Bradford Brawler (Bradford Bastard 2)

My father eyes Bri with irritation, and I block it out as I put my arm over her shoulder and pull her into my side. “Of course,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I know Addison will be relieved to see some friendly faces in here. Though, fair warning, Hudson is going to have something to say about it. He would have killed to be here—”

“Oh yeah,” she cuts me off. “He’s parking the car. Like hell he was going to miss this. The second he saw me bailing, he was right there with me.”

Not a moment later, Hudson strides through the courtroom doors and Addison glances back, locking eyes with him. There’s an odd intensity between them, but as Eddison leans into her side and murmurs something in her ear, the moment passes, and Hudson simply slides in on Bri’s other side.

Glancing across to thank him for being here for Addison, I notice a timid set of eyes locked on mine from across the courtroom, and my blood turns cold. Not because of who she is or what I did to her, but because of the child in her arms.

Rachael Jacobs, Colby’s older sister who was sent away right after shit went down, sits with her parents and a baby boy clinging to her side.

Noticing my stare, Rachael’s lips kick up into a wicked grin as if to say gotcha motherfucker. Her arm tightens around her son, and my whole world flashes before my eyes. She’s too fucking smug for this to be innocent, and as she turns her attention toward the front of the room, I feel my world slipping away.

My hands begin to sweat and my heart races, mentally doing the math while my brain short circuits, not even able to recall just how long ago I fucked her, but I’m damn sure that I was safe. I used protection, but that kid with his dark hair and even darker eyes … no. It’s not possible.

This is all in my fucking head. That can’t be my kid.

I fucked Rachael once with protection, but he looks the right age, and fucking hell, he looks like me.

Panic tears at my throat, and I can barely breathe when Brielle pushes in closer. “Hey,” she murmurs, her brows furrowed as she steals my attention. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, umm … I’m fine. Just worried about the case.”

She nods, but it’s clear she doesn’t buy my brush off, then before she can question me further, I hear the bailiff’s deep voice booming across the courtroom. “All rise for the honorable Judge Willis Sanderson.”

We get to our feet, and if I weren’t wound so tight and invested in this case, I’d find the whole process fascinating, but as it is, I can’t stop turning my gaze to the baby across the courtroom.

The judge enters the courtroom through the side door and I take her in, already deciding that I don’t like her. She looks fine, professional and well put together, but there’s something in her eyes that strikes me as odd, even more so when her gaze sails across to Orlando.

We’re all seated, and I find myself clutching Bri’s hand tighter, too nervous to even breathe. Despite only a few minutes passing, I feel like I’ve been here a lifetime before we finally start getting into the reason we’re here.

Colby Jacobs.

He is asked to stand, and I listen intently as a list of charges are laid out. Judge Sanderson watches him closely, looking bored before shuffling a bunch of papers on her desk. “Do you understand what you are being charged for, Mr. Jacobs? These are serious offenses.”

“Yes, your honor. I understand.”

“How do you—”

“Your honor,” Channing says, standing. “May I be so bold to approach the bench?”

“Mr. Channing, you know the rules of my courtroom.”

“I’m very well aware, your honor. However, I feel there have been some severe misunderstandings during the investigation. My client is innocent of these offenses, and I can prove it quite simply.”

The judge shifts her gaze over Channing and Colby before moving across to Addison who looks like she’s about to collapse with horror. Sanderson considers Channing’s bullshit and presses her lips into a hard line before silently motioning for him to approach.

My back stiffens, and I watch as they have a murmured conversation. A slip of paper is presented to the judge before her head shoots up. “Where’s the prosecuting attorney?”

Eddison stands, immediately stepping out from behind his small desk, his brows furrowed. “Here, your honor,” he says, buttoning his suit jacket, clearly not liking this unusual turn of events which were supposed to be the most straight-forward part of this whole thing. “May I approach?”

Judge Sanderson nods and I spare a glance at Addison as she watches everything that’s going down before her. She looks sick at the thought of Colby wiping his hands free of this, and hell, I’m feeling it too.