Page 91 of Cuffed By Your Love
Leila threw her hands up. “You damn right I got bars! Y’all forgot who I was? Ain’t no way I’m letting my best friend go through hell and not remind her she got a tribe.”
I wiped my tears and laughed. For real this time. That belly kind, the one that tugged at all the broken pieces and started fitting them back together.
“I love you, Leila.”
“I know. And we gon’ get through this. Just don’t shut us out, aight?”
Elias stepped closer, sliding his arm around my waist. “She won’t. Not on my watch.”
I looked between the two of them, one holding me like I was everything worth fighting for, the other reminding me I was never fighting alone.
Since Elias was able to pull some strings with his lieutenant, I was able to see the judge fairly quickly for an emergency temporary restraining order hearing.
The courtroom smelled like polished wood, old secrets, and nerves dressed in business casual. The pew-like benches looked holy like the ones in an old school Baptist church, but felt like judgment day punishment: rigid, narrow, and unforgiving. Golden scales etched into the wall above the judge’s bench glinted under flickering fluorescent lights, as if they were judgmental halos, buzzing, blinking, condemning, rolling their eyes, mocking the idea of justice.
The court bailiff called my name aloud.
Jonay Jacobson v. Kameron Sweets.
Temporary Restraining Order Hearing.
The words hit like a spotlight on shame, like I’d been called to testify against my own scars.
Elias rose before I could move, smooth but ready. He adjusted his badge beneath his jacket, the shift quiet but thunderous, like a warning:Don’t try me today.
His fingertips brushed mine, warm and steady, sunlight breaking through clouds. Not pushy, just present.
“You don’t have to be strong by yourself no more,” he said low, voice thick with gravel and grace. That man could make a whisper sound like a sermon.
I nodded, chin barely dipping, but inside, my spirit was clawing at the walls of my chest, screaming I’m not okay. I was terrified, but not of Kam. He could rot in the shadows he created. No, I feared what choosing me might cost. Of what I might lose in the process of trying to save my own damn life.
Kam sat two rows ahead, dressed like a lie. Wrinkled outlet store suit, collar crooked, sunglasses on like he couldn’t face the light of what he’d done. That same nasty smirk from The Nook curled his lips, fake confidence painted over cowardice. He looked like he thought he was still in control.
Elias shifted beside me, muscles tight, breath shallow, clutching his water bottle hard as hell. He didn’t say anything, but his energy changed—the calm before a hurricane. His hand hovered behind me, not touching, but near enough to feel, a protective field made of restraint and rage.
Then, from my left, I heard Leila mutter under her breath, low and lethal, “Yeah, that niggasweetalright… dick-in-the-ass-loving ass, cheating ass, woman-hating ass bitch.”
Elias choked mid-sip, water catching in his throat as he coughed into his fist, trying not to laugh aloud. I nearly broke character, trying to hold my snort in. That tension in my chestcracked just a little, just enough to let the light in. Leila arched a brow and gave me the side-eye like, ‘You’re welcome’.
“He’s lucky I’m in uniform,” Elias muttered next, finally composed, voice low and sharp, and it shot a chill down my spine. Not because I was scared, but because I knew that wasn’t just a comment. That was a promise to behave… for now.
Then the judge called us up… I stood, my knees trembling under the weight of my own fear. My breath caught in my throat, shallow and uneven. My skin prickled like the AC was blowing straight through my bones. Elias’s hand ghosted over my lower back again, not pushing me forward, but letting me know he’d catch me if I fell.
“Get your crown straight, baby,” he murmured, his lips close to my ear. “This your moment. Not his.”
I inhaled slowly, smelling the faint mix of cologne and sweat on Elias, spiced woods and warm amber, clean laundry folded into strength. He always smelled like safety, even in chaos.
The judge’s voice pulled me out of the moment. “Miss Jacobson,” she said, not even glancing up, “you’re requesting a permanent protective order?”
“Yes, your honor.” My voice cracked just slightly, a fracture from the past few days.
“Your statement says you’re a detention deputy for Self Ridge County Sheriff’s Office?”
I hesitated.
And that was the moment it hit me. This wasn’t just about Kam and me. This courtroom, this statement, this filing; it might cost me everything I’d worked for.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
