“No touching!” the guard demanded.
“Enough.” The voice was commanding but calm. The pressure clamped around my neck grounded me in a way nothing else had. Scared of that too, I rotated, the firm hold on me not at all dislodged.
My eyes collided with a steady pair that froze the air in my lungs. They looked like dual sunbursts, the irises a burnished brown that faded into molten gold.
“I did not fly all this way for you to throw a tantrum and get tossed back in a cell. You called. We came. Sit your ass in the chair and listen.”
My teeth slammed together.
The fingers at the sides of my throat tightened. I swallowed, reveling in the pressure. My heart began to regulate itself, no longer galloping in my chest.
“I said no contact.” The guard appeared over Emmett’s shoulder, and my muscles tensed anew.
His thumb slid up to my pulse point to draw a lazy circle. My eyes went back to him immediately, the guard suddenly unimportant.
Rush’s coach turned his head, the sharpness of his jaw matching his tone. “I’ll let go when I’m good and ready.” He glanced back at me. “Sit down.”
I sat.
The guard vacated the room.
A tissue appeared in front of my face. “Wipe the blood off your face.”
I took the tissue Emmett offered and held it up to my tender split cheek.
“Can we continue?” the lawyer asked.
I nodded once, and Emmett retrieved the chair I’d flung across the room and dropped into it on the same side of the table as me.
I eyed him, but he ignored me, turning his attention to the man in the suit.
“You’ve been harassing the Cobalts for months,” Mr. Sabatino deadpanned.
I stiffened.
“They’ve let it slide up until now because…” He paused, and I jumped on it.
“Because their precious son murdered my sister.”
“Yes. Because of that.”
I snorted.
“But I’m afraid you went too far this time. Their entire guest house was burned down.”
I said nothing.
“Harassment. Trespassing. Disorderly conduct. Underage drinking.”
“I’m twenty-one,” I said at the same time Rush said, “He’s twenty-one.”
“Oh.” Sabatino glanced down at his files.
“My birthday was a month ago,” I supplied. I’d turned a year older, but Brynne never would.
“I see,” he said, glancing up from the papers. “You have quite a rap sheet from the past year.”
“So?”