Page 133 of Never Bet Against A Hockey Player

The judge swept in. He was an alpha, his gray hair combed back, his black robes swishing around him as he walked in with his head held high and took his seat.

Once he sat, everybody followed orders and sat back down.

The judge put on his reading glasses and started the proceeding. Already, he looked like the no-nonsense type, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing yet.

The nerves rose up, starting in my stomach but swiftly taking over. My hands shook almost violently and sweat broke out on my skin.

Mom had walked in right before he did and was staring at me. It was pure intimidation and I hated that it was working.

She sauntered in like she owned the place, a smug smirk on her face. Everything was a show with this woman. When she saw us waiting she lit up, holding a hand to her chest as if she just couldn’t believe we were here.

Gavin and I stared straight ahead, ignoring her completely.

It was all a show for everyone else. Not from any sort of love or remorse towards us.

“This is an unconventional custody case,” the judge said as he looked up at us, starting with our mother, who was doing everything in her power to look small and contrite, then looking at us.

Gavin and I clung together as we stared back at him.

His expression softened as he gave Gavin a nod.

“I do things a bit differently,” the judge said, “but I need both parties to understand that when the other is speaking, you are quiet. I will hear both sides thoroughly before I make my judgment.”

We nodded our agreement, and my mother bowed her head as if deferring to the alpha.

I’d never seen her perform like this. We only knew the twisted version of her hidden away. The monster.

“Mrs. Livingston, we’ll start with you,” he said. “Please have a seat up here.”

Our mother walked forward and swore to tell the truth before her mouth opened and nothing but lies fell free. She spun a story of the doting, loving mother who worked hard. I was, apparently, an uncontrollable child who had to be in control.

She looked right at me now as she continued, her voice strong with forced emotion. “When Gavin was born, she decided he was hers. She made my life miserable for trying to simply mother my own son.”

My jaw was tight, and Gavin was clinging to my hand so hard that it ached.

The judge glanced our way, gauging our reactions, but said nothing.

We didn’t, either. I wasn’t going to throw the case because of her lies. The truth would come out soon enough.

Even our lawyer was glaring up at the stand as he listened to the story, knowing it was all bullshit.

The ghost of a smile that crossed his face every time she said something completely outlandish filled me with hope.

I couldn’t wait to see him tear her apart.

“And can you explain what happened during the events that led up to the emergency custody order?” her lawyer asked.

“She lost it that night,” she said as she dabbed at her cheeks and let out a shuddering breath as if the memory alone was causing her pain. “I feared for my and Gavin’s life. I tried to step in, and she left me no choice but to defend myself.”

“We would like to submit evidence from that night,” her lawyer said.

He approached Judge Lancaster, who waved him up as he carried a set of pictures to the bench.

The judge shuffled through them, raising an eyebrow.

“These scratches and bruises are from your daughter?” he questioned.

She shifted her eyes, looking to me, and there was the ghost of a smile before she looked back, appearing sorrowful once again.