One
Jackson Stewart tore up the steps and into the courthouse, dirty and smelling of blood and sweat. Gavin, the guard inside the courthouse, shot up from his chair, his eyes locked on the dark blood stains that smeared Jackson’s light-gray uniform shirt.
“Not mine, Gavin,” Jackson ground out. “I was on a call before I came here. Motorcycle versus pickup. It was bad.” That was an understatement. Jackson dumped the contents of his pockets into a bin. His hands shook. His brother’s entire future hinged on this court appearance, and he reeked of death.
Gavin set the bin on the conveyor belt. He frowned. “You couldn’t take ten minutes to go home and change? This isn’t a good look. Judge Fields is on the bench today.”
Jackson grimaced. “I know. But I didn’t have ten minutes. The hearing got moved up. It wasn’t supposed to be for another two weeks. The letter was sent to the wrong address. I only found out twenty minutes ago.”
He and Gavin exchanged glances. He’d known Gavin Weldon since high school. They’d been on the track team together. They both knew that this particular judge held a grudge against Jackson.
Gavin waved his wand over Jackson. “All right, you’re clear. They’re in courtroom two. Good luck.”
Jackson swallowed. “Thanks, Gavin. I’m going to need it.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think Kevin blames you,” Gavin murmured in a low voice.
Jackson barked a short laugh, the bitter sound echoing in the high-ceilinged room. “Then why hasn’t he talked to me since I returned from active duty? Last time I saw him, he told me, in very colorful language, that I had ruined his life. He hates me, and so does his old man. But I will go in there and be kind and respectful. Whatever it takes to get custody of my kid brother.”
They belonged together. He and Dylan both wanted this. Jackson had jumped through hoops, done everything the system demanded. Background checks. Home inspections. Supplying solid proof of long-standing employment and financial security. He’d even missed several search and rescue trainings because he needed to be available.
His boss had been interviewed and so had the sergeant he’d reported to in the Army. This custody hearing should be the last box to check off so his fifteen-year-old brother could finally leave the foster system and move in with him.
The only roadblock left was the man on the bench.
Jackson sent up a silent prayer for guidance and control. The guard at the entrance of the courtroom opened the heavy door. Jackson slipped into the room, shoulders tight, and trod as quietly as possible to the front. Cynthia Reese, Dylan’s foster mom, caught his eye and nodded discreetly toward the seat in front of her. Dylan sat beside the court-appointed attorney. Jackson slid into the seat next to his brother, heart aching when Dylan’s pale face turned toward him with a shaky smile. His brother sat on his hands, rocking slightly.
The kid was terrified but desperate not to let it show.
“Mr. Stewart,” Judge Fields called out, ice dripping from his tone. Jackson jerked his face toward the front and met the hard eyes of the man who would decide Dylan’s fate. “This hearing began half an hour ago.”
Jackson rose to his feet and held up the notice. “Yes, sir. My apologies. The notice of the hearing date change was sent to my previous address. I only found out today.”
Judge Fields’s glance bored into Jackson, slowly moving down over his ruined uniform. “And yet you still made it. I am appalled at your lack of respect for this court! Your attire is not acceptable. You’re filthy. I can smell you from here. Is this how you show yourself capable of caring for a minor?”
Jackson’s knees shook. He forced himself to remain calm, while inside, his heart pounded like a jackhammer. “I have a lot of respect. I found out twenty minutes before I arrived. I was at a fatal motorcycle crash when my chief drove this notice over. The woman who lives in my old apartment brought it to the station. When he saw the return address, he figured it was important. I came here straight from the scene.”
He held his breath.
He noticed a few people wince. At least he had some sympathy in this room.
“Hmmm.” Judge Fields’s jaw moved back and forth. His gaze touched each person in the room and his nostrils flared.
Jackson kept his silence, unwilling to encourage the man’s internal anger to spill out. He had no doubt the man had correctly read the room. While Jackson couldn’t prove that the letter had been deliberately sent to the wrong address, the date on it told its own story. The trial date had been moved forward with very little notice.
“Jackson Stewart, you already abandoned your brother.”
Jackson blinked. “Sir, I went into the military. He was living with my grandfather.”
“You didn’t try to get custody until your grandfather had been dead for eighteen months.”
“I had to finish my tour. I didn’t reenlist even though I wanted to make the military my career. I came home. Got a job. Bought a house so he’d have his own room, just like I was told to do.” He held on to control but bit off each word as heat flooded his body.
“I’m ready to rule,” Judge Fields announced, his voice overly loud in the courtroom.
Shocked whispers rippled through the room.
“Your Honor.” Darcy Faust, their attorney, jumped to her feet. “We haven’t presented the case y?—”
