Chapter 48
Laiken
I take my seat at the table beside my attorney and fold my hands together, forcing them to stay still. The polished surface is cool beneath my palms. Behind me, Kia sits with Oliver and Rina.
Across the aisle, Elody’s grandparents sit stiffly in their seats, posture rigid with purpose. Their attention stays fixed straight ahead, chins lifted, expressions carefully neutral. Not once do they glance my way.
When the judge enters, the people in the room rise as one and then take their seats again just as quickly. My pulse thunders in my ears as the hearing officially begins.
This isn’t a negotiation.
It’s my little girl.
The very reason I wake up in the morning.
Their attorney starts where I expected, focusing on stability, structure, and the McIntyres’ concerns.
Each word is chosen carefully, arranged to sound reasonable and responsible.
Then they bring up the incident on the street and the viral video.
It’s stripped of context and twisted into a version of events that turns ugly beneath fluorescent lights.
My jaw tightens as I press my thumb into the smooth band on my finger, calming myself in the physical sensation of it. Losing control, even for a second, would cost me everything I love.
When it’s my turn to speak, I rise slowly, taking a breath and keeping my hands loose at my sides. “I love my daughter,” I say simply. “And every decision I make is with her best interests in mind.”
The judge studies me closely. She’s not just listening but measuring and weighing the truth behind every word.
“I understand the concern about my career.” It takes effort to keep my voice steady. “There’s a perception that being a professional athlete somehow makes my life unstable. That it means travel, long hours, attention, and a lifestyle that isn’t conducive to raising a child.”
I glance briefly at Elody’s grandparents before looking back at the judge.
“But that’s not the life Elody knows.” My chest tightens.
I need to get this right. “She knows routine. She knows her school, her room, her bedtime, and the people who show up for her every single day. My schedule is structured well in advance, and when I’m not physically with her, she’s surrounded by people I trust completely.
People who love her—including my wife.” I pause before adding, “The incident the McIntyres brought up wasn’t recklessness.
It was me protecting my family. My daughter.
The people I love. I won’t apologize for keeping them safe. ”
The courtroom goes still.
“I’ve never wanted to remove Elody’s grandparents from her life,” I continue.
“They love her and have been a steady presence since the day she was born, and I would never take that away from her. Elody deserves every person who loves her. She deserves birthdays with too many presents, Sunday dinners, and phone calls just because they miss her. She should grow up in a family that feels bigger, not smaller.” I pause to gather my thoughts.
“This was never about cutting people out. It’s about making sure the little girl at the center of all of this has the safest, most consistent life possible. ”
Even when there’s a murmur behind me, I don’t turn or let it pull my focus.
“That being said, her home is with me. I’m the one who’s been there every day.
I get her up for school, pack her lunch, and make sure she brushes her teeth even when she tries to talk her way out of it.
” I swallow hard. “I’m the one who comforts her when she wakes up from a nightmare.
The one she reaches for when she’s scared.
And she deserves a life where she never has to wonder if the person she depends on is going to disappear again. ”
My gaze stays locked on the judge. “Elody doesn’t need promises. She needs stability in the only home she’s ever known. With me.” I choose my next words carefully. “I’m asking for balance and boundaries. For a structure that puts Elody’s needs first.”
The silence that follows is heavy, but not hostile. The judge makes a note, then lifts her gaze to mine and gives a single nod.
When the ruling finally comes, every muscle in my body goes rigid.
“After reviewing the testimony and evidence presented,” the judge says, “the court finds that it is in Elody’s best interests for primary custody to remain with her father, Mr. Lennox.”
My chest tightens.
“The child’s stability, daily routine, and primary emotional bond have been clearly established within his care. The court sees no basis to disrupt the home and structure that have been in place.”
The words land one after another, steady and deliberate.
“The court also recognizes the importance of Elody’s relationship with her maternal grandparents,” she continues. “Expanded visitation will be granted under clearly defined terms that support that relationship while preserving the stability of the child’s primary home.”
She glances down at her notes, then back at me.
“Mr. Lennox has demonstrated consistent involvement, sound judgment, and a clear commitment to his daughter’s well-being.”
For a second, I can’t move.
Not because I don’t understand what she’s saying.
But because I do.
Elody is coming home with me.
Relief doesn’t crash over me like a wave or knock the air from my lungs. Instead, it soaks in gradually. It’s more like setting down a weight after carrying it for so long I forgot how heavy it was.
When I look back at Kia, her eyes are bright. That alone is enough to steady me.
Outside the courthouse, the noise hits me all at once. Cameras flash as questions get shouted. Microphones are thrust too close as reporters trip over each other, hungry for a reaction. For a story they can spin.
I step forward, angling my body toward Kia. Before I can fully shield her, several large bodies move in around us.
Steele.
Knox.
River.
Jax.
They close ranks, forming a wall of familiar shoulders with their steady presence. When the shouting grows louder, they tighten formation, absorbing the noise.
Steele claps a hand on my shoulder as we continue moving. “Congrats, man. We were all pulling for you.”
For the first time since this fight began, I let myself breathe.
This was never about winning. It was about choosing the kind of man and father I wanted to be. Today isn’t the end of the work. It’s permission to keep doing it the way I see fit.