Chapter Thirty-Seven
Simon
We fell onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. Tony’s hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, claiming. I gave myself over to it, to him, to this moment that I knew would be our last.
He reached for the nightstand, pulling out the lube, and I watched as he slicked his fingers. He pressed one inside me, and I gasped at the intrusion, my body opening for him the way it always did.
“Relax,” he murmured, his mouth against my ear. “I’ve got you.”
He worked me open slowly, carefully, adding a second finger, then a third. By the time he pulled them out, I was trembling, my cock hard again, leaking against my stomach.
“Please,” I gasped. “Tony, please—”
He positioned himself between my legs, his cock pressing against my entrance. He looked down at me, and I saw the question in his eyes.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, Tony. Please.”
He pushed inside me slowly, inch by inch, and I felt myself stretch around him. It burned so fucking good, a familiar burn I welcomed.
When he was fully seated inside me, he paused, his forehead resting against mine. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel so good. You always feel so fucking good.”
“Move,” I urged. “Please, Tony. Move.”
He pulled out slowly and thrust back in, setting a rhythm that was slow and deep and devastating. Each thrust made me see stars, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“Look at me,” Tony demanded, and I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me. “I want to see you. I want to remember this.”
I held his gaze as he moved inside me, and I saw everything in his eyes—the love, the regret... the desperate need to hold on even as we were letting go.
“Simon,” he gasped, and my name on his lips felt more like a goodbye.
“I’m here,” I said. “I’m right here.”
He kissed me again, and this time it was soft, tender, filled with all the things he couldn’t say. His hand wrapped around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, and I felt the pressure building inside me.
“Tony,” I gasped. “I’m... I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he said. “Let me see you.”
And I did. I came with a cry, my body arching off the bed, my release spilling over his hand and my stomach. Tony followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside me.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, our bodies still connected.
And then Tony pulled out slowly; I felt the loss of him like a physical ache.
He collapsed beside me, and I turned into him, pressing my face against his chest. His arms came around me, holding me close, and I felt his lips press against the top of my head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because if I opened my mouth, I’d start crying, and I didn’t think I’d be able to stop.
So instead, I just held on to him, memorizing the feel of his body against mine, the sound of his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.
This was goodbye.
This was the end.
And even though it was killing me, I knew it was the right thing.
Because I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t keep loving someone who couldn’t love me back. I couldn’t keep being a secret, a hidden thing, something to be ashamed of.
I deserved more than that.
I deserved to be loved openly, proudly, and without fear or shame.
And if Tony couldn’t give me that, then I had to let him go.
Even if it destroyed me.
Tony’s breathing evened out, and I realized he’d fallen asleep. I stayed awake a little longer, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
And then, finally, I let myself drift off, wrapped in his arms, believing with everything I had that when I woke up, this would be over.
That when morning came, we’d say goodbye.
And this time, it would be for good.
I woke to gray light filtering through the bedroom window.
Tony was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to me, his shoulders tense.
He was already dressed—dark slacks, a crisp white shirt, his jacket draped over the chair.
Ready for court. Ready for the day that would determine my fate.
I didn’t move. I just watched him, memorizing the line of his spine, the way his hands gripped his knees. There was so much I wanted to say, so much that needed to be said, from us both, but the weight of it all kept me pinned to the mattress.
“You should get ready,” Tony said quietly, not turning around. “We need to leave in an hour.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay.”
He stood and walked out of the bedroom without another word. Behind the closed bedroom door, I heard his footsteps retreating down the hall. I lay there for another minute, staring at the ceiling, trying to gather the strength to face the day.
The weight of everything pressed down on me. I forced myself to move, pushing back the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
I dragged myself to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water run hot as I stood under the spray, trying to wash away the weight of the night before.
The words that had been said, the decisions that hadn’t been voiced out loud.
The water ran for a long time and I let it, needing the time to gather myself, to prepare for what was coming.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom, I was moving on autopilot. I walked to the closet and pulled out the suit my mother had insisted I wear.
Dark charcoal.
Expensive.
Professional.
The kind of suit that was supposed to make a jury believe in my innocence. I dressed mechanically, pulling on the crisp white shirt, buttoning it with numb fingers. The suit jacket followed, and I caught my reflection in the mirror. A stranger stared back at me, hollow-eyed and haunted.
I could hear Tony moving around in the other room, the quiet sounds of him gathering his briefcase, his files.
We were preparing for the same day, the same courtroom, but we might as well have been in different worlds.
The silence between us was deafening, a physical thing that filled every corner of the house.
By the time I emerged from the bedroom, Tony was standing by the kitchen counter, his briefcase in hand, checking his phone. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t acknowledge that I’d entered the room. He just stood there, waiting, his expression carefully neutral.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Ready.”
