Page 22 of Muddy Messy Love

My heart hammers. This is all moving so fast. In movies, trials drag on for days. And somehow the weeks spent dreading today feel dishonoured by the haste.

Summoned by my silence, Cole turns towards me, and his pale eyes lock on mine, speaking soundless words. He dips his chin in a nod, bestowing me enough certainty to answer, and my chest unfurls ever so slightly.

Inhaling a Beth breath, I look back up. “Guilty, Your Honour.”

Again, Cole nods, and I savour his approval like the first sun of spring. He resumes facing the front. “Your Honour, I’m ready to make sentencing submissions. I understand the prosecution isn’t opposed, if Your Honour has the time.”

“I’ll hear it,” she says, and the clerk descends from the cubicle adjacent, collecting papers from Cole, before handing them to the magistrate and resuming her post.

Cole starts his submission detailing my lack of criminal history and post-incident exemplary behaviour but then ploughs into the muddied depths of my family tree. At the mention of Mum and Dad, my defences flare. A mental barricade forms around me like a rust-laden cone of silence, and I fight back Cole’s words.

“Emotional and financial stress—”

I squeeze harder.

“Under the influence of a new acquaintance known to police—”

Nooo.

“Top three of her class—”

How far I’ve fallen.

“Bethany has provided a character statement in support—”

I inch the barricade down, sensing the worst is over, but tune back in with caution.

“Furthermore, my client will attend the University of Melbourne next year, and until such time, has an offer of full-time work at Benedict Kane.”

His words jolt me like defibrillation pads shock back life.

What did he just say?

“Are you to accept this offer of work?” The magistrate’s gaze pins me, and my eyes widen, my mouth opens, but no words come out.

I look to Cole for help—clarity—a fucking explanation, but he remains facing the magistrate, who is fast losing patience. Squirming in my chair, I clear my throat. “Ah… Yes, Your Honour.”

What else can I say?

She tends to her notes, and I frown at Cole’s back.

What the hell was that?

His perfect voice refills the room. “While sentencing is a matter of discretion for Your Honour, I understand the prosecution isn’t opposed to this matter being dealt with without conviction, and I’d argue an appropriate sentence in this case is a six-month good behaviour bond.”

“Senior Constable Greening, are you opposed to a bond in this matter?”

“No, Your Honour. We agree that’s appropriate given the personal circumstances of the defendant and circumstances of the offence.”

The magistrate’s eyes find mine. “Stand, please.”

My heels wobble as I rise, and I squeeze my hands until they ache.

“Avery, I’ve read through the facts of this case and the supporting documents you provided, and I’m satisfied this incident was isolated and uncharacteristic. I accept the incident occurred at a troubled time but strongly advise you to exercise wisdom when choosing acquaintances. Consideringyour employment and education prospects, I believe you deserve a second chance and the opportunity to proceed with life, record untarnished. Therefore, I agree that no conviction will be recorded in this matter. I will, however, be placing you on a good behaviour bond for a period of six months. Please be seated.”

“Thank you, Your Honour,” I whisper on wobbly knees. Giddiness swamps my head, and I drop to the chair with limp arms as dread floats free from my bones. Tears prick my eyes, and glitter twirls through my tummy. I have a second chance.

You deserve a second chance, Avery.

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