Page 77 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

She pats my knee. “You’re tough too, you know. And while I don’t think you should discount all of your attorney’s advice, in the end, it’s your life, your son, Jordan. If you feel like you need to speak, do it.”

Her inner strength and confidence flow toward me, holding me up. “Even if it rocks the boat?”

“Especially then. Take a risk for love, son, and speak from your heart. If the judge has any sense, he will see the love you have for your son and know exactly where he belongs, whether Marilee shows up or not.” She stands. “Though for the record, I still think she will.”

Exhaling, I rise too. “I hope so.”

Then, together, we walk into the courthouse and toward Courtroom 2, where Sam meets us down the hall. He’s wearing a brown suit with a briefcase tucked under one arm and reassures me that everything’s in order. Larry and Constance stand on the other side of the doors with a middle-aged woman in a striking blue pantsuit, her brown bob cut at a sharp angle. Constance glances my way, purses her lips, and turns away. At least Larry, for his part, gives me a small wave before frowning and scratching the back of his bald head that shines under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the courthouse.

My chest tightens at the sight of our friends—Landon, Lucy, Blake, Chloe, Freddy, even April and the twins—huddled in a quiet group, all dressed nicely in skirts or slacks. Sam said he might call Landon, Lucy, and Blake to the stand as character witnesses depending on how the trial is going, but I didn’t expect the rest of them to be here.

I guess I should have, but I didn’t.

There are a few glaring absences, though. My dad, no surprise. And?—

“Where’s Mare?” Lucy’s hand finds my elbow, her voice wrapped in concern.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I shrug. “We didn’t drive together.”

“What? Why? And why is she back sleeping at our house?” she hisses, glancing over her shoulder toward Constance and Larry, who don’t appear to be paying us any mind. “She wouldn’t talk to me about it last night, and she was gone before I got up, but something has to be very wrong for her not to be here.”

“That’s a question for her, I guess. If she shows up.” I have the sudden urge to rip this tie from my neck and toss it away, because breathing has once again become a chore.

“Jordan! Of course she’s going to show up. She loves you and Ryder.”

Does she, though?The question burrows deep in my subconscious. I hate doubting her. And the thing is, I’m not mad. Just sad. And oh so tired.

Exhausted, in fact. But that will mean nothing to the judge, and Ryder needs me to be strong. And despite the crowd here today, nobody else can fight this battle for me.

Lucy frowns, Blake at her back, and she looks like she’s going to say more, but then the bailiff calls us in. We shuffle through the thick beige double doors. The room’s smaller than courtrooms I’ve seen in movies, with only a few rows of chairs set up on either side of the short aisle. A waist-height paneled wall divides the gallery from the two basic wooden tables equipped with three chairs and a pair of microphones each. The courtroom echoes with the sound of everyone getting settled. A court reporter and clerk take their seats at a desk that stands between our tables and the elevated judge’s bench, to the right of which is the witness stand.

“All rise,” the bailiff announces.

I draw in a sharp breath. It’s here.

We all stand, and the back door opens. A man in a black robe and graying hair walks through and takes a seat as the bailiff continues. “This court with the Honorable Judge Eli Terpstra presiding is now in session. Please be seated and come to order.”

Here we go.

My palms sweat as the Comers’ attorney—a Sheila Devoney—launches into the reason we are all here: sweet Ryder. She’s very dramatic as she paints a picture of what a great mom Georgia was (a picture I agree with) and how she was taken too soon. How the Comers had concerns over my parenting, but when they raised them with their daughter, she said she wasn’t worried because she was in his life to balance things out. (Not sure how true that was, because Georgia never expressed concerns to me.)

I have to sit there while Sheila disparages my character, parading witnesses in front of the judge, whose expression is solemn. He’s clearly invested, nodding along. Then Ms. Devoney calls a waitress from the hotel restaurant to the stand and enters the social media video into evidence. The moment I punch Donny is displayed on the television for all to see, and I catch a hint of disapproval cross Judge Terpstra’s face.

Great.

Sam cross-examines the woman, but she wasn’t close enough to overhear our conversation, only enough to know I was angry and upset and Donny seemed to be laughing and “not causing any problems.”

When he sits down, I lean toward him and whisper, “If I don’t say something, the judge is going to think I’m violent for no reason.” How else is he supposed to know that the man I hit was my wife’s abusive ex, saying very derogatory things? Sure, maybe violence was not the best course of action, but I definitely didn’t hit an innocent man out of nowhere.

“If you get on the stand, you’ll open yourself up to a lot more criticism than that, because you’ll be obligated to tell the truth about your marriage.” Sam’s eyebrows give a knowing jaunt. “Don’t worry. We’ll have a chance to tell our side through our witnesses.”

But that’s the thing.Iwon’t have a chance to tell my side. Not if I sit here and stay silent.

My eyebrows narrow as I listen to Constance’s friend on the stand talking about the bowling alley incident, then Constance as she tells about her discovery of our marriage contract. She does seem genuinely distraught over the whole thing, but I can’t tell if it’s just a ploy to get sympathy, or if she really, truly believes that I’m the scum of the earth.

Who knows. Maybe I am.

But I love my son, and I’m not done fighting for him.

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