Chapter 12
The Chamber
JONAH
The drive out of the parking lot is a blackout. No music, no chatter. Zoe’s riding shotgun, scrolling through her phone. Me?
I’m switching gears, getting into upstanding-citizen mode for this judge.
Time to find out why he wants to see us after only two nights. Emergency session.
Downtown Dickens is bright, the sun shining down on it today. Let’s hope it does the same for me.
This suit’s tight, and my shirt collar’s strangling me, which I can deal with. What I can’t deal with is not knowing what’s waiting for me behind those courthouse doors.
Ms. Hernandez meets us just inside security. “Mr. Holt, Ms. Lane.” She’s all business. “Follow me.”
We snake through dim hallways, past guys in suits and women in blazers. The air here smells like bad coffee and old carpet. My ears ring as we head to the judge’s chambers. Ms. Hernandez stops at a battered wooden door with no sign or number on it.
In we go. Zoe’s close enough I can smell her shampoo—floral and calming.
The chambers are what you’d expect. Bookshelves, a judge behind a big desk, and two chairs facing it.
Ms. Hernandez points me to one, then finds her own spot near the wall.
Zoe stands on my left, and I can already feel a headache kicking in behind my right eye.
The judge levels his gaze at me, steeples his hands, and wastes no time. “Mr. Holt, the matter before us concerns the ongoing custody of your son. There’s been a formal challenge.”
A challenge? My stomach clenches.
My head spins when the door behind us swings open, the hinges squealing in protest. Everyone turns. A woman in a powder-blue suit tiptoes in on cheap heels, dripping with apology.
“So sorry to keep you waiting, Your Honor, traffic was just—well, you know…”
My mouth goes dry.
The woman’s got the kind of posture you only get from a lifetime of Pilates and narcissism. She glides past Zoe, gives her a quick once-over, then does a double-take when she sees me.
Because that hair, that snarl of bone-white highlights? That’s Rosie’s mother. The monster under every bed in Rosie’s nightmares. Deadbeat in pearls.
My pulse thuds in my ears.
Gwen sits beside me, legs crossed, purse perched on her knee.
My stomach drops through the floor.
Zoe leans in, real quiet. “Who’s that?”
I don’t move my lips. “Rosie’s mother.”
Zoe’s eyebrows go up, and I can practically hear her newsy brain filing this under “dangerous.”
Gwen’s eyes flick to me. She sizes me up, gives a nod, then looks bored. That’s her tell—the fake indifference, the way she always acts like nothing can touch her.
Except her daughter’s dead. And I hope to hell she feels guilty as fuck because she was a worthless mother, and everyone knows it.
The judge, with his doughy face and receding hairline, jumps right in. “We’re on the record for the matter of Eli Anders,” he says, all gravel and no patience. “Mr. Holt, you currently have temporary custody. Ms. Hernandez is Eli’s caseworker.”
He glances at the social worker, then at Gwen. “Ms. Anders, you are the biological maternal grandmother?”
Gwen gives her best PTA smile. “That’s correct, Your Honor.”
My stomach churns. She manipulated Rosie, and it seems like she’s never even met Eli.
I might be a stranger, but Gwen’s worse—she’s the reason Rosie lived in fear.
The judge shuffles his papers. “You’ve brought a petition to challenge Mr. Holt’s custody.”
“That’s correct, Your Honor.” She pivots in her seat, giving me this sad look. “I wish it hadn’t come to this.”
Bullshit. You live for this.
She launches right in. “My late daughter, Rosie, was a remarkable young woman. She worked hard her whole life and loved Eli with every fiber of her being. And she made choices I believe were in Eli’s best interest—including limiting contact with Mr. Holt.”
“That’s not true,” I cut in.
Except it is true, but it’s not for the reason the judge will assume.
And how was making it so Eli never knew his father a good decision? Making him think I abandoned him when I had no idea—
Gwen doesn’t let up. “Rosie never told Mr. Holt about Eli because—frankly—she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust his judgment, his lifestyle, or his ability to provide a stable environment for a child.” She folds her hands.
Fucking bullshit.
I keep those words in my head, but just barely. Again, I say, “Not true.”
She continues, “Mr. Holt is a professional hockey player, constantly traveling, frequently in the news for aggression on the ice or off. He’s been in a bar fight.”
“That was over three years ago,” I cut in, my blood boiling.
The judge glares at me. “Mr. Holt, you’ll have your turn. Now be quiet before I throw you out of here for being in contempt.”
I swallow hard. “Yes, Your Honor.”
Gwen flashes the judge a raised brow. “I think it’s clear why my daughter didn’t want Eli raised by someone with that background.”
My cheeks burn red-hot. I want to yell. I want to throw something. Zoe squeezes my knee, just hard enough to keep me from losing it.
