Chapter 34
Morgan
Three months have passed since that awful night.
Jack was denied bail, leaving him to rot in a jail cell while the Georgia fall iced over. Outside, the world is a lightly blanketed wonderland.
My heart races whenever I get to see him, which is now.
As usual, the jail’s private conference room is packed with our legal team. Daddy seats me and Jack at opposite ends of a long table to prevent us from talking to each other.
At least I get to look at him the whole time.
And I do.
His hair is growing longer. He’s handsome in a blue jumpsuit. It makes his eye color more intense. I love how he cocks his head and watches people with quiet stoicism. Whenever he strokes the line of his strong jaw, I know he’s holding back an insult.
He’s a broody, yet gorgeous man, and I wish I could curl up on his lap. Feel those tattooed arms snake around me and—
“Pay attention,” growls Dad.
The lead attorney repeats a question, and this time, I force myself to listen.
“Uh, huh,” I answer absentmindedly.
The lawyers coach me as a witness, tell me what to say, and perform a mock cross-examination.
After, the team speaks legal jargon, and I resume my staring at Jack.
This time, his gaze is on me, but fixed on my hand, causing his jaw to flex.
My stomach twists.
My engagement ring.
It isn’t new information to him. He’s known for a while, but I still catch him staring at the ring. I wear it more like handcuffs than a symbol of love.
I pray he knows that.
“Monday is the big day, Morgan,” says the lawyer. “Your first day on the witness stand. Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best,” I assure.
Then, I look at Jack. “I swear. I won’t let you down.”
His gaze lingers in mine for a moment before veering to the lawyer. “I just want to get out of here and get my brothers back.”
“You will!” I blurt.
It is an unfounded promise, but maybe it’ll give him hope.
He doesn’t acknowledge my comment. Nobody does. I am more prop than participant in this whole act. As I always am. I wonder if he feels the same now that my dad is his puppet master, too.
The big day arrives. Blake and I stride toward the courthouse. I wear a big-brimmed hat, a peacoat, and high heels. The frosty cement is slick under them, but I step with careful determination.
Cameras swarm close, and microphones invade my space. I don’t reply to reporters’ questions.
Fans and protesters assemble in designated areas. Signs are held high. Many religious. Others, the opposite. It’s a circus.
Inside the courtroom, I place my hand on the Bible, and swear an oath to tell the truth.
I am already lying just by claiming Blake as mine.
I say a silent prayer for forgiveness before I answer the first question.
“Did you date the defendant?” the prosecutor asks.
“No.”
“Did you have intimate relations with the defendant, Mr. Killborne?”
“No.”
“No? Not even a kiss?”
“No.”
“Nor a hug?”
“No,” I answer flatly.
“Oh?” He smirks, devilish. “Then how do you explain this photo? Exhibit 33.”
It is the photo Gabe showed me. One of the best nights of my life. Jack is holding me tight. I wear that tight dress. The whore in red.
My heart skips a beat as my very soul aches to return to that moment. I would do so many things differently.
Gabe leaked the picture. It has circulated the Internet and been a hot item for debate, causing many to doubt my speech. But our attorneys prepared me for this question.
“I remember that photo. Gabe used it to blackmail me. He said it would ruin my reputation as a chaste woman due to my dress and fake eyelashes. Do you think women deserve to be assaulted because of what they wear?”
He objects. The judge agrees and requests I not ask the questions. The prosecutor rephrases.
“Do not deflect, Miss Montgomery. Answer the question.”
“I don’t understand your question. I see nothing wrong with the photo.”
He laughs loud and mockingly.
“Mr. Killborne is holding you in a suggestive manner. He is kissing your neck.” He displays an enlarged photo and parades it in front of the jury. “No reasonable person would look at this couple and believe they are just friends.”
“Objection, your honor,” our attorney barks. “Argumentative.”
“Overruled.”
The prosecutor tries again.
“Explain this picture, Ms. Montgomery?”
“I wouldn’t call it a hug. He was guiding me through the crowd and whispering in my ear. It was loud there. The picture is dark, or you would see there is no kiss. Blake, my fiancé, was there. He saw no problem.”
The courtroom gasps.
Jack subtly grimaces, like the lie on my lips wounded him.
But I am what I was bred to be: A polished speaker.
I don’t flinch. I’ll cut Jack to save him.
The prosecutor narrows his eyes. “Then why did you go on a date with Gabe months later if you were already seeing Blake?”
“I told you. Gabe blackmailed me with the photo in your hand. My fiancé can testify to his attendance at the street race the night of the photograph.”
There is a rumble through the courtroom. Some attendees nod.
The jury whisper to one another.
My attorney gives me the signal, and I pounce on their collective doubt, reciting the words as well as I’ve been trained to give a sermon.
“I have a right to wear a spandex dress without being sexually assaulted.”
The prosecutor cuts me off as the courtroom erupts in discussion.
I speak louder, above the crowd. “Gabe made me ashamed to tell my fiancé about the blackmail. Victims of sex crimes are often groomed!”
“Order! Order!” The judge slams his gavel. “The jury will dismiss Miss Montgomery’s last statement.”
I stand up and look at Blake seated in the front row.
“I love you!” I cry out, clutching my chest.
He stands and blows me a kiss, his expression reflecting our shared pain and trauma.
Just as our lawyers coached.
“I love you, too, Morgan.”
I close my eyes and pretend his words comforted my heart, but really, my heart bleeds because Jack is close by. I feel his disgust. It’s as if we are connected with an invisible thread, and I can sense his emotions like a physical force.
I don’t dare look. I may breakdown if I see an ounce of sadness in those blue eyes I love so much.
“I said order in the court!” booms the judge. “Strike the witness’ last statement. We’re taking a recess!”
Most of us leave the courtroom while the judge and the two sides talk privately.
Blake holds my hand as we stare out of the window, side-by-side praying.
Outside, we see hysteria. People debating. Some protesters let their signs fall. The media speaks into their cameras hurriedly, like a bomb was dropped.
The prosecutor’s case weakened. I just don’t know how much.
But I feel something in the air. Something powerful.
For hours, we wait, until...
A man re-opens the courtroom doors.
My heart pounds against my eardrums as I walk to my seat.
“We have a deal,” says the prosecutor.
Jack pleads ‘no contest,’ which denies guilt or innocence. He agrees to pay a fine and do two-thousand hours of community service.
It’s a blessing built on lies.
Gabe’s civil case will stay active, but hopefully he’ll accept a settlement, paid by the church. That’s better than a second trial. Daddy said he’d pay, and I said I’d obey.
I have been, and my father kept his end of the bargain.
The lawyers hug in victory. People shake hands. Noel jumps over the partition, embracing Jack and slapping his back. Tommy next. Julie’s there, too, giving him a longer embrace. He’s ecstatic, smiling ear to ear. He can walk out of the courtroom.
Our gazes catch. Everything in me screams to go hug him and never let go.
I can’t. I sold my soul for this moment. I’m deeply indebted to my father for making Jack’s freedom possible. I’m engaged to Blake, who did his part, accepting a marriage that is loveless despite his own faith — for the good of the church. For me as well.
I am back to being the Christian princess. The Madonna incarnate, forbidden to be with an atheist.
I love Jack more than before, because time has not eroded my feelings. It only strengthened them. It made me ache for him in every way that matters.
Blake takes my hand and I look over my shoulder one last time.
Jack watches me go, but his gaze isn’t the same as it once was. Those walls are up, taller. He looks away, almost disinterested rather than longing.
It hurts.
“Oh, Lord,” I pray silently. “Please tell him I didn’t choose Blake. I chose him.”