Ava gasps when her eyes drift over my chest, assessing the wound from a safe distance. The thrum of her pulse thuds through my hand when I clasp her hand in mine and run two of her fingers over the wound site. She inhales a sharp breath when her fingers glide over the roughness of the wound and the sharpness of the stitches that still haven’t dissolved. Although it has healed well the past two weeks, the grittiness of the wound will never fullydiminish.
“Did it hurt?” she asks, her eyes locked on mychest.
I smirk. “Like abitch.”
Only one knock has hit me harder: leaving her. My stomach muscles bunch when Ava gently runs her finger over the edge of the wound site before she leans forward and presses her lips on the border of the scartissue.
My dick turns to stone when she mutters, “I better kiss it better then,” before placing another kiss on the other side of thewound.
My heart thrashes against my chest when she lifts her eyes and locks them with mine. Ava’s eyes have always been expressive, and today is no exception. Her eyes are crammed to the brim with desire, and it isn’t a hunger for food. I gather her hand off my chest, kiss the tips of her fingers before jerking my shirt back overmyhead.
Ava sinks deeper into the chair as her eyes shift nervously around the room. The look of rejection is darkening her beautiful eyes. I scoot across the loveseat, leaving not an ounce of air between us. Gripping her chin with my hand, I tilt it back, lifting her pessimistic facetome.
“I want you. I want you more than anything. More than my next breath. But I can’t haveyouyet.”
“Why?” she whispers, her shaking words relaying herrejection.
“Because I need you to know the truth, to ensure you aren’t walking into this relationshipblind.”
She shakes her head, sending tears flinging into the air. “I’m not. My eyes are open. I knowyou,Hugo.”
When she fists my long-sleeve shirt, I notice her ring finger is void of the large diamond engagement ring she was wearingearlier.
Spotting the direction of my gaze, she mutters, “It was a lapse in judgment. Amistake.”
Any further words about to spill from her mouth stop when I place my index finger against her lips. “We all make mistakes. We can’t change them. We can only learnfromthem.”
She drags her bottom lip through her teeth before nodding her head. Her tear-welled eyes bounce between mine. She does know me. Better than anyone. So I can be assured she will never judge me.Sheneverhas.
I capture both of her hands in mine and peer into hershimmeringeyes.
“I have made plenty of mistakes I'm not proud of. My very first was inAfghanistan.”
Chapter Twenty
Hugo
Ava triesto put on a brave front, but I can see her remorse for Gemma dimming the spark in her eyes the longer my story goes, let alone the way her hand rattles as she runs it under her eyes, capturing her tears before they roll downherface.
“She endured so much, and it still wasn’t enough. It took months for Gemma’s case to make it to court. We thought the main fight was over. Little did we know, the battle had only justbegun.”
My knee bounces up and down, a nervous twitch exposing my agitation. Leticia, the assigned DA leans over and places her hand on top of my knee, moving the twitch from my knee tomyjaw.
“There has to be something you can do?” I say, tilting into her side. “Interject, argue bias,something?”
Leticia shakes her head. “The accused has the right to be represented by a lawyer of hischoice.”
“Even when it is his father?” I interrupt, disbelief heard in myvoice.
Leticia’s green eyes float from the terrified Gemma getting slammed by the defense attorney in the witness stand to me. “Yes.” Her answer is swift andprecise.
“That’s fucking bullshit. He is treating her as if she is a criminal,” I sneer, my angry voice reverberating off the whitewashedwalls.
Leticia doesn’t respond to my outburst. She can’t. Everything I said was true. Gemma is getting grilled by the defense attorney. The same defense attorney who is the father of her accused. He is absurdly declaring that Gemma is using the courts as a way to clear her guilty conscience. He is proclaiming Gemma initially agreed to the “liaison” with his clients, and only sought medical treatment after her “boyfriend” caught wind of her indiscretion. He’s implying if I failed to aid Gemma that night, no charges would have been filed against his clients because I would have been none the wiser about heractivities.
My eyes drift from the tear-stained face of Gemma to Madden McGee and three of his fellow accused sitting next to him. Madden has his fingers laced together and a callous smirk etched on his face. When a painful sob rumbles from Gemma’s quivering lips as she denies the defense attorney’s blatant lies, he sinks deeper into his chair, seemingly pleased Gemma is rattled. I fist my hands into tight balls, battling the urge to wipe the smug smirk right off his face. The desire turns potent when Madden’s older brother leans over the wooden barrier separating them and pats him on the shoulder, like he is commending him on a job well done, oblivious that his brother is in the middle of a court hearing facing charges of aggravated battery and sexualassault.
By the time Gemma has finished giving her testimony, she is just as rattled as she was the night in the alley. I stand from my chair and move towards her when she rushes out the swinging doors that separate the well of the court from the seating area. My fast steps stop when she briskly shakes her head, sending tears flying off her ashencheeks.
