Chapter Twenty-Nine Evan
I’ve responded to fires that have consumed five stories of a building. I’ve suited up and crawled through the aftermath of a collapsed ceiling to perform CPR right there in the rubble. I’ve run toward things that most people sprint away from.
Yet, somehow, nothing compares to this moment.
A month has passed since I officially entered into this impossibly amazing relationship, and even though I’m thoroughly satisfied in more ways than one, I’ve also struggled to fully enjoy myself with the stress of this impending day glaring on the horizon.
Now, here I am.
Family Court, Manhattan. Second floor of an intimidating building that hails from the Gilded Age, yet somehow now features the same beige walls, glaring fluorescents, and industrial carpets that most government buildings subscribe to.
I keep my hands clenched around the folder in my lap, full of pictures of Leo, school report cards, medical forms, and all other proof that I have been his primary caretaker for more than half of his life.
Somewhere in the seats behind me, Lila sits with a straight back and a determined gaze, reminding me with her mere presence that I will never have to face this alone.
Hale is beside her, dressed in formal FDNY regalia, and Noah sits on her other side, casual but tidy.
He’s on call this afternoon, so he has special permission to rush out of the room if he’s needed elsewhere.
Still, I know that he believes this is where he’s needed most.
We are silent as the judge shuffles through the paperwork in front of him. My lawyer, a stoic man who reminds me of an older, shorter Hale in a way, assured me that we got lucky with Judge Reynolds. He’s tough in the sense that he asks a lot of questions, but he’s always been unflinchingly fair.
Anita sits at the table parallel to mine, her arms crossed tightly and her lips pressed into a thin line. When she walked in about fifteen minutes ago, I didn’t recognize her at first. That’s how absent she’s been. I saw her once at mine and Bella’s wedding, then never again.
Surely the judge will see that handing Leo off to her, regardless of her status as a blood relative, isn’t fair at all?
Her lawyer, a severe woman with platinum hair slicked back into a knot so tight that it must be giving her a migraine, whispers something in Anita’s ear. She nods sharply, refusing to glance my way.
Maybe it should hurt my feelings that she’s decided to hate me out of nowhere, but it’s hard to take offense when the entire situation is so utterly ridiculous. Leo isn’t a bargaining chip. He’s my son.
At last, the judge looks up.
However, he doesn’t look at me or at Anita, nor at our lawyers. His gaze scans the paltry audience and lands somewhere not far behind me.
“Good to see you, Captain Hargrove,” says Judge Reynolds.
“Likewise, Your Honor,” replies the captain politely.
I want to twist around and ask him how he knows Reynolds, but I force myself to stay facing front. It’s probably just because, more recently now than ever before, everyone seems to know Captain Hargrove. All for good reasons, too. He’s a hero. So is Noah. I suppose I am, too.
And Lila, above all else, is our heroine.
Reynolds nods at the captain and then fixes his gaze on me and then my adversary for a moment.
“So, I see we’ve come here today to discuss a child custody issue raised by a Ms. Anita Collins against Mr. Evan Reyes concerning the welfare of a minor who claims Collins’ deceased cousin as his biological mother,” he summarizes.
Our lawyers nod silently.
With a vague gesture at Anita’s attorney, Reynolds says, “Explain.”
And so she does. I try my best not to tune it out, but the frustration simmering in my bloodstream threatens to turn every sound into a dull hum. The only thing that keeps me grounded is knowing that Lila and the others are here.
“—the child has extended family on his mother’s side,” Anita’s attorney is saying. “Blood relatives who are ready, willing, and able to provide for him. Mr. Reyes, however, is not legally related to the child, and has made no effort to formally adopt—”
“Objection,” cuts in my attorney. “We have presented evidence that my client has been diligently going through the highly complicated process of adopting the child following Mrs. Reyes’ death, but that funding and career commitments have—”
“Yes, yes,” Reynolds cuts in. “Sustained.”
With pursed lips, the other attorney continues. “Regardless, my client believes the child could be raised among his biological connections…”
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I tune most of the rest of it out.
The word “biological” hits like a slap anyway.
I hate that it implies that, just because I’m not the one who gave Leo half of his DNA, everything I’ve done otherwise is worthless.
The fierce fatherly love I feel, the unconditional affection, the support and kindness…
their argument is that I couldn’t possibly offer that to Leo.