Gwen keeps swinging. “Rosie left Idaho to protect her son. She wanted a quiet life for him. She worked multiple jobs, volunteered at her church, and made sure Eli had everything he needed. My sole concern now is that his father, a man who never even knew about him—never supported him, never visited, never even tried to contact my daughter—is suddenly being allowed to raise him. I want to be clear: I don’t believe that’s what Rosie would’ve wanted. ”
Ms. Hernandez scratches something on her notepad. The judge looks at me with this world-weary sigh, like he’s expecting I’ll explode right here and save him the trouble of making a decision.
I don’t explode. I lock my jaw, stare at my hands, and wait. Zoe’s palm is still on my knee, maybe the only thing tethering me to the earth.
Finally, the judge turns to me, eyebrow up. “Mr. Holt?”
I wait a beat until my voice is even. “May I speak candidly, Your Honor?”
He nods, looking relieved. “Please do.”
I take a breath. In my head, I see Rosie at twenty—wild, brilliant, always on the edge of burning out. I see her mother at their kitchen table, picking at everything, turning every conversation into a blowout fight.
“Rosie didn’t leave me because I was unsafe,” I say.
“She left because she was scared. Not of me—of the spotlight. Of what being attached to a hockey player would mean for her and her son. She hated the attention. Hated social media, hated reporters, hated how a normal day could become a circus because of my job.”
I look around the room, willing someone, anyone, to fucking hear me. “Rosie was clear in her will. She wanted Eli with his father if anything happened to her. She never told me, which I wish every day she had, but the minute I found out, I did everything in my power to step up.”
Gwen sighs.
I push through. “If Eli’s mother was so afraid of me, why would she put my name in her will? Why would she make me guardian?”
Gwen’s eyes narrow. “Because she wanted to make sure Eli would be taken care of financially. She never wanted him living with Jonah Holt, Your Honor.”
“For reasons I already addressed.” It takes all I have to keep my voice even.
Zoe’s fingers lace with mine, and now I’m not even pretending not to need the help.
“And as for Ms. Anders?” I glance at her, unable to hide the edge in my voice.
“She’s the reason Rosie wanted out of Idaho.
I won’t get into detail unless I have to, but growing up in that house broke Rosie.
She spent her whole adult life trying to undo what happened there.
That’s not what I want for Eli. That’s not what Rosie wanted for him either. ”
The air shifts in the room—maybe a little respect from the judge, maybe just surprise that the big dumb jock knows how to string two sentences together.
Ms. Hernandez nods, her eyes saying, good.
The judge shuffles his papers again. “Ms. Anders, Mr. Holt, thank you both. I know these matters are difficult.”
He goes into lawyer mode, talking about best interests, continuity, blah, blah, blah. My pulse is in my throat, waiting for the hammer to fall.
“In light of these statements… and the petition from Ms. Anders… I have to conclude that there is enough of a material dispute to warrant a full hearing on permanent custody,” he says finally.
“Mr. Holt, you will maintain temporary custody for the next three weeks. We’ll set a date for the formal hearing, and at that point, I’ll consider additional evidence and testimony from all parties. ”
All the adrenaline drains out of me and leaves nothing but this hollow, burning cold.
Zoe, meanwhile, is… fuck, I don’t even know what. Braced. Ready to go five rounds with anyone in this room. She’s got the news producer face on, like she’s about to hit someone with a curveball question.
Gwen stands up, smooths her suit, and gives the judge this half-curtsy. “Thank you, Your Honor.” She heads out without looking back.
Ms. Hernandez gives the judge a “will do” expression and gestures for us to follow her. “We’re done here, Mr. Holt.”
We walk in silence, and the courthouse hallway feels colder. Zoe hasn’t let go of my hand.
Once we’re outside into the bright, breezy day, Ms. Hernandez walks away, and Zoe yanks me around a corner. “Don’t worry,” she says before I can even open my mouth. “You won’t lose Eli. Not a chance.”
I breathe in, sharp and fast, like the wind’s been knocked out of me. Zoe puts her arms around me—tight, the way you hug someone who’s about to come apart.
For a beat, all the fight goes out of me. I just stand there, shivering in my suit, smelling her hair that soothes me. Focusing on how much I need her body against mine.
Ice flooding my veins, I mutter, “She’s going to take my son. She’ll say whatever she has to.”
Zoe doesn’t let go. “You did everything right, Jonah. You stayed calm. You told the truth. Eli is where he’s supposed to be. There’s no way she can win this.”
I want to believe her. I really do. But the old fear—the panic that I’m never enough, that I’ll screw up—claws inside my gut.
She squeezes tighter, and I cling to her, letting the fear and the relief battle it out inside me. Maybe I don’t deserve Eli. Maybe I’ve never deserved someone on my side the way Zoe is. But right now, with Zoe in my arms, I believe I have a shot.
I wish I could just stay here, like this, forever.