
“Mr. Kirillov has stated that his mother will look after Olivia when he’s back to work,” the lawyer continues, consulting a paper in front of him with theatrical precision.
Fuck I hate that guy. “This demonstrates a clear pattern of unpredictability. With his hockey schedule already creating significant absences, and now even family emergencies, how can he possibly provide the stability that Olivia requires?”
The sharp little inhale next to me makes it pretty clear, Jenna’s annoyed too.
“Furthermore,” Mira’s lawyer continues, his voice taking on a tone that makes my stomach turn, “We have evidence that Mr. Kirillov has been researching dual citizenship options for his daughter. We believe he presents a flight risk if granted primary custody.”
What.
The.
Fuck.
What a fucking lie!
This time, I can’t hide my reaction.
“That’s—” I start, but Jenna’s grip on my arm tightens, cutting me off.
Her green eyes flash a warning at me.
“Let him. We’ll have our turn,” she murmurs, barely moving her lips.
I settle back, seething.
This bastard lies in court. I looked into Livy’s citizenship rights years ago. Yes—she’s entitled to Russian citizenship through me—but not to take her away. Only to ensure she knows both sides of her heritage. Something Mira has actively discouraged since the day Livy was born.
Judge Brennan is watching me, my reaction.
I force myself to not move an inch, channeling every media training session I’ve ever had. Don’t show emotion. Don’t give them anything to use against you.
Fuck. I already gave them too much, didn’t I?
Goldblatt drones on about my “unpredictable schedule,” my “divided loyalties,” and my “cultural differences” in parenting style, each phrase carefully crafted to paint me as a foreign threat rather than a father who would die for his daughter.
I steal a glance at Mira.
She’s dabbing at the corner of her eye with a tissue.
Again. There are no tears. I almost snort.
I know what her real tears look like but, as always, the performance is convincing.
The perfect mother, concerned only for her daughter’s wellbeing.
As if. I would be happy if she’d be that mother to Livy, she’d deserve to have two caring parents.
I would happily co-parent but with Mira it’s just not possible.
When Jenna finally stands to speak, I expect her to pick their arguments apart with that precise, razor-edged clarity I’ve come to admire in her.
Instead, she feels off. Slightly unfocused—like something’s bugging her usual sharpness—and I can’t quite tell what, but it makes my feet fidget even more.
“Your Honor,” she begins. “While opposing counsel spins elaborate lies about my client’s intentions, let’s focus on the documented facts. Ms. Reynolds—”
“Ms. Kirillov,” Goldblatt interrupts sharply.
Something flashes in Jenna’s eyes, but she nods eventually. “Of course. Ms. Kirillov has a documented pattern of neglect that far outweighs any hypothetical concerns about my client’s future travel schedule.”
She presents our evidence again—the daycare records, the medical documentation of Livy’s untreated cut, testimonials from neighbors, from all the people we already invited as witnesses.
It’s strong, but I can see the judge’s expression shifting as he weighs it against the new “complications” in my life.
And then Jenna goes still.
She’s staring at a point somewhere beyond the judge, her fingers tapping silently against her legal pad.
I recognize this look now—she’s strategizing.
But there’s something different about it this time, something almost reckless in the set of her jaw, and for the first time, I’m not so sure anymore whether Livy will be sleeping in my arms tonight.
Goldblatt is back on his feet, talking about the “stability” Mira provides, her “flexible work schedule” as an influencer that allows her to “work from home”.
Each lie builds on the last, constructing a fantasy version of Mira that bears no resemblance to the woman who left our daughter alone to party.
But nevertheless, I feel the case slipping away with each word.
Mira promises to never leave her alone again and the judge is nodding slightly—not in agreement—but he’s listening and that’s enough for the knot in my stomach to tighten.
Then Jenna turns to me, her eyes intense in a way I’ve never seen before. My heart bounces against my ripped chest.
“Colton… I need to try something,” she whispers. “It’s crazy. Wild. Idiotic. But I think it might work… but you’ll have to play along, okay?”
“What—”
“Do you trust me?” she cuts in, barely audible.
“Absolutely, yes.”
“Then promise me to play along no matter what I say.”
“I’ll play along.”
She nods once, then stands. I sit next to her, feeling foolish as always, and glance up to notice the slight tremor in her hands. Fuck. What is she doing?
“Your Honor, if I may,” Jenna says. “There’s a relevant fact that hasn’t been entered into evidence yet.”
A fact? What fact? I scan our notes, recalling every detail we discussed. The way she plans to structure our argument, her overall strategy—everything has been laid out. But a new fact? I can’t find anything about it.
Judge Brennan looks surprised too but gestures for her to continue.
“The truth is,” Jenna says, and she reaches for my hand, holding it with a familiarity that feels far too intimate for this setting. “The rumors on the internet are true. Mr. Kirillov and I were recently married.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
I feel every eye in the room snap to us, to our joined hands, to the ring on her finger that now glints under the fluorescent lights of the courtroom. It’s plastic, but if you don’t take it off and examine it, you’d never know. Fucking shit.
“Married?” The judge echoes, peering over his glasses.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Jenna continues smoothly, and I don’t know if I’m just nervous or if I’m getting a heart attack.
“We wanted to wait to make it official but since it directly addresses opposing counsel’s concerns about childcare during Mr. Kirillov’s travel obligations, we decided to announce it now. ”