But the reality is right here in front of all of us. I am Leo’s rightful father.
When it’s my turn to speak, all I have to do is tell the truth.
“I’ve been Leo’s father’s since he was two and a half years old,” I begin. “He was so young when his mother passed away that he doesn’t have any memories of her. He only understands that he once had a mother, but that she is now in heaven. Therefore, I am the only parent he has ever known…”
I go on with my speech, practiced and refined with Lila’s help.
I talk about how quickly I bonded with him when I first met Leo, how I learned the story of his abusive father currently locked behind bars.
I boldly state that I have never, not once, ever been contacted by one of Leo’s relatives.
Not even in the immediate aftermath of Bella’s passing.
Judge Reynolds listens patiently, showing no reaction to anything I’m saying, but I have to believe that I’m saying the right thing.
When I’m finished, he glances back down at the documents in front of him.
“You’ve provided some very moving letters of support, Mr. Reyes,” he comments, squinting over his glasses to peer at a piece of paper. “Twenty-three, to be exact.”
Thanks to Lila. I might have been fine with the letters I got from Hale, Noah, and Rita, but Lila wrote one of her own, then got to work spreading the word to other people at Station 47 who had worked with me closely and had a bond of their own with Leo.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I answer, because I’m not sure if he’s asking for an explanation or not.
“They speak very highly of you.”
“I’m very lucky and grateful to have some very kind and supportive people in my life.”
“Your colleague, a Mr. William Sands, writes here that ‘I may be older than him by a decade, but Reyes is the father I wish I had, because then maybe I would have been on the right track much earlier in life. He’s got a good head and a good heart.’”
Old Bill. I didn’t even know he said that.
I’ll have to remember to thank him later.
Reynolds shuffles to another letter. At the other table, Anita sighs impatiently. The judge ignores her.
“A Ms. Lila Hart writes, ‘It’s easy to recognize unconditional love in everything Evan provides to his son. Leo is thriving in a safe, supportive environment where he is allowed to be himself, no questions asked.’”
I remain quiet, but all I want to do is turn around, reach for Lila, and kiss her.
Reynolds sets the letters down, leans back in his chair, and drums his fingertips thoughtfully on his desk. When I look over at my lawyer, he’s already smiling at me. It’s subtle, but the optimism in his eyes is evident.
“Well,” says the judge after another long moment of silence, “I think it’s evident that my time has been utterly wasted with this today.”
I tense, my stomach dropping a little at the sudden trickle of annoyance in his tone, but his words are directed at Anita.
“Your Honor?” her attorney prompts him.
“It’s clear that Leo Reyes already has a family, even if it does not adhere to tradition,” Reynolds remarks.
“Meanwhile, I see no evidence whatsoever that Ms. Collins has altruistic intentions. The only letter of support she provided is from the child’s biological grandmother, who has been about as present in his life as Ms. Collins.
Which is to say, hardly present at all. Isn’t that right, ma’am? ”
“Well, no—no, I think—” Anita stutters.
“That’s enough,” the judge cuts her off.
“His medical documentation shows that he is happy and healthy and well-adjusted, despite enduring the loss of a parent so early in life. He clearly has countless loved ones via Mr. Reyes, and therefore I cannot imagine that he lacks for proper nurturing. I see no reason to remove this child from a stable and loving home.”
“But, what about—” Anita attempts again.
“Quiet, please,” snaps Reynolds, before fixing his stoic gaze upon me. “In fact, should Mr. Reyes prefer to submit his formal adoption paperwork before the end of the year, I will personally ensure that the process is expedited.”
“Your Honor,” protests Anita.
He smacks the gavel. “That’s my final word. We’re finished here. Dismissed.”
A smile breaks across my face.
And finally, I turn around toward my family. Lila has tears in her eyes as she rushes out into the aisle to throttle me with a hug, and then I feel Noah and Hale patting my shoulders.
“It’s over,” Lila whispers to me. “You did it.”
“We did it,” I correct her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
And it is over. The last battle remaining darkened our doorstep, and we came out victorious.
Station 47 is safe from defunding. Banks’s poll numbers aren’t looking good with the election mere days away.
The fundraiser has given us more than a million dollars to distribute across the FDNY.
I’ve earned the love of an incredible woman, and I get to share that love with two people I care about deeply.
And, most of all, I am Leo’s father. And there is nothing anybody can do now to change that.