The drive to the courthouse was silent. Tony kept his eyes on the road, his jaw clenched. I stared out the window at the familiar streets of Diamond Creek, at the shops and houses I’d known my whole life. Everything looked the same, but everything felt different now.
I wanted to reach over and touch his hand. I wanted to say something that would bridge the gap between us. But I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d say the wrong thing. Afraid that he’d pull away. Knowing this silence was all we had left.
The courthouse parking lot was already filling up when we arrived. I could see the Silver Shadows MC cuts in the crowd. King, Cash, and Goliath with several others who had been here every day of the trial.
Supporting Tony.
Supporting me.
My parents’ car was parked near the entrance. Tony pulled into a spot and turned off the engine. For a moment, we just sat there.
“We should go in,” he said finally.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We should.”
We walked into the courthouse together, but we didn’t touch. There was a careful distance between us, the kind of distance that screamed to anyone paying attention that something was wrong. And people were definitely paying attention.
My mother rushed toward me the moment we entered the hallway, pulling me into a tight hug. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asked, her eyes searching mine.
“I’m okay, Mom,” I said, even though it was a lie.
My father stood behind her, his expression grave.
We should have been happy; we should have been celebrating that this was almost over.
Instead, there was something knowing in my father’s gaze when he nodded at Tony.
Like maybe he understood exactly what had happened between us last night.
Like he could see the fractures in our foundation.
“Simon,” Goliath called out, approaching with his characteristic easy stride. He clapped me on the shoulder, his massive hand nearly knocking me forward. “The truth comes out today.”
“Thanks, Goliath,” I said, managing a small smile.
King and Cash flanked him, both offering words of encouragement. I could feel Tony standing slightly behind me, his presence like a weight at my back. He wasn’t touching me, but he was there. For now, he was still there.
“The jury’s going to see the truth,” King said, his voice low and certain. “They’re going to see that you’re a good man who was protecting his sister.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I was protecting my sister, but I wasn’t protecting myself. I wasn’t protecting Tony. I wasn’t protecting us.
Keys appeared from the crowd, his expression tight. “Sadie’s in the witness room,” he said to Tony. “She’s nervous but ready.”
Tony nodded curtly. “Good. I’ll check on her before we go in.”
He walked away without looking at me, and I felt the absence like a phantom limb might throb with a pain that no longer existed but was still deeply felt. My mother squeezed my hand, and I realized she was watching the exchange with concern.
“Simon,” she said quietly, pulling me aside. “Are you sure you’re okay? You and Tony seem—”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I cut her off gently. “Just nervous about today.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she pulled me into another hug, and I let myself lean into her for just a moment, drawing strength from her presence.
The hallway was filling up with more supporters, the energy building toward something inevitable. And then I saw her.
Rosalind Winthrop walked through the courthouse doors like she owned the place. Dressed impeccably in a navy-blue suit, her blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her expression was composed, professional, but there was something cold in her eyes, something that made my stomach clench.
She didn’t acknowledge me. She didn’t even glance in my direction. She simply walked past, her heels clicking against the marble floor, and disappeared into the courtroom.
“That woman gives me the creeps,” my mother muttered.
Tony reappeared at my side, his briefcase in hand. “It’s time,” he said quietly.
I nodded and followed him toward the courtroom doors. My parents fell in behind us, along with the others. The gallery was already beginning to fill with curious spectators, reporters, and people who’d come to watch the trial unfold.
Tony and I entered the courtroom and made our way to the defense table. I sat down in the chair that had become familiar over the past weeks, and Tony took the seat beside me. He set his briefcase on the table and arranged his files with methodical precision. He still wasn’t looking at me.
The gallery continued to fill. I could hear the murmur of voices, the shuffle of feet, the scrape of chairs. My parents sat directly behind us, and I could feel my mother’s eyes on the back of my head, offering silent support.
The bailiff stood. “All rise. The Honorable Judge Alexander Markham presiding.”
Everyone stood as Uncle Alex entered from his chambers. He was wearing his black robe, his expression grave and judicial. He took his seat at the bench and surveyed the courtroom with a measured gaze.
“Be seated,” Uncle Alex announced.
We all sat down. The courtroom settled into an expectant silence. This was it. This was the moment everything had been building toward.
Uncle Alex looked at the gallery, then at the prosecution table where Rosalind sat with her files organized before her, then at our defense table where Tony and I sat in careful silence.
“We’re ready to proceed,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “Bailiff, bring in the jury.”
The jury filed in, twelve men and women who held my fate in their hands. They took their seats in the jury box, and I felt Tony shift slightly beside me. His hand was resting on the table, just inches from mine, but it might as well have been miles away.
This was it. The end of trial was about to begin in earnest, and I had no idea if Tony and I would survive it.