Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Three weeks later, I sat at a stuffy steakhouse overlooking River Street.
A prosecutor sat across from me, but I couldn’t look at him.
The lawyers, the court dates, the police…
It was all becoming too much. So instead, I stared at out the window, pretending the cobblestones on the street would lead me right back to—
“David, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
I pulled my attention away from the street.
Nicholas Stark was the type of guy I typically would have avoided.
Rich and smarmy, and way too young-looking to seem any good at his job.
But, he also had a ninety-three percent conviction rate—and Daddy’s money was paying for dinner.
He poured himself another glass of expensive red wine and offered me the bottle. I declined.
“Regan has agreed to sign a plea deal that would keep him away for at least a year. That’s plenty of time for—”
“No, it’s not,” I snapped. Despite my nerves, I managed to grab the attention of the server as she passed the table. “Can I have a mint julep please?”
Looking back to Nicholas, he eyed me from across the table, clearly wanting to say something, but I continued.
“I gave Regan every opportunity to leave me alone, and look what happened. I’m not letting him get away with a plea when he’s ignored every warning given to him.
I have to do this for my own safety, and my family’s safety.
You’re supposed to be the best at this.”
“Here you go, sir.”
The server briefly interrupted our conversation to set my drink in front of me.
Condensation beaded over the side of the glass, and I happily reached for it.
Despite barely bordering on spring, Georgia was sticky and humid already.
I brought the mint julep to my mouth and took a sip.
I instantly relaxed as the smooth bourbon slid down my throat and the tingle from the mint tickled my sinuses.
Closing my eyes, I let that single taste carry me away.
I hadn’t heard from André, but he’d left a note the next morning… right next to the wrapper from the condom we’d used.
I don’t usually do this, but after last night, I know I won’t be able to get you out of my head. You’re something special Gemini. Use this as you see fit.
Beneath the note was his phone number. I’d tucked the piece of paper away, along with the wrapper, but I had yet to contact him. I wasn’t sure what I’d say if I did.
“It’s going to be a long process, and it won’t be easy.” Ugh, right. I wasn’t in New Orleans anymore. Nicolas took a sip of his wine. “They’re going to ask you a lot of difficult questions.”
“Fine.” It wasn’t fine, but what choice did I have? “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Nicholas took a deep breath and tucked his files away in his briefcase. He stood and gestured to my empty glass. “Stay as long as you like and have as many of those as you want. They have my card on file. I’ll see you on Thursday. Rest up.”
I stayed for another hour with one more mint julep.
The more the smooth, earthy bourbon slid down my throat, the more I wanted André next to me.
That night we spent together was the first time in months I hadn’t stressed over something.
Fueled by bourbon and the desperate need for something that didn’t have to do with Regan, I pulled my phone from my pocket.
Any chance we can see each other again soon?
I didn’t want to be that guy, but I needed an escape. I needed a way to forget. Things were just beginning, and it was going to be a long, hard road before I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I stood to leave, and my phone buzzed in my hand.
Let me see what I can do, baby.
Ten days later, I stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up the only half-decent shirt I had.
After securing each cheap, plastic button, I fastened up my black slacks.
Threading my belt through the loops, I tried to ignore how many holes I’d already had to punch through the leather to make it fit.
I adjusted my collar, missing the faded mark from that night.
As I did up my cuffs and reached for my jacket, Dylan knocked softly on the door, and I jumped.
He’d been trying his best not to startle me, but it hadn’t been easy–especially approaching the trial.
Every step I took was met with a glance over my shoulder, or checking every door to make sure it was shut.
Reaching over, I undid the lock. “Come in.”
The door creaked open. “Are you ready?”
I took a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Security was more than I expected. Keys, wallet, phones, all in a basket and they went through a scanner.
We stepped through one metal detector, then were scanned by a handheld one.
Once we were cleared, it took us at least five minutes to figure out where we were supposed to be.
It was Dylan who found Regan’s name on the boards in the end, and we made our way to the courtroom.
Nicholas waited outside the door, hands in the pockets of his designer suit. His hair was perfectly done, and if I tried, I could probably see my reflection in his shoes.
“Make sure both of your phones are off. Not silent; off.” His face turned somber. “David, this isn’t going to be easy.”
Dylan put a supportive hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
He didn’t need to say anything else. I didn’t have a choice anymore.
Another deep breath, and I looked up at Nicholas. “Okay.”
