Chapter 37
Kelly
Life with J.T. is fabulous.
Really, I didn’t think life could feel like this.
For so many years, I was married to a man who made affection feel like a transaction—something earned or withheld. Something that came with strings attached.
But J.T.? He loves me out loud.
Every day.
In ways big and small.
He kisses me when he walks through the door. Pulls me close while we’re cooking dinner just because he wants to feel me in his arms. Calls me Honey in that deep voice of his like the word was invented for me alone.
I have never felt so loved. And I have definitely never had so much attention.
He makes me feel happy, vibrant, energized, which is saying something, considering my husband is built like a mountain and apparently has the stamina of a professional athlete. I shift slightly in my seat and hide a smile behind my hand.
But it hasn’t all been perfect. The attempted kidnapping shook all of us.
Especially me.
For a few days afterward, I couldn’t take my eyes off Evan without imagining every terrible possibility in the world. I caught myself hovering—asking too many questions, checking on him too often.
Hell, I was practically smothering him with maternal concern. J.T. noticed immediately. He always does. And he knew exactly what to say to ease my mind.
“You gotta breathe, Honey,” he told me one night while we were standing in the kitchen watching Evan do homework at the table.
“What if—”
“He’s safe,” J.T. said gently.
And the way he said it made me believe him. Because J.T. doesn’t say things lightly. And he protects Evan like the boy is his own.
Which, I guess, he is now.
The way they’ve bonded in such a short time still amazes me. Evan hangs on his every word—whether they’re feeding the goats, fixing something in the barn, or just sitting on the couch watching baseball together.
Sometimes I catch them laughing about something and my chest aches with how right it feels.
It makes me love J.T. even more.
I haven’t told him yet. Not in those exact words.
But I will.
Soon.
Because keeping it inside feels wrong somehow—like I’m holding something back from him that he deserves to hear.
And J.T. Lawrence deserves honesty.
He deserves everything.
A few days pass. Then suddenly we’re back in family court.
The courthouse feels just as suffocating as it did before.
Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Old wooden benches. A handful of other families sitting quietly in the hall, waiting for their lives to be picked apart by strangers.
This is family court.
Where people come when everything is falling apart.
Mike is already seated at the table when we enter.
His parents sit beside him, stiff and composed, their posture screaming respectability even though the situation they’ve dragged us into is anything but.
Together they present a united front.
Mike doesn’t even look at me at first.
He just sits there pretending to be the wounded father.
The story his lawyer tells is almost laughable if it weren’t so infuriating.
According to them, Mike needs custody of Evan because I’m somehow irresponsible enough to have “almost allowed him to be kidnapped.”
My stomach twists hearing the words spoken out loud.
Thank God for J.T.
He sits beside me like a fortress.
One hand resting calmly over mine, his thumb rubbing slow circles across my skin whenever he feels my fingers tense.
Our lawyers are here, too. And they are ruthless.
They lay everything out piece by piece.
The financial fraud.
The stolen college fund.
The mortgage taken out in my name.
The fact that Mike fled town and only returned when his teenage bride abandoned him.
Then they bring up the attempted kidnapping.
The evidence collected by the private security firm J.T. hired.
Phone records.
Witness accounts.
The suspicious timing.
By the time they’re finished, the courtroom is quiet.
Mike’s face has gone pale.
His parents look less confident now. Less proud. More embarrassed.
Which, honestly, is the least they should feel.
The judge eventually speaks.
His tone measured. Careful.
Mike is now facing possible criminal charges related to the attempted kidnapping.
But that is for criminal court to decide.
Family court is never simple.
And even with everything that’s been presented, the judge still decides Mike will be allowed supervised visitation with Evan.
The words land like stones in my stomach.
But I don’t argue.
Because Evan deserves the chance to see his father. Even if that man doesn’t deserve him.
So we settle on something simple. Evan’s baseball game this Saturday.
The annual father-and-son game. It’s something Evan has been talking about for weeks.
Mike hasn’t attended the last few years. But my son still lights up whenever he mentions it.
When Evan is called into the courtroom, my heart nearly breaks watching him walk up beside me.
The judge asks the usual awful questions.
Who do you want to live with?
How are things at home?
Do you feel safe?
Evan answers bravely, his voice steady.
Then the judge asks if he’d like to spend time with his father. Evan looks at me.
I know exactly what he’s thinking. That saying yes might somehow hurt me.
So I smile. And nod.
I never want him to feel like he has to choose between us.
Mike may be a lot of things. But he’s still Evan’s dad. And once, long ago, he loved our son.
So I offer the solution.
“The baseball game,” I say gently. “That would be a good place.”
Evan brightens instantly.
“That would be great!” he says, turning toward Mike. “Dad, we can play like we used to. Remember?”
Mike nods quickly.
“Yes, son. If it’s okay with the court, I’ll be there Saturday.”
His voice catches just enough to sound emotional.
Convincing.
I watch him for a moment. Then I look away. Because even now, I can’t imagine he would ever actually hurt his own child.
J.T.’s warm hand is on the small of my back, anchoring me, and I nod as the lawyers and the judge work out the proposed visitation.