Chapter Twenty-Seven
· Adriana ·
There was a small chance I would regret this day for the rest of my life, no matter what I did.
Road not taken. Sliding doors. All that would’ve, could’ve crap.
I glanced down at my phone and the two glaring notifications on my lock screen.
One for family court. The other for a demo recording session with Kiki Nguyen and the Patrons of Music production team.
Helen had been right. Once the podcast aired and the episode exploded online, I made one singular phone call and was invited to the newest recording studio on Nashville’s streets.
I swiped both notifications away, the engagement ring on my finger catching the early afternoon sun. I was about two minutes away from running late, so I pocketed my phone and jogged up the stairs to the courthouse.
By the time I made it to the correct room, I was three minutes late.
The shitty parking around this place better not reflect poorly on my character.
I wasn’t exactly sure how it worked. Brooks and the Greens had been scheduled to go in there an hour ago.
I knew that I was only supposed to come in for my own statement and character assessment or something along those lines.
But I didn’t even know if I was still on their docket or if Brooks had officially taken me off the case.
One of the court assistants dipped into the room to let them know I was there and five minutes later I was called in.
I’d expected a full courtroom. Big podium at the front, twelve empty chairs where a jury usually sat, a couple of benches for the audience.
Instead, I walked into a glorified principal’s office.
The judge sat behind a big desk, and two long tables were diagonally angled toward her.
The Greens and two lawyers occupied one, Brooks and his lawyer the other.
The judge gestured for me to sit in the empty chair at Brooks’s table.
I couldn’t meet his gaze. Not yet. I didn’t trust myself not to break out in tears. But I took the seat and reached my hand across. Brooks took it without hesitation, clutching it in his lap.
“Miss Banks, thank you for joining us today,” the judge greeted me with a nod. “Have you been made aware of the details of this custody case and are you prepared to testify accordingly?”
“Yes, ma’am, uhm, Your Honor.”
“For the record, could you please state your name and relationship to the father and the child?”
“Adriana Banks. I’ve known Brooks for four years.
We met as colleagues, became close friends, and got engaged this summer.
I was with Brooks the day he learned about Skye, but I didn’t meet her until this summer.
I’m not sure there’s a word in the English language to describe my relationship to her.
I love her. She means the world to me. She likes and trusts me. I’m one of the grown-ups in her life.”
Brooks squeezed my hand.
“Could you clarify the status of your engagement? Mr. Brooks was just about to tell us why you weren’t coming today.”
“Oh.” I swallowed and quickly glanced Brooks’s way. His thumb brushed over the ring on my finger.
“We received some footage of a public fight between the two of you in which you state that maybe he should lose custody of his daughter. It looks an awful lot like a breakup to me.”
“Of course someone filmed that,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me?” the judge asked, lips pursed.
“Brooks is a public figure. To some extent, I am as well. When other couples fight in a supermarket parking lot or outside a movie theater, and things get said in anger that they don’t actually mean, nobody films that.
Over the last few months, with this hearing looming over our heads, we have been acutely aware of how every minor public misstep could make it to this court hearing, simply because our private lives are never really private.
That fight shouldn’t have been filmed. And it shouldn’t be admissible. ”
My phone buzzed in the pocket of my blazer, vibrating against the armrest. I quickly clicked the call away with the side button, not even taking my eyes off the judge.
“Well, we have to take the whole picture into account, Miss Banks. That does include the child’s right to privacy.”
“Skye’s life is perfectly private,” I said. “Everyone in Wild Fields makes sure of that. Ever since Brooks asked people to respect his daughter’s right to privacy, there hasn’t been a single picture of her published anywhere as far as I know.”
For the next hour and a half, the judge needled me.
About the stability of my job at the saloon (very), any criminal records (none), how well I knew Skye’s routines and needs (pretty well, actually), my own plans to have children (not for another five years, at least), my family’s support in raising Skye (Mom lives literally next door—a fifteen-minute walk from Brooks’s new place), and all kinds of details, down to which name Skye called me (Addie).
My phone buzzed one more time, but I dodged that call too, without looking.
I probably should have informed Kiki of my change of plans, but I hadn’t known what I was going to do until I’d made it to the city.
“And when do you intend to get married? If that’s even still the plan after the fight you don’t want me to take into consideration.” She raised her brows at me.
My stomach turned. She was good. I’d almost believed that I was giving all the right answers.
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly, “if or when we’ll get married.”
“May I?” Brooks sat up a little straighter, and while his lawyer tried to hold him back, the judge waved for him to continue.
“I blurred a lot of lines with Adriana. I believe we submitted text and email records that show I was committed to keeping things professional between us for years even when I felt more drawn to her than I would have ever thought possible.”
Brooks’s lawyer gave the judge a file number, and Brooks slid a folder across the table to me.
Page after page of texts were printed out.
According to the time stamps, the oldest were almost four years old.
They spanned months and months. I only skimmed a few.
His bandmates had been giving him shit for how he acted PG-13 around me.
AJ called him out on being jealous when I hooked up with other men.
Elise made fun of him for being in a one-sided monogamous relationship.
Dave said he was friend-zoning himself. And every single text from Brooks was perfectly clear, shutting it down time and again, citing the age difference and the power imbalance between us.
Not once did he let himself be goaded into an inappropriate comeback.
I blinked up at Brooks.
All I could think of were the dozens upon dozens of songs on my playlist, when the others had only gotten a handful.
