Page 20 of Muddy Messy Love

He glimpses up. “Are you in a relationship with him?”

My cheeks burn. “How is that relevant?”

Cole’s eyes narrow. “I’m on your side, Avery. The more information I have, the better.”

Shoulders slumping, I stare at my lap. “I think so. Well, I was.” I look up and shake my head. “I don’t know anymore.”

He taps his pen on the table while he studies me, then drops his gaze. As he lifts another page, his eyes return. “An aspiring sculptor with an ATAR of 98.2.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but I answer anyway. “I worked really hard,” I say, and it’s the truth. I even skipped year ten and graduated early. Mum tried to stop me, but I fought back. Why be in school longer than necessary? I never understood her logic.

The vertical line reappears between his brows, and he tilts his head. “So how’d you end up here?”

My chin drops to my chest. “Book smarts don’t negate stupidity, I guess.”

Shifting back in my chair, I close my eyes and recall the lonely nights at my apartment before Slade came along, Mum’s announced departure at my graduation dinner two measly weeks before Christmas, and the swift shove into adulthood when the earth fell away.

Teardrops bead on my skirt before melting into the fabric, and I wring my hands in my lap. Gone is the colourful nail polish I typically wear, demure nude pink in its place. “I lost myself,” I say, but the moment the words are free, I know it’s a lie. How can you lose something you never found?

Silence darkens the room, and I wipe away my tears with Beth’s blazer sleeve.

Cole retrieves a document from the file and slides it towards me. “I’ve spoken with the police prosecutor. Given the circumstances—the true lack of intent, your potential right of claim, and other facts—he’s agreed to downgrade your charges to one count of trespass.”

My eyes widen, and hope tingles my stomach. “Is that good?”

“Very good. If you agree and plead guilty. It will be a summary offence versus an indictable. As I’m sure your sister told you, detention was already highly unlikely, but this deal makes it impossible.”

I stare at him. It’s the word I’ve longed to hear.Impossible. Impossible leaves no room for worry. It deprives the spark of oxygen, snuffing out any chance of fire.

“I’d have a second chance.” The words ghost my lips, and Cole’s stare intensifies.

He looks at me like he knows me. “You deserve a second chance, Avery.”

Do I?The prospect places responsibility for my future squarely back in my palms, and I don’t quite trust myself not to fuck it up again.

“The prosecutor also agreed to no conviction being recorded and a six-month good behaviour bond as recommended punishment. We’ll request the magistrate hear sentencing submissions today. Should she accept our request, you’ll be free to get on with your life. Naturally, we still need to present you as favourably as possible, since she will make the final call.”

I nod. “I’ll do anything.”

Cole considers me for a moment before sliding a document forward. “I’ll need you to sign here.”

Our fingertips brush as I take the pen from his hand. Fluorescent sticky notes show me where to sign, and my belly flutters more with each letter inked. “Thank you,” I say, returning his pen, unable to stop my smile.

He slips it inside his jacket, then squares the documents against the table. “Don’t thank me yet. We still have the magistrate to convince.” He returns them to the folder and closes the cover, hiding that awful mugshot. Hopefully, he burns it.

“A good behaviour bond requires you to adhere to set conditions. If you breach those, the bond can be revoked, and a harsher penalty may apply. Not to mention potential fresh charges in respect of the breach. You’re legally an adult now, Avery. This is no longer child’s play. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I would sooner sell a kidney than break the law again.” I’d have more chance of surviving the former.

“Good,” he says, “I’ll let the court know we’re ready.”

Cole rolls out his chair, stands, and refastens the button of his suit jacket before returning my file to his case and tossing a thin rubber band across the table towards me.

I frown and pick it up. “What’s this?”

He remains focused on his case, arranging the satin-lined lid. “I suggest you tie your hair back before your appearance.”

“Why?” I ask.

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