I glance to the side. I wish I could see Dree from here. She still believes that everything’s going to be okay today and I’ll walk out a free man as long as I tell the truth. Melling had a really good fucking go at me three days ago without her knowing, ranting that if I truly love her, I’ll throw myself on the judges’ mercy and keep out of prison. I’m destroying her reputation and mine forever if I end up with a criminal record. She’ll be without me for six months and I won’t be able to protect her. On and fucking on until I barely knew which way was up, let alone what was the right thing to do.
My gaze falls on Striker’s lawyers, who are smirking at me, just waiting for me to allow my ego to destroy my career.
But it’s not my ego I’m thinking with.
It’s my fucking name.
My principles, and nothing is worth sacrificing those.
Sorry, Dree, baby. Wait for me, please. “Your Honor, Mr. Jones insulted the love of my life.”
The judges all gives me a long, stern look. My reply seems to have got up their noses. One says, “Mr. Osman, please save your flowery language for your songwriting.”
“I’m just stating the facts, Your Honor. At the side of the stage in both our hearing, Mr. Jones referred to my girlfriend, Dree North, in a despicable way.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my lawyer cast his gaze at the ceiling, as if begging silently for strength.
I don’t give a fuck what the judge or my lawyer think of what I’m saying. It’s the truth. This is my chance to say it and I’ll suffer the fucking consequences. I answer all the judges’ questions about what happened at Glastonbury, Baroque, the Mercury Music Award and several other run-ins with Striker. My lawyers told me that the judges have the CCTV footage to watch, but it probably won’t make any difference as that incident took place weeks before I punched Striker.
I’m given several opportunities to express remorse for Striker’s injuries, and I don’t take one of them.
Then the court is cleared while the judges deliberate. My lawyer won’t even look at me. “I hope you like shitty food and metal beds, Mr. Osman,” he mutters as he heads for the vending machine.
Outside, Dree finds me in the corridor and runs into my arms. “You were amazing in there. I’m so proud of you.”
I squeeze her tight and kiss the top of her head. “Thank you, babygirl. Listen, while I’m inside, I want you to keep working, okay? Focus on your career. I’ll be out before you know it.”
Her face falls and she stares at me. “It’s hopeless then? There’s no chance they’ll decide in your favor?”
“Not if you believe the smiles on Striker’s lawyers’ faces just now.”
Dree buries her face in my chest and says, her voice muffled and angry, “It’s not fair, Daddy. You’re the one who’s good and honest and looks out for people while he’s…he’s…”
“Shh, baby.” I dip my head down to whisper in her ear. “Be a good girl for me and smile when I turn around and look at you in court. I want to take your beautiful smile with me when I go inside. Will you do that for me?”
She grips a fistful of my jacket and harumphs, but I recognize the sound not as someone who’s angry, but as someone trying her best not to cry. Then she lifts her head and gazes up at me. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good fucking girl,” I murmur, and kiss her hard.
My lawyer walks past us. “The judges have called everyone back.”
I lift my head and stare after him. “What the fuck? Already?”
“What did they have to consider?” he mutters.
I look down at Dree and rub the tip of my nose against hers. “We’ve got this. Let’s go.”
Inside the court, I stand before the judges as they read their findings. They tell me in roundabout legalese that they haven’t discounted the evidence that I’ve put before them, but they can’t condone violence of any kind.
The judge in the middle of the bench finishes with, “Mr. Osman, in this court you have displayed arrogance and a total lack of remorse for your crime. This court has no choice but to impose the maximum penalty of a six-month custodial sentence.”
Gasps from the onlookers. Furious scribbling from the journalists.
I turn around and look at Dree. She’s sitting bolt upright in her seat with her hands clenched tightly on her bag.
Her face is pale, but as she sees me looking at her, she smiles at me. In a court room full of friends, enemies, rubberneckers and officials, I only see her beautiful face. Calm, resilient, composed.
I wink at her. That’s Daddy’s girl.
“Hey, Blue. Keep your eyes to yourself.”