“This summer, I became a shareholder in Bravetown, where she works, and I also bought the rights to her first and second albums from Marble Audio. Those were business transactions. However, when it became apparent that Adriana was also interested in adding a romantic aspect to our relationship, I pursued her. We should have openly discussed how the pre-existing business arrangements would affect our relationship. That’s what caused our fight. ”
“While I appreciate your candor, Mr. Monroe, it does make me question the stability of your household, if one fight could make or break your engagement.”
“Skye called me four days ago,” I jumped in.
“Brooks and I had a falling-out, yes, but when Skye was staying with her grandparents’ last week, and they fought in front of her in a way that scared her, she still felt safe enough to call me to pick her up.
Despite our fight, I got in touch with Brooks immediately to make sure one of us could pick her up.
No matter what happens between us, we’re always going to put Skye first.”
The judge raised her neatly microbladed brows at the Greens. “Care to elaborate on that fight?”
Why hadn’t Brooks brought that up with the judge? Surely, his daughter hiding in the closet from her grandparents could only work in his favor.
The Greens’ lawyers gestured for the judge to wait, and discussed in hushed voices with their clients. Eventually, Mr. Green fixed his tie and spoke up. “We were discussing Skye’s academic career, should we be granted custody, Your Honor.”
The judge rifled through the papers on her desk. “It says here that you picked out a private school in Switzerland.”
“I believe Skye’s current online school serves all her needs,” Mrs. Green said. “Skye showed me how it works, and I’m fully prepared to help on the homework side of things or get her tutors if the online classes aren’t enough.”
“I think that her special needs should be addressed in person, by professionals who know how to handle mentally disabled children. But I’m willing to let the court decide on which path to take,” Mr. Green relented.
“Mr. Green, I have told you before, the term mental disability is outdated. You’ve agreed to refer to Skye’s autism by its name, as disability or as neurodivergence.” She levelled him with a glare that chilled even my bones. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And do you not feel able to address and handle Skye’s needs?”
“Of course I do, Your Honor,” he grunted, “but wouldn’t it be better for her to have professionals help raise her? People who have dedicated their lives to making children with her disability feel better? Give them a chance at a normal life?”
Brooks squeezed my hand under the table, tight enough for my knuckles to hurt. As much as he held himself back, I didn’t want him to sit through this.
“With all due respect, that’s bullshit,” I said.
“Language,” the judge warned.
“Addie love.” Brooks whispered the nickname like a plea.
“Mr. Green, just because Skye’s life isn’t going to be your cookie-cutter idea of normal, that doesn’t mean it’s any worse.
There’s nothing wrong with how much she loves history, dressing up in vintage clothes, and consuming every documentary and podcast on the things that interest her.
She likes horseback riding just like every other girl, but she wants to do it in full period costume.
She likes hanging out with her friends, hers are just online.
She’s about to hit puberty and she’s asking questions about sex, but they might be more technical than giddy.
Her experiences are different, not less. ”
“This world isn’t kind to different,” Mr. Green hissed.
“I know,” Brooks said, eyes fixed to our entwined hands. “I’m different. Autism is hereditary.”
A beat of silence passed in the courtroom.
Mr. Green was the first to open his mouth, but the judge cut him off with a raised finger.
“Mr. Monroe, are you saying that you’re diagnosed autistic?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Judging by the looks on Mr. and Mrs. Green’s faces, I will assume that they didn’t know about this. Miss Banks, are you aware of this diagnosis?”
“Of course, Your Honor. I’ve known for years,” I said, “and it makes him a great father because he knows exactly how Skye thinks and what she needs.”
“I will play the question I just asked Mr. Green back to you, Miss Banks. Do you feel able to handle and address Skye’s needs?”
“Yes.”
“I will be perfectly blunt,” the judge said and leaned on her desk to look directly at me.
“Skye is disabled. Everyone in attendance is much older than you. I am still unsure how to view your relationship with Mr. Monroe. But should you be left as Skye’s sole caregiver thirty years from now, are you willing to accept that responsibility? ”
“Your Honor”—I swallowed—“I love Skye, and I love Brooks, and I will do whatever you tell me to do to make sure they won’t get separated.
If you want me to marry him right now, hell, we’re in a courthouse, wife me up.
I’ll officially become her stepmom. If you think that my presence in their lives is too unstable, I will walk through those doors and out of their lives.
” I blinked against the haze of tears that sprang to my eyes.
“I love them enough to know they’re family, no matter what.
Everything else aside, he’s Skye’s dad first, and the love of my life second. ”
We weren’t given the chance to dwell on my words in the second of silence that followed, because my phone buzzed again.
Stupid goddamn blazer. You never heard it when I shoved it in the pockets of my skirts or jeans.
“Sorry, I’ll switch it off,” I mumbled and pulled it out.
Three missed calls and five text messages from “Kiki Nguyen Patrons of Music Records.”
“You should go.” Brooks was staring at my phone screen.
“No, it’s fine. It’s not important.” I started to switch my phone off but when the screen prompted me to confirm, Brooks pulled it from my hands and cancelled the shutdown.
“Go. Please. You’ve done all you can.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I whispered, my voice wobbling.
“Thank me later.”
Those three words hit me like a fist in the stomach. He was doing this for me. He was letting me go. He wanted me to act in my own best interest. Goddamn him.
I gave a slight nod as a single tear rolled down the side of my face.
Brooks wrapped his hand around the backrest of my chair and pulled it away from the table. I wasn’t getting a chance to rethink this decision. “I’d like to talk to the court without Adriana present for a moment,” he announced, covering for me as if the whole room hadn’t seen me pull out my phone.
I excused myself and left the room. As soon as the door had fallen shut behind me, I broke into a run.