Hold Me (Love The Way Duet 2)

It’s nearly ten degrees colder here. I fucking hate the cold.

I’m picking up my phone from the bin at the courthouse metal detectors when the text comes in.

Cade: You doing okay?

It’s the first real communication we’ve had since the coffee shop and my immediate instinct is to ignore him. He knows that I don’t want to talk about it. It also pisses me off that he hasn’t asked about Ella. Not once. Although it’s possible he’s been keeping tabs on everything through Damon. More than likely actually. The last thought softens my resolve.

With Ella’s heels clicking on the marble tile, we take our seats near the back of the courtroom and Ella scoots close to my side while I answer Cade. When she reaches for my right hand to hold, and sees the phone, she politely withdraws, but I make a point to move my phone to the left and take her hand in mine. I can feel her gaze on the side of my face, but I don’t say anything. All I do is run my thumb over her knuckles as I text my brother back with one hand.

Zander: I’m doing all right.

Cade: I know Ella came with you for the hearing.

Cade: I think it’s a good thing.

The defensiveness that spiked at his first message is quickly dissolved by the second. It’s unexpected for him to approve anything at all that has to do with Ella. It’s a relief that he’s being agreeable about this. It’s like one brick in the wall between us is showing cracks.

Zander: I do too. I’m glad she’s here.

Cade: How is she?

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.