The Ruin (Convenience #3) - Stella Gray Page 0,11

rest of my family’s questions later.

The defense lawyer turns to the judge. “That’s all I have, Your Honor. No further questions.”

Thank God.

I’m allowed to step down from the stand. My legs are a little shaky. So are my hands. I’m not worried about being accused of anything; the legal team for my siblings and myself already said we’d been cleared of any involvement. The defense is just digging, trying to drum up any thread of reasonable doubt they can manage. I get it. I’ve seen enough crime television to know casting uncertainty on a crime to try to get the perpetrator a lesser sentence is commonplace.

But my dad doesn’t deserve a lesser punishment. He should get the maximum sentence. Not that it’ll make up for all the lives he’s ruined, the trauma he can never take back.

I take my seat at the counsel table next to Stefan and our lawyers. My brother nods at me.

“That guy’s an asshole. You know there’s nothing to worry about,” he whispers softly.

The lawyers hash some things out, and finally the judge says, “Court is adjourned.”

“All rise,” the bailiff announces.

We stand. Stefan looks over at me, concern knitting his brow. “You doing okay, bro? You looked a little rough up there.”

I shrug. “Just exhausted. Long day.”

“Well, don’t sweat it,” Stefan tells me. “It’s over now.”

He claps me on the shoulder and then heads off to find Emzee, who spent most of the day dabbing tears from her eyes as she listened to various damning testimonies. I turn to follow him, and that’s when I see Brooklyn.

She’s standing at the back of the courtroom in conservative clothes, hands folded in front of her, chin high, her gaze steady and open.

Why the hell did she show up? For the media coverage? To keep up the image of our perfect marriage? Or is she actually here for me?

Whatever her gesture means, it’s one I wasn’t expecting—and at a time when she could have deserted my family completely, the fact that she’s stepping up has to mean there might be hope for our relationship. Doesn’t it? Or am I reading this all wrong?

Before I get halfway to Brooklyn, she’s swept up with the flow of bodies exiting into the hallway. I’m just through the doors when I spy her and Emzee in a tight embrace.

Brooklyn pulls away and our eyes finally meet, but I can’t get to her before Stefan does. She gives him a brief hug, chatting all the while. Then Stefan’s wife Tori comes up and gives Brooklyn a kiss on each cheek, smiling gently.

I smell my wife’s perfume as I approach and suddenly I’m standing before her, both relieved and more tense than ever. But instead of wrapping her arms around me, she just runs a hand over my jacket lapel in a vaguely comforting gesture, making no move to go in for more.

“Sorry I was late,” she says, directing it at all of us. “I got here as soon as I could.”

“We’re glad you made it,” Emzee says. “Today was brutal.”

“Let’s get the press mauling over with, shall we?” Stefan says.

As we make our way toward the gauntlet of reporters waiting outside the courthouse, I feel a small, warm hand in mine. Glancing down, I see Brooklyn has taken my hand as we exit the building to find a waiting pair of microphones and a small sea of press just past that. Our lawyers move to the microphones first and start feeding prepared statements to the news outlets while my family and I stand back with forced neutral expressions and have our photos taken.

The nonstop flash of cameras going off add an even more surreal layer to the scene. My wife is at my side, yet I don’t know where our marriage stands. It seems obvious she’s not willing to be with me, and I don’t know how to give her what she wants.

I find myself growing more tense by the second, one burning question on my tongue. “Why are you here, Brooklyn?” I say quietly, even though I know it’s not the time.

Because there’s hope for our marriage.

Because I was worried about you.

Because I want to be here for you.

“It was the right thing to do,” she answers noncommittally.

I glance over at her profile, and I feel my emotional walls going up again. She’s stoic and aloof, here physically but with her mind a million miles away. She certainly gives me no indication that she’s holding my hand for any reason other than making