It’s been three weeks since shit hit the fan and my life imploded. Twenty-one days since a malicious lie ripped out my heart out and destroyed my chance at happiness. I can’t even count the hours, because there are too many. All I know is that I hate the emptiness I feel each day when I wake up, and the loneliness that threatens to consume me at night. There hasn’t been a moment that I haven’t thought about revenge. I’ve waited for Alicia to call or show up, but she hasn’t, and today I’ll see her in court. I really want to ask her why. Why go through the trouble of destroying my life if she wasn’t planning on showing up like she told Katelyn and Josie she was?
Liam is determined to beat Sam at her own game. He wants her far away from him before the wedding. I don’t blame him. She’s dangerous. We should’ve seen the signs a long time ago, but we were young and stupid, and she made being in a band easy. Liam hired a private investigator and turned over all the evidence he uncovered himself. Within a week, we had enough to go to a judge and ask for help. So now we’re sitting here, waiting.
Waiting is the hard part. It makes me anxious. I stare down each woman that walks into the courthouse, wondering if it’s Alicia. Aside from the doctored images she produced with her face, I haven’t seen her in eight years. The way Josie described her doesn’t fit the picture I have of her from that fateful night. I’ve hidden the photos of us in my room for when Quinn asks about her. I want to be able to show him that yes, we were smiling at one time in our lives. I’m not sure how, or even if I’ll ever tell him about that night. I’d like him to make his own decisions about his mother, and not be forced by what she did to me. I wouldn’t be able to tell him anyway, other than what she told me. Remembering that night is like staring off into space – nothing’s there.
I’ll be asking a family judge to issue a no contact order against Alicia. She hasn’t done any physical harm to Quinn or me, so a restraining order is out of the question, but as his primary legal guardian, I can ask that she’s not allowed to contact him until he turns eighteen. My lawyer seems to think that we shouldn’t have any problems obtaining this. She’s hasn’t shown any interest in Quinn, just me as of late, so there’s no need for her to be near him until he’s old enough to make that decision on his own.
Liam is next to me, his leg bouncing up and down. He’s nervous, I know. We’ve underestimated Sam and it’s done a lot of damage to the band and our personal lives. We’ve filed a restraining order against Sam and Moreno Entertainment. It’s a long shot, we know, but our private investigator uncovered a lot that we didn’t know, and this is our only recourse. We talked about filing a lawsuit, but our attorney advised us to try this avenue first in the hope that Mr. Moreno would put a leash on his daughter.
My name gets called, as does Alicia’s. I look around, but don’t see anyone walking toward the clerk standing at the door.
“I’ll be waiting here,” Liam says before I step away. How we ended up with hearing times an hour apart is mind blowing. I thought for sure it would be months before I’d get in front of a judge, not weeks.
I walk into the judge’s chamber, followed by my lawyer. He hasn’t changed much over the years; he’s still pudgy and just as bald. We sit on one side of the table and wait.
“Is she going to show up?”
“She was served and if she doesn’t, he’ll sign the order.”
“I want to see her,” I say abruptly. I have no idea why I said that, but it’s true. I want to look at her and try to figure out what makes her tick.
We stand when the judge comes into his chamber. The bailiff tells us that we can sit.
“Where’s Ms. Tucker?”
“Not here, Your Honor,” my lawyer says.
The judge looks at his watch and writes something down.
“Are you the father of Quinn James?”
“I am,” I say proudly.
“It says here, Mr. James, that you’re seeking a no contact order against Ms. Tucker.”
“That’s correct.”
“And Ms. Tucker isn’t here to dispute this?”
“No, Your Honor, she was served and awarded a public defender, according to my records,” my lawyer adds.
“Very well,” he says as he scribbles on his paper. “Motion granted. Ms. Tucker is to have no contact with the child in question until he reaches the age of eighteen.” The judge gets up and leaves; and like that, we’re done.