Page 180 of Halo

She holds out her hand, and I go to her immediately.

“I can get up. I can use the bathroom. I have everything I need, and you’ll probably be home before noon.” Her fingers straighten my tie. “Go take care of our boy.”

Something about the our catches me right in the chest.

I bend carefully and kiss her, keeping one hand braced beside her so I don’t put any pressure on her stomach.

“I love you.”

Her lips brush mine again. “I love you too.”

From the hallway, Grady yells, “I FOUND MY SHOES!”

I close my eyes.

Leah laughs against my mouth.

“Go, Dad.”

And damn if that doesn’t get me too.

The courthouse is smaller than I expected, although I’m not sure what I expected in the first place. Maybe something closer to what they show on television instead of a room with polished wooden benches, flags tucked into either corner, and a judge’s bench that looks like it’s been here longer than half the people in the building.

David leads me toward the front, and I follow because I’ve learned over the last few weeks that when it comes to anything involving Grady and the court system, my best option is to shut the hell up and do whatever my lawyer tells me.

He sets his briefcase on the table and pulls out his chair.

“You sit here.”

“I gathered that.”

“Just making sure. You look a little lost.”

“I perform brain surgery for a living.”

“And yet somehow family court has defeated you.”

I glance at him while I unbutton my jacket and sit. “You enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Asshole.

The caseworker is already here, sitting at the table across the aisle with a stack of files in front of her. She catches my eye and gives me a small smile, which helps more than I want to admit. At least there’s one person in this room besides David who already knows I’m not some asshole who woke up three weeks ago and decided I wanted somebody else’s kid.

I’ve been Grady’s dad for five years.

Apparently, today I have to start proving it on paper.

A door opens behind the judge’s bench, and David gets to his feet.

I follow him, along with everyone else in the courtroom, as the bailiff announces the judge. She walks in carrying a folder, settles into her chair, and tells us we can sit.

A few cases go before ours. I try to listen, but mostly I sit there with my knee bouncing beneath the table while David occasionally reaches over and puts a hand on it without looking at me.

“Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything.”