I release a deep breath and push the door open. My eyes stay down as I make my way to the first row and take a seat. Milo sits beside me, completely casual and unaffected. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. I look around, taking a moment to see the room. I’ve been here a few times, but it’s as if I’m seeing it with new eyes.
The light oak wood covers the room with maroon accents. The judge’s seat is set high, showing his authority over the proceedings. We’re sitting on the right side of the courtroom, so I can sit behind the prosecution.
I don’t see anyone from Peter’s office and try not to let my worry set in because there’s no one yet on the defense side.
A hand touches my shoulder, and I jump. “Mrs. Bergen?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Rachel Harlow, the prosecutor on your husband’s trial,” she smiles. “Sorry to startle you, I wanted to introduce myself.”
I look at the woman no older than twenty-nine years old with questions swirling. “I don’t understand, where is Joshua? I thought the district attorney was prosecuting.”
She does the contrite lawyer look that is a mask to cover her disappointment. Peter invented that look. “He’s overseeing it, but considering the facts of the case, we’re very confident. There’s another associate counsel with me, so please don’t worry.”
“Not a chance of that, Ms. Harlow. How many murder cases have you tried?” I ask.
Rachel bristles. “This is my first, but I’m well-prepared.”
Peter always said no one is prepared for a murder trial. While I appreciate her confidence, it doesn’t do anything for my nerves. She could be young, hungry, and ready to make her mark, but I would’ve preferred it not be my husband’s trial.
She’s young, and I remember all too well Richard and Peter thinking they were hot shit when they definitely weren’t.
“I just was expecting Josh, that’s all.” I give her a soft smile. “Who is representing the defense?”
I know most of the law firms because they were Peter’s competition. He made it a point to watch other trials to see who was good and who sucked. Knowledge fueled his fire, and nothing burned his inferno more than another worthy lawyer.
I say a prayer over and over to not be Schilling, Bergen & Mitchell. I’ll walk out, and Milo won’t be able to stop me.
“I believe it was changed late last week,” she says as she opens her file, scanning the paper.
It doesn’t comfort me that she doesn’t even know who she’s going to be opposing in the trial.
“Danielle,” a deep voice says from behind.
“Richard, are you?”
“No,” he says immediately. “We’re not defending him. I wanted to let you know earlier this week, but I was in trial.”
I guess calling me was too much trouble . . .
“Richard,” Ms. Harlow says tersely.
“Rachel.” No love lost there, it seems. “Are you prepared to win?”
“I’m always prepared.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have the best record. I assumed that Joshua would be . . .”
“He’s not. I understand you both know Joshua and he has an impressive record, but let me be frank, I’m just as good. I know the ins and outs. I’m well aware of the evidence, witnesses, and all the inner workings of this case. You can be assured that this case is my top priority. I knew Peter as well,” she looks at me with kind eyes. “We may not have been on the same team, but he was one of us. I don’t take this lightly.”
“Thank you,” I say while squeezing my hands tight.
The nausea I was battling grows stronger when she walks to her table. I sit here, singing some random song in my head to keep myself from passing out.
Then, the side door opens.
My head feels light and my hands are numb. Everything is hazy as he walks into the room. His hair is cut shorter than his mug shot, and he shaved. He’s wearing a suit that is a little too big on him, either he’s lost weight or it’s borrowed.
I knew this moment would be hard, but I wasn’t even close to prepared.
Tears form and I gasp when his eyes meet mine.
“You can do this,” Milo’s deep voice says against my ears. “Don’t show weakness.”
I turn toward him, letting Milo see the pain that’s filling me. I can’t hide it, but I cannot let the killer see.
Of all the people in the world, Milo is the second worst to see this side of me. He wants to take from me as well. He plans to strip me of something I love and want.
However, right now, I don’t see that in him.
“How?” I whisper the word.
Milo’s eyes lock on mine. “You control it. You don’t show him you’re gutted. You show him he didn’t break you.”
I close my eyes, harnessing any strength left inside of me.
I’m not broken, I’m just in pain.
I think about Ava and Parker. How strong they are and the way they got through it.
A hand rests on my shoulders, and I quickly turn to find my three best friends sitting in the row behind me.
“What?” I ask. “How?”
I never told them. I knew what would happen if I did. They’d take off work, sit next to me, and be . . . well, them. My friends do too much for me as it is. I’ve relied on them for the last almost two years, and I didn’t want to burden them further.
“You didn’t think we’d let you do this alone, did you?” Kristin asks.
“But you have work,” I look at them. “All of you have other things. I didn’t want . . .”
“No one in this tribe walks alone,” Nicole tells me. “You were stupid to think we wouldn’t find out.”
Heather’s eyes are filled with love and a twinge of frustration. “I’m on the witness list. I was just waiting for you to tell us you needed us.” She looks to Milo and then back. “But I’m glad you had someone, even if it wasn’t us.”
It’s not like that. Milo isn’t my someone, he’s my assistant who took it upon himself to be here. Probably to get dirt to use on me later.
“Milo, didn’t—”
“It’s fine,” Heather cuts me off. “We were glad to see you weren’t alone. Truly.”
“Now I get it,” Milo says softly so only I can hear.
“Get what?”
His grin grows wide. “Why my brother moved to America.”
The judge walks in and I don’t have time to reply.
“Please rise,” the bailiff calls and we get to our feet. “The honorable Judge Evan Hellingsman presiding.”
And so it begins.
Chapter Eleven
Milo
I don’t know why I’m sitting here, wanting to comfort her.
It’s unlike me in every way.
Danielle has a life that I want no part of. She’s a widow, with kids, and it’s clear what type of life she wants to live. She wants the husband to adore her, raise children as a unit—well, that’s not me.
I’m reckless in every facet of my life. I like adventure, sex, and having zero responsibilities. My family likes to say I’m immature, while I would rather say I’m stubborn and smart. Why tie myself down when I was meant to soar?
Stupid really, if you think about it. I would be doing whoever was daft enough to love me a disservice.
Danielle starts to fidget with her hands, and I cover them with my own.
She looks up, and I squeeze a little. “Are you all right?”
It’s clear she’s not, but she nods anyway.
I move my hand back to my lap, pretending I don’t feel a protective urge when it comes to her. She joked about assaulting the bastard sitting on the other side of this railing, but it was me who had to grip the seat to stop myself from doing just that. The opening arguments were hard to listen to. They described Peter sitting in his office at his desk, how he was facing the photos that lined his desk with his family before him. The picture was clear, I would’ve thought I was there, watching this man walk in, raise his gun, and ending Peter’s life. When I saw her tears, I almost went into a fit of rage. It’s ridiculous that a woman I barely know makes me lose control.
But here I am, sitting beside her, wanting to find a way to ease any of her pain.
“Okay, I’d like to call a recess for the day. Trial will resume tomorrow at nine,” the judge says and bangs the gavel.
Danielle shifts to face the three women, including my sister-in-law, behind her. They start to chat, and I sit here, berating myself for thinking any of this was brilliant. I should’ve stayed at the office and worked on outdoing Danielle. I shouldn’t be in a courtroom with her.
I shouldn’t be doing a lot of things that I can’t seem to stop myself from doing.