As I’m lost in my head, Dad shoves past East, sidesteps Cousins, and punches Steve in the jaw so hard that the sound of the impact echoes from one side of the large living room to the other. This time when Steve wipes a hand across his mouth, blood smears across his face.
“Enough. He’s in police custody,” Detective Cousins snaps.
Dad doesn’t look away from Steve. “You bastard. You sleep with my wife, kill a woman, and try to pin it on my son?”
“Dad,” I say hoarsely. “He’s not worth it.”
And he’s not. Steve doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is I’m alive. Everyone I care about is alive and unhurt. I’m not going to prison. Ella’s coming home with us, where she belongs. We’re going to survive this, just like we survived our mother’s suicide, our broken family, and our own demons.
I tuck Ella’s hand securely in mine and say, “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Home.”
She’s silent for a moment. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” Easton says, coming up on Ella’s other side. “Your room’s a mess.”
“Because you keep watching football in there,” she mutters as we lead her away. “I expect you to clean it the moment we get back.”
Easton stops at the penthouse door and looks at her incredulously. “I’m Easton Royal. I don’t clean shit.”
Dad sighs. The twins snicker. Even the cops look like they’re trying not to laugh.
I clasp Ella’s hand more firmly in mine and walk out with each of my brothers falling in line. Behind us is the tormented and terrible past. In front of us is our unblemished future.
I’m not looking back again.
36
Reed
It takes all of forty-eight hours for Halston Grier to get another hearing for me. This time, I’m not even annoyed that Judge Delacorte is assigned to the case. There’s something awesomely ironic about the fact that he’s going to have to rule on the motion to dismiss all the charges against me after he tried to bribe my father.
“Given your past with this judge, my advice is to look suitably penitent throughout the proceeding,” Grier advises as we wait for Delacorte to appear from his chambers. The hearing was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, but the judge is sulking in the back, trying to delay the inevitable.
Grier’s warning is unnecessary. I haven’t smiled much since I got the call from Ella on Saturday night.
“All rise, the Honorable Judge Delacorte is presiding.”
“Honorable, my ass,” East mutters loudly behind me.
Grier is facing forward, but his co-counsel, Sonya Clark, turns to glare at my brother.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Easton making a zipping motion across his lips. Ella is beside him, and she’s sitting strangely close to Dinah. I guess the two of them formed a weird bond the night that Steve confessed to killing Brooke because he’d mistakenly thought she was Dinah.
I still think Dinah is a snake, but holy shit am I grateful to her. Yes, she blackmailed my brother, but she also saved Ella’s life. If she hadn’t grabbed that gun out of the safe and come to Ella’s aid, things could have ended a lot differently. Thanks to Dinah, Ella is safe and Steve O’Halloran will be behind bars, charged with the crime that everyone thought I committed.
Every time I think about it, I want to punch something. That bastard was actually going to let me rot in jail for something I didn’t do. I know he’s Ella’s father, but I’ll never be able to forgive him for what he did. I don’t think Ella can, either.
Grier tugs on my jacket as a reminder to get to my feet. I stand, as ordered, and then wait for the bailiff to give us the okay to sit down.
With his black robe and gray hair, Judge Delacorte looks the part of an honorable man, but we all know he’s nothing but scum of the earth, burying the crimes of his punk-ass, rapist son.
Delacorte takes a seat and begins to leaf through the motion papers from the attorneys. All the while, the entire courtroom is on their feet. What a jackass.
After ten long minutes tick off the clock, the bailiff finally clears his throat. His red face displays his embarrassment. Not his fault his boss is a total dickweed. We all feel bad for him.
The cough gets Judge Delacorte’s attention. He raises his head, looks us over, then nods. “You may be seated. Does the State have a motion to make?”
There’s a lot of shuffling as people take their seats. The DA remains standing. It’s got to be tough to do this—admit that they were wrong about all the evidence and nearly steamrolled an innocent kid into prison. “Yes, we do.”
“And what is it?” Delacorte’s impatience isn’t even thinly disguised. He’s irritated he has to be here, even though this is his job.
Stoically, the DA announces, “The DA would move to dismiss the charges.”
“Under what grounds?”
It’s all laid out in the paperwork in front of Delacorte, but because he hates his life, he’s going to try to make everyone else equally unhappy.
“The grounds that new evidence suggests that the wrong individual has been charged. We now have another suspect in custody.”