“Save it, Counselor,” the judge interrupted her. “Jackson Stewart is an adrenaline junkie. He craves violence. I’ve known him for years. And then to enter my courtroom covered in blood? I refuse to continue this farce with that man dressed this way. He’s making a mockery of our system.”
“Your Honor, Mr. Stewart has explained his attire. He didn’t have time?—”
The judge glared at her. Her words stuttered to a halt.
Jackson clenched his jaw. The anger brewing inside threatened to erupt. He clamped his lips shut to keep it in. If he let it go, all hope would be lost.
“Careful, Counselor. Arguing with me could land you in contempt.” Judge Fields shook his head. “I don’t buy his lame excuse.”
Dylan opened his mouth. Jackson gripped his brother’s shoulder, and Dylan’s mouth snapped closed. He shot Jackson a hurt look. Tears swam in his eyes.
“Don’t give him a reason,” Jackson breathed, his mouth barely moving.
“Custody denied.” The gavel slammed down. Dylan flinched.
Denied.
“Your Honor!”
“Keep it for the appeal.” The judge threw one final glare at Jackson, then swept from the room.
And it was over. A strangled sob escaped Dylan before the youth’s face tightened. Angry words filled Jackson’s mouth. He had no recourse. He couldn’t tell Judge Fields what he really thought of him.
“We can file an appeal in thirty days,” Darcy told him. “Then wait for the paperwork. With luck, we’ll be back here in three months.”
“Three months,” Dylan whispered, his voice breaking.
Jackson opened his arms. His younger brother, despite being fifteen, fell into them and allowed Jackson to support him. Dylan had grown taller over the summer. He’d let his light-brown hair grow longer so it flopped over his hazel eyes. His head rested on Jackson’s shoulder. It wasn’t hard to imagine him topping Jackson’s height of five eleven.
The teenager tensed a moment before he shrugged out of Jackson’s embrace. He was at that awkward stage where his clothes never seemed to fit right. He had dressed in khaki pants, a short-sleeved button-up blue shirt with a collar and a tie. The same outfit he wore to away wrestling events. The tie looked tight enough to choke him. And it was too long. He’d probably watched a video on how to put it on. If he got custody of Dylan, Jackson would make sure his brother knew how to do simple things like putting on a tie.
Now he’d have to wait another three months to plead for custody again.
Darcy shuffled her papers and dropped them into her briefcase. She moved away from the table and joined them briefly. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear today. But it could have been worse. At least we can appeal this decision. What did you do to get on his bad side?”
Jackson stiffened at the implication. He wanted to ask if the judge had a good side, but he knew that wouldn’t go over well. Instead, he shrugged. He didn’t know her that well. Even if he did, there were too many people around to go into his dark history with Kevin Fields and the events that had turned the judge against him.
Darcy pursed her lips and gave him a look that said they’d be talking about it later. “I’ll be in touch. We have three months.”
He watched her stalk from the room, aware of the voices buzzing excitedly around them. Jackson caught more than one person staring at them. He ignored them. Only Dylan mattered.
“I’m sorry, Jackson.” Cynthia played with her bracelet while she talked. Next to the dark clothes most people wore at the courthouse, she stood out in her royal-blue summer dress with its complementary short floral jacket. The highlights in her short, fluffy brown hair glowed under the lights. “If I’d known you were unaware of the change, I would have told you about it. It never occurred to me that you didn’t know.”
“It’s not your fault, Cynthia.” The words tasted like ash. If she had asked him about it, he would have made sure he had today off. But he couldn’t blame her. Dylan had been shuffled through several foster homes. Cynthia’s was the best by a mile.
But her home still wasn’t his.
He turned to Dylan and placed a hand on the fifteen-year-old’s shoulder. “Are you okay, buddy?”
Dylan stuffed his fisted hands into his pockets. “It’s not fair. Why can’t we live together? You’re my brother. Doesn’t he get that? We’re family!”
Jackson ruffled Dylan’s hair. “We are. Nothing can change that. It’s not the way we planned it, but you know you’re my number-one priority, right? Even if I don’t have custody today, nothing matters more to me than you do.”
“Yeah, I know. But…but…he didn’t even let you talk. You were helping people, and all he talked about was how messy your uniform was.”
“I know. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Three months, Jack! Three months!” Dylan’s voice rose, then broke again. The court reporter glanced their way.
