Chapter Twenty-Four
Marchella
“Are you two coming, we’re going to be late.” Grandfather called up the stairs at a quarter ‘til eight.
I couldn’t help but laugh, it was usually my grandmother who was rushing him along to the Sunday sermon, but not today. She’d started the morning with fruit and a large spread of pancakes. She insisted I have a bath and wash my hair, then she blow-dried it and tried to get me to put it up in some old-fashioned bun. I had to draw the line. My hair wasn’t long enough for all that, even if I loved seeing a glow about her.
There was a mist in her gray eyes now and then that I didn’t understand, but it didn’t seem to come from a sorrowful place, so I tried not to mention it.
She sprayed a long, thick curl and held it in place for a moment before giving a final nod.
“Beautiful.” She smiled, “Your mother would be so proud. She was proud of you. She loved you kids more than you could ever know.”
“We know.” I promised, bringing a smile to her gentle features.
She moved after me down the stairs and grabbed her shawl and purse from the coat rack.
“You– You’re coming to court?” I asked Gran.
“That’s right,” she chirped, before smoothing my dress. It was white cotton, with little blue flowers printed on it. The top was jean-like and buttoned from the navel up. The belt was nothing more than a long powder-blue ribbon that was tied behind me and draped down the back of the skirt.
“Lovely,” Grandpa beamed, opening the backseat door of the Cadillac for me.
I laughed, feeling a little awkward about the attention, but humored them, sliding in and fastening my seatbelt.
He turned the radio on and it became a gentle hum in the background as we headed toward town. The parking lot was empty when we pulled up, and the doors didn’t budge when grandpa tugged on them.
“Are you sure about the time?” I asked, giving a glance around the dew-covered lawn.
“Yes, we’re right on time,” he assured me, as a guard appeared, and the door popped open.
“Right this way, Pastor Winehopper,” The man who permitted us entry bid.
According to his badge, his last name was Carver, but I’d never seen him before. We followed him to the courtroom, where he flipped on the lights and led the way to the front.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to my grandfather’s back.
Gran shushed me, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat as she stepped in beside me and we took a seat where Carver indicated. He cleared the judge’s desk, poured some water in anticipation of his arrival, and disappeared through a side door.
A few moments later Megan Tripp came strutting up the aisle, and Clive Owens-Stanford quietly entered behind her. She took her normal seat at the court reporting machine, but made no acknowledgement of us, even if my nephew was her son. Clive settled at the defense table and opened his briefcase.
Grandfather cleared his throat and looked at the floor like he had something to be ashamed of. It took everything I had not to roll my eyes.
Fuck Megan Tripp and her self-righteous bullshit. It was one thing to treat my brother in the manner he deserved, another to snub my grandparents.
The door opened and Blaze stepped inside, making me instantly forget all about Mackie’s greatest mistake and all her uppity bullshit. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale. I wanted to run to him, but I knew I couldn’t.
Grandma took my hand in hers and gave it a reassuring rub.
“Court is now in session. All rise for the honorable Judge Kemper. He is presiding today.”
Harold Kemper took his time strutting to his chair and settling himself before announcing, “Be seated. All of you.”
The doors swished behind us, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Talon Forsythe speed walking toward the prosecutor's table.
“Good on the state to join us this morning,” Harold mumbled, without glancing up.
Talon’s jaw dropped and his gaze narrowed on Blaze as he took his seat.
“Alright, the first case on the docket is the people of the state of Illinois versus Blaze Aviston, is that correct?”
“It is, Your Honor, Good morning,” Clive warmly began.
“Good morning, Mr. Owens, Mr. Aviston. It is my understanding that a plea has been reached, is this accurate?”
Blaze’s head slowly swiveled between the attorneys and the judge.
“Yes, your honor.” Clive nodded.
“And does the state confirm this?” the judge asked.
Blaze whispered feverishly at Clive who smiled and held up a finger, while mouthing, “Let me handle this.”
“Yes, your honor.” Talon sounded like he had personally lost something by agreeing to it. “The state has come to learn that Mr. Aviston has no prior arrests or convictions, he has been a model citizen and is not even a resident of this state. It is believed that his involvement with parties he would not have otherwise been engaged with led to a series of unfortunate events, most of which stem from the 2006 kidnapping of both of his aunts, and the loss of his father. It is the state’s understanding that Mr. Aviston never received victim services at that time. Much needed therapy that perhaps could have circumvented all of th–this.”
Talon began to stammer as Blaze took to hissing at Clive in an animated fashion.
Talon cleared his throat and continued, “Due to his lack of criminal history, and a sound referral from Pastor Don Winehopper, it is believed that Mr. Aviston may benefit from the Offender Initiation program. He would be released under house arrest and to the supervision of Pastor Winehopper, on a delayed prosecution with the agreement that he will participate and complete a rigorous program that includes anger management, therapy, drug and alcohol assessments, and routine check in with the special court system designed for such cases. If he completes everything to the court’s satisfaction the state is willing to drop all charges.”
