Page 49 of Better as It

The day of the sentencing, I wake up nauseous. It’s not morning sickness. It’s something else. Something heavier.

Justin drives me to the courthouse in his truck. He wears a black button-down shirt, no cut, sleeves rolled just enough to show the edge of his ink.

He looks like a soldier.

Like a man on a mission.

We sit in the hallway for a long time before they call my name.

When I step into the courtroom, it feels like time folds in on itself. There’s the judge. The attorneys. And at the defense table—him.

Michael Brenner.

He looks nothing like the man in the newspaper photo. He’s smaller somehow. Paler. Wearing a suit that doesn’t quite fit.

I take my place at the podium.

My hands shake. My knees want to buckle.

But I look at him.

And I speak.

“I lost the love of my life because you decided your convenience was more important than his future.”

I talk about Benji. About who he was. About how many birthdays he will miss. About the baby who’ll never know him. I don’t scream.

I don’t cry.

I say every word with the kind of strength you only find when you’re at rock bottom.

And when I walk back to my seat, I don’t look at Michael Brenner again.

I look at Justin.

He’s already standing.

His eyes are glassy.

His arms open.

And I fall into them.

FIFTEEN

TOON

"When life becomes unbearable, channel the resilience of a grizzly." — Unknown

Tripp calls sermonat six sharp.

No warning. No soft lead-in. Just a single text to every patched member with the word:

sermon.

That call means shit has hit the fan when we have no heads up it’s coming.

I drive like hell to get there, heart pounding, stomach sour. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Not because of the chemo this time. Just this gnawing instinct. The one that tells you to brace for something ugly.

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