Nicholas opened the doors, allowing me and Dylan to step through before skirting around us.
He directed us both to seats in the front row, then let himself past the partition.
Two identical wooden tables sat situated in front of the judge’s bench.
On the left were twelve chairs for the jury.
Nicholas flipped through papers in his briefcase, and I took a moment to look around the room.
Courtrooms are so much bigger than on TV.
The judge would sit at least a foot above my head.
I eyed the witness stand and at the knowledge that it would eventually be me in that seat, I grew nauseous.
When I looked at the table where Regan would be sitting moments from now, bile rose in my throat.
I choked it down and, feeling eyes on me, I risked a glance to my right.
I shouldn’t have.
Regan’s mom, Rosemary, sat there. If looks could kill… Thankfully his sister, Carrie, hadn’t noticed me yet.
Dylan’s hand on my shoulder distracted me. “Right here, David.”.
As he said that, the wooden doors swung open again.
Regan strolled in, trailed by a woman I assumed was his lawyer.
In an effort to look at him as little as possible, I took her appearance in first. She looked to be in her forties, and the black skirt suit she wore looked every bit as expensive as Nicholas’s suit.
The black blazer clung to her in all the right places and the matching knee length skirt was perfectly pressed.
Her nude stockings didn’t have a single imperfection to them, and the red-bottom pumps on her feet shone in the light.
Her brunette hair was slicked back into a military-style bun.
Ahead of her, however, was the opposite of perfect and professional.
Unfortunately, he was looking right at me, and Regan’s mouth curled into an evil sneer.
I didn’t recognize the suit he wore, which meant it must have been new.
He’d brushed his hair and tied the fire-engine red ringlets into a low ponytail.
He wasn’t cuffed. Didn’t they know how dangerous this man was?
I shivered.
I snapped my attention forward again, suddenly finding the seal on the bench the most interesting thing in the room. No sooner than Regan sat down, a door opened behind the judge’s chair and a bailiff stepped in. “Please rise.”
I stood on wobbly legs. The judge entered.
Smaller, with her graying hair in a pixie cut, she looked like she couldn’t hurt a fly.
The robe she wore nearly swallowed her. I noticed the name tag: Judge Sophia Ellington.
She glanced around the room and smiled at everyone before directing us to have a seat.
“Case number CR-19-62593; the state of Georgia vs. Regan Hyland.”
“I understand there’s a plea deal on the table,” the judge said, directing her attention to Regan’s lawyer.
“There was, your honor.” She shot Nicholas a glare. “The prosecution however, rejected it.”
“And why is that?”
Nicholas stood and addressed the judge. “Your honor, we feel that the blatant disregard to previous warnings given by the victim, by law enforcement, and by yourself proves that the defendant has ill intention. For the victim’s safety, we think incarceration would be best for all parties involved.
Especially considering he’s already ignored the temporary protection order. ”
“Your honor my client has already served—”
The judge held up a single hand. “Save it Ms. Powell.”
Judging by the look on her face, Ms. Powell wasn’t used to being silenced.
Judge Ellington looked at me with kind eyes. She was on my side. It seemed that she was just as sick of Regan’s shit as I was, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. I tugged at my collar, finding it difficult to breathe. What if she didn’t think it was worth taking to trial?
Without another word, she turned back to Regan.
“Mr. Hyland, I for one, am tired of seeing your name come across my desk. If you can’t seem to follow simple instructions, then we have no other option.
I tried to be nice by granting you bond but—” She paused to flip through the pages she had in front of her.
I could see the blue and grey bubbles from where I sat.
It was the text messages I’d submitted, page after page of threats—to both me and Dylan.
Along with it was proof of Regan creeping around my apartment building.
I panicked all over again remembering sitting in the security office with my lawyer and a police officer while we looked over the footage.
Judge Ellington continued. “I have more than enough proof to tell me that you’re not taking this seriously. What is the prosecution’s counteroffer to the plea?”
“Two years of incarceration plus eighteen months of monitored probation and community service. On top of a permanent restraining order that would prevent the defendant from being within five hundred feet of Mr. Fischer, along with no contact.”
“Ms. Powell, what’s the decision going to be?”
Regan’s lawyer sat down next to him, and a heated conversation ensued. They were whispering, but I knew tension when I saw it. After all, I knew what Regan looked like when he was angry. The DA finally shook her head and stood. “My client would like to exercise his right to trial.”