Zander: Quiet, yet full of questions.My response makes me smile and I glance over at Ella, this beautiful woman by my side who’s taking in the courtroom and watching each of the people who file in.I recognize a handful of them, Quincy’s friends and family who offer me nods, quiet hellos and a squeeze of my shoulder from Quincy’s father.
I don’t say much and neither do they. They all notice Ella, though, and their hesitant smiles offer me only a modicum of comfort.
She wears a simple black sheath dress that still manages to look expensive, her hair in a twist behind her head, and she looks exactly as prim and proper as the day I first saw her. Exactly as elegant. Some things are different, of course—there’s a light in her eyes now that wasn’t there before. She’s not so silent. But anyone looking at her now would never know what she’d been through. They’d see a gorgeous, delicate woman wearing a serious expression and sitting at my side. No more, no less.
There are many sides that people show. The broken man. The loyal brother. The confident Dom.
I’m not any of those today. Not completely. I’ve healed enough that I’m not going to lose my shit in the courtroom, but I can still feel the cracks in my heart that were left when that policeman showed up at my door.
I add, after a moment with him not responding, She’s good.
Cade: Let me know how it goes and if you need anything.
The proceedings begin, and it’s mostly a bunch of legal bullshit, the opening arguments and requests for changes to this or that. Which piece of evidence can be admitted. Who is representing whom. It all seems very clinical compared to the reality of the situation. No one mentions what the night air felt like on my face as she walked away from me. No one describes the reflection of the streetlights in her hair or the angry set of her shoulders. All of this is encapsulated with a few quick sentences. A statement from her then-partner Zander Thompson.
Of course I’m mentioned, but that amounts to nothing, just like my relationship with Quincy did. Other than her murderer, I was the last person to see her alive.
Ella stiffens at the mention of my name. I’m quick to move my arm around her, pulling her in and retaking her hand. She molds against me, warm and with a remorseful expression. My name is mentioned again, but those sentences are swallowed up by what happened after. I’m not on trial in this case, and neither is Quincy. It’s her murderer who’s on trial. A guy who’s been rotting in a jail cell since his arrest two years ago. I feel no pity for him. Let him rot forever.
Was Quincy thinking about our conversation when she died? That’s what I want to know. Before the murderer approached her, what was she going to do? Was she going to storm back over and scream at me for not wanting to get married? Was she going to apologize and tell me she loved me, even if I couldn’t say it back?
No one mentions this, either. It’s not part of a legal proceeding. Quincy becomes the body her assailant attacked. No mention of whether her face flushed with anger when he attacked her or went pale with fear. No mention of whether she screamed, or what she said. Signs of a struggle. Lacerations on her temple and collarbone. Fifth metacarpal fracture.
They can’t see her, but I can. She took a swing at the guy. It wasn’t enough.
My throat dries and I have to readjust, keeping back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. It’s been two years, but there’s no amount of time that could pass and make this right.
I take so many four-count breaths I lose track of them. Ella holds my hand tightly through the whole hearing. It’s the longest we’ve touched each other. She refuses to let go and I’m grateful for her.
Quincy ended up in harm’s way because she wanted more from me than the D/s relationship we had, and I didn’t want that. I couldn’t feel the spark for it, even though she was beautiful and smart. Something in my gut warned me away from that deeper commitment. And now I’m here with Ella, who also wants more than domination and submission. She wants it, even if she hasn’t admitted it. Of course she wants it. She’s been married before. She knows what it means to commit like that.
And with her—
My chest seems to expand with how much I want that too. The vision blocks out the court proceedings. If Ella were mine, she’d have my ring on her finger right now. I could feel it while she held my hand. It wouldn’t be her home, but our home, somewhere else. It would be the two of us looking out at the world together. But then again … would she ever want to move?
Peeking down at her, I know she was someone else’s first. Someone she misses. Someone she hasn’t let go of. I know it all too well.
There’s also the logistics and legal blocks that would stand in our way. If Cade allows me to return to the company, there’s no chance in hell I can be married to a former client. A current client. Trust is our main currency at The Firm. If potential applicants can’t count on us to protect their lives and well-being, then we don’t have a job. My brother’s business will be destroyed. All kinds of suspicions would follow all of them everywhere.
The prosecution has brought out more evidence. Pictures, this time. Of the street where it happened, a yellow arrow pointing to where Quincy’s body was found. Another photo. Another yellow arrow. This is where it happens.
Photos of Quincy.
The rush of blood fills my head, and Ella’s grip on my hand tightens. I’m not going to lose control. I’m not going to sink into this firestorm of guilt and hate. I can witness it from a distance, the way I have to witness these photos. Rage slowly consumes me. Breathe.Breathe.
“Do you want to leave?” she murmurs into my ear. Both of her hands firmly around mine.
I offer her the single word although it comes out harsh and ragged. “No.” I don’t want to stay, but I’m not walking out now. I won’t walk out now. I have to face this as much as Quincy's murderer does. I have to look at the consequences of my actions. Forcing myself to restrain every emotion, I tell her calmly, “We’ll stay.”
“Okay.” Ella sounds even and sure. She’s not disappointed that I want to stay, though I do glance over at her face in profile. Should I have brought her here? She’s under the care of The Firm because her past caught up with her. Overwhelmed her.
“What about you?”
Ella’s eyes come to mine, and I don’t see an ounce of indecision there. “It’s hard to look at,” she says, keeping her voice low. “But I want to be with you for this.”
I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles.
I’m so damn grateful she’s here, and it brings back that overwhelming sense that she should be mine. In every way possible. Using the D/s relationship as the only framework for us seems like a cop-out, in a way. Saying that’s all we can have is a lie. It’s not true. There can be more. Another layer. If Ella wants it. If she really does want it, once all of this is over and she’s not in The Firm’s care. Not a minute before.