Trouble at Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 2)

When I enter, I find my brothers and Raven already inside, a wary look on all three of their faces.

The door I came through is on the opposite side and I try to move toward them, but a guard tells me to sit and a line of people walk through the door.

My shoulders grow heavy, but I sit.

“Let’s move into this quickly as this wasn’t on the schedule,” a new judge states as he sits.

The side door opens and out walks our father, but he faces away from us.

I look to Royce and Captain and they slowly sit forward, bracing their hands on their knees.

I can’t say for sure if they recognize him or if they’re curious as to what the hell is about to happen and why they were sent this way.

“Today, we’re here on a motion for parole, Stockton, San Juaquin County verses,” – the man swallows – “Rolland Brayshaw.”

“The fuck...” can be heard from Royce and again I jerk around to look at them, Royce is trying to stand, but Captain reaches across a stunned Raven and pulls him back down.

Both move to grip the seats in front of them.

And Raven. Her face is lined with tension as she stares toward my dad.

I spin back around.

He faces dead forward, his eyes locked on the judge.

I can’t see him fully, but the man can, and his fear shows it. He pauses a moment to lick his lips and discreetly slides his eyes to the guard. “Mr. Brayshaw, you were arrested and charged on one account of rape and grand theft auto and attempting to traffic cocaine, where you were found guilty, and sentenced to fifteen years. Served eleven. Mr. Brayshaw, step forward please.”

He does.

“Mr. Brayshaw, I have here, three letters of support from your local community. It seems you’ve made some positive changes, organized some outreach programs from your position.”

He pulls his lips between his teeth, and my stomach muscles tighten.

Why’s he fucking anxious?

The same second I think it’s gone.

His feet seem to widen despite the shackles holding them close, his shoulders expand, his posture straight. “I have.” His chin lifts.

“I’ve opened what used to be my groundmen’s homes to the youth, housing troubled teenagers or those who need to escape their living situations. All victims of some form of abuse. We have a boy’s and a girl’s home now, both up and running successfully for the last five years. We’ve also created a program that allows these teenagers to go to our schools and receive a higher level of education than offered were they come from. Our success rate for graduates through our program is very high and increases every year. I’ve learned a lot through the development. I’ve grown as a man and I’m proud of the work we’re doing.

“And it hasn’t just been me. My family has also begun the remedial process. In fact.” He nods his head slightly, like he’s convincing himself to continue on, and suddenly I’m not sure I want him to. “My sons are here today, one under unfortunate circumstance, the other two in support of us both.”

The people on the panel raise their eyes to the room.

“And the young woman seated between them,” the judge starts and an ache hits deep in my ribs.

I sit forward.

“She’s a resident at our all-girl’s home. We rescued her from her home just a few short months ago, where she suffered from abuse, both mentally and physically. She’s also a victim of sexual assault.”

I jerk around in my seat to look at Raven.

This can’t be fucking true. I read her file a solid ten fucking times. There is nothing in that thing that mentions sexual abuse.

“She has come with them today to show her silent support as she’s found comfort with my family and helped show them things I am unable to being locked in here. She’s brought a woman’s touch back into their lives, softened their hearts.”

The woman on the end slides her eyes back to Raven and curiosity has her scooting closer in her seat. “Is this true, do you live in this girl’s home?”

Shit.What. The. Fuck.

My muscles work on their own and suddenly I’m standing.

The boys stand. Maddoc stands.

“Miss?” the woman tries again, but I ignore her, my eyes locked on the back of Rolland Brayshaw’s head.

He said Stockton. My home town.

“And she too.” My insides tighten when he speaks again, the familiarity in his tone now ringing in my ears and sending a sting down my spine. “Has learned from them. She understands now,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “The importance of finding people you trust.”

My airway is cut off, and fire burns up my tongue.

No fucking way...

He turns around to face me, the motherfucker boldly meeting my eyes and everything clicks. “She understands ... how family runs deeper than blood.”