Secrets & Submission

With a simmering strain, the courtroom awaits the judge’s verdict with bated breath. I hold mine, keeping with it the pent-up tension from the call this morning, the guilt I feel over being late, and my burning, driving curiosity about Eleanor Bordeu.

There’s a small movement at the front of the room that grabs my attention.

Eleanor’s eyes, flicking toward mine.

This is the third time she’s looked at me. The third time those dark eyes have pinned mine. It’s as if we’ve met before, but we haven’t. I would remember a woman who looked at me the way this woman does now.

Only one other woman has looked at me that way.

The memory of her tiptoes across the back of my mind. She had blue eyes, not brown, but the curiosity was the same.

Eleanor drops her gaze to the floor, and I remember to breathe.

The judge considers each of us in turn. “What you’ve requested today is unusual. So unusual, in fact, that I’ve considered denying the request to change custody simply to avoid setting a dangerous precedent. But you’ve impressed me today, Mr. Thompson. You and your team.” An exhale leaves me as he waves the papers in front of him, held in a loose fist. “I’ll grant your request to transfer custody and care of Ms. Bordeu from the Rockford Center to The Firm, with the full understanding that a life is at stake. Perhaps many lives.”

A shiver moves over my spine. Judge Martel referring to future cases with future patients makes me uneasy. If he opens the door to Eleanor’s custody transfer, then it’s open for more people after her. He and other judges will have to preside over cases like this one, but there will be precedent—us. I know that’s what he’s talking about. But the words “a life is at stake,” combined with the phone call, feel like ice at the center of my gut.

The conversation continues but dims and seems to blur into nothing as I stare ahead absently. My attention is on my own pulse. Steadying myself and refusing to allow any unwanted emotion to surface. I can’t meet the rest of this day with a knot in my stomach.

I can’t meet the rest of this day with the delicate curve of Eleanor’s neck on my mind. Or the way her sleeves flutter near her wrist in a simple, classic detail that makes me want to trace her bare skin there all the way around.

I can’t, and I won’t. I will not think of her that way. Not ever again. She is beautiful and tempting, but she is not mine to have.

With the pen held tightly in his hand, the judge signs a paper in front of him and taps his gavel in a perfunctory way that seems anticlimactic for all the work we’ve put in. As soon as his decision is finalized, there’s a flurry of motion. Aiden leaves his place at the front first. “Quick call,” he says on his way past. “Then I’ll be available.” The lawyer nods, and with a thin smile his hand lands on our client’s shoulder, gaining her attention. A heat rises up my chest, but it’s quickly displaced. Cade leans over the partition to talk to the lawyer. Silas and Dane get to their feet next to him. Then Damon. I’m quick to follow, taking great care not to give much thought to how slowly the lawyer’s hand drops back to his side.

Eleanor bends to lift her periwinkle wool coat from where it sat folded over her chair and pulls it on over slim shoulders. My palms ache in the strangest way. Like I should be helping her into that garment.

She doesn’t look at me as she dutifully follows her lawyer out of the courtroom.

Damon’s hand comes down on my shoulder, giving me a short squeeze. “You ready?”