Blaze stopped hissing and looked at Talon.
“Mr. Aviston, do you understand the agreement being laid out before you?” Judge Kemper asked.
Blaze looked at Clive who gave a heavy nod of encouragement.
“I–” He paused and looked back at my grandfather.
Something passed between them that I didn’t understand, then he looked back to the judge and nodded, “Yes, sir. Delay the prosecution and sign me up for your program.”
“Very good. The matter is scheduled for rehearing in two weeks’ time, you will report to the probation office. They handle the Initiation program as well.”
A guard came forward and opened Blaze’s cuffs.
He was wearing an orange jumpsuit, so I wasn’t really sure what the hell was going on.
“Clear the room,” Judge Kemper ordered, looking pointedly at the jail staff.
They looked uneasy, but he fanned the air. “Get, I’ll escort him back myself.”
Amber was huddling over her chair, her ass frozen a few inches over the seat with a bit of uncertainty weighing on her over-tweezed brows.
“Sit down, you can witness,” Judge Kemper told her.
She planted herself in the chair again and I looked around, bewildered. My gaze landed on Blaze; he was staring at me with an odd smile.
“You sure you don’t want me to have him taken back so he can change first?” Judge Kemper asked. I looked up and realized he was seeking my grandfather’s advice.
“No. No! He is fine. It’s perfect.” Grandfather waved dismissively.
“Alright, then, Don. Let’s get the young lady up here, then.”
“Come on, Honey.” Grandfather stood up and held out his hand.
“Wh– what are you doing?” I whispered, even as I stood up and took his hand.
Even in my confusion, I knew better than to make Harold Kemper wait. I’d seen my dad make that error a time or two.
“Giving you away.” Grandpa smiled and patted my hand before offering it out to Blaze.
“What?” I let out an unladylike snort of a laugh that caused Kemper to fix me with a stern look.
I sobered at once, and Blaze took my hand, drawing me toward him.
“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, just before his lips planted to the side of my head.
“Do they even have a marriage license?” Amber stretched her question like she didn’t believe it was possible.
“People have to have a license to get married?” I whispered at Blaze, having never gotten anywhere near considering such things before.
His shoulder hefted in a quiet shrug against mine and I gripped his hand like I thought the floor might give out beneath me.
“Of course, they do. It’s right here, dated for–” Judge Kemper squinted at the cardboard-like paper and announced, “Friday.”
“That’s right. They got it just before his arrest,” Grandfather lied on the spot.
My head swiveled and my eyes bugged. He never fibbed!
Blaze squeezed my hand. I subtly grunted, so he loosened his grip and brought my hand up to kiss my knuckles.
“I said you were mine, and I meant it,” he whispered, placing his other hand on the small of my back.
I didn’t think I’d swayed, but I did feel sturdier with his support. Judge Kemper was talking, and I heard the buzz of his voice and saw his lips moving, but I had no idea what lecture he was giving.
“I swear, I have no wife, and am willingly entering this marriage with Marchella,” Blaze’s bass-filled tone boomed beside me, startling me back to focus.
“Very good,” Harold answered, before turning his attention to me, “Marchella Miller, do you also swear before this court that you are currently without a spouse and able to enter into a legal marital agreement in good faith, with this man, Blaze Aviston?”
I blinked, and my head slowly bobbed, “Y-yes.”
Judge Kemper leaned forward, and his stern features slowly blended into a smile, “Speak up, Miss Miller, the court must document the matter.”
“Yes, I am able to marry. And– yes, I’m his.”
Blaze made a low, satisfied growly sound in his throat and his thumb slid over the side of my hand.
“Excellent.” Judge Kemper announced, before squinting at the cardboard and then looking at a separate piece of paper, “Just checking all the boxes here— Oh, your name. Will you be requesting a change of name?”
“A what?” I squinted.
“Will you be taking Mr. Aviston’s name or keeping your own?”
I paused, unsure of what Blaze wanted me to do or if I even cared about such things. The way his hand molded to my back, slid to my side, and jerked me toward him said it all, even if his lips never moved.
Mine.
“Aviston, please,” I chirped.
“That should do the trick. You’re man and wife.” Judge Kemper scribbled on the form, and I turned toward Blaze.
I was scared to seek his gaze. Terrified, it was all some joke, or worse, something he’d agreed to just to get out of jail.
His hand slid along my jaw, and he angled my face up, forcing me to confront him. The smile that lingered in his hazel eyes took my breath away.
“This is fuckin’ crazy,” he whispered, so close his breath washed over me.
“It is–” I managed.
“Just tell me it’s real–” he pleaded.
I greedily sucked the air from between us, remembering the way he’d demanded I read his lips rather than buy his words alone. I didn’t care if it was a courtroom. I didn’t care if he was in an orange county jumpsuit, or even if my grandparents were ten feet away, I let my lips convince him of everything my heart wanted to say.