Page 80 of Grumpy Ex-Military Brewmaster’s Secret

Derek's already inside when we walk in, seated at the far table beside an attorney I recognize from the photo Priya sent weeks ago, a tall man with a haircut too careful for a county courtroom and a leather folder so thick it could anchor a boat. Derek doesn't look at me. He looks past me, toward the door, checking whether anyone else is walking in behind me. I know exactly who he's hoping to see, and precisely why he won't, and the empty space at my side where Rafe should be is the entire cost of the last five weeks laid out plain.

The bailiff calls the room to order before I've fully found my seat, and Judge Marsh takes the bench with the unhurried economy of someone who's heard every version of this story imaginable and still bothers to listen closely to each new one anyway. She has kind eyes and a mouth that gives away nothing, and I decide within the first thirty seconds that I like her, which doesn't mean anything about how this goes, but it helps to have somewhere to put my hope.

Derek's attorney stands first. His name is Bennett, and he has the kind of voice that fills a room without ever seeming to raise itself, smooth enough that my skin prickles before he's said a single word I can actually object to.

"Your Honor, this case isn't really about Mrs. Walsh's fitness as a mother. Nobody disputes that." He says it like a concession, generous, reasonable, and I feel Priya go very still beside me. "It's about who else has moved into that household, unvetted and unaccounted for, since her divorce was finalized. A man with a documented history of combat trauma, no formal role in these children's lives, and no obligation to answer for how that history might resurface under stress."

The words land exactly where he means them to, and I watch Judge Marsh's face for the flicker I'm afraid to see, the one that means this is working.

Bennett walks through it methodically, deployment records I didn't know Derek's side even had access to, a counseling referral pulled from some file I never saw, the word unstable used twice in four sentences like repetition might make it truer. He doesn't call Rafe dangerous outright. The word never actually leaves his mouth. He just keeps setting the pieces down where the judge can arrange them herself.

"Mrs. Walsh, isn't it true this man was present overnight with your children as recently as five weeks ago?"

"Yes."

"And you'd agree a judge weighing the safety of two eight-year-olds should know exactly who's spending nights under the same roof as them?"

"I'd agree a judge should know the whole truth, not just the parts that sound worst out loud."

It's not the answer Priya coached me on, but it's the true one, and for a second Bennett's smooth expression flickers, just slightly, like he wasn't expecting me to have anything left after that particular hit. It isn't enough, not yet. I can feel the room tilting slightly in the wrong direction, feel Derek's satisfaction radiating off him three feet away without even needing to look at his face to confirm it.

Priya doesn't rush. She lets the silence sit a beat longer than feels comfortable before she rises, buttoning her jacket like she's got all the time in the world instead of a losing position to fix in the next ten minutes.

"Your Honor, the defense would like to call witnesses who know Rafe Montgomery personally, and who are, unlike opposing counsel, actually qualified to speak to his character."

Dot goes first, seventy years old if she's a day, silver hair pinned up, the same steady hands she's spent forty years running a comb through half this town's hair, and she settles into the witness chair like she's pulling up to her own kitchen table.

"Mrs. Higgins, how long have you known Rafe Montgomery?"

"Since he came back and bought that broke-down brewery nobody else in town would touch. Came in for a haircut every six weeks like clockwork for the better part of a year before he ever said more than three words to me in that chair."

"And in that time, have you ever witnessed him behave in a way that concerned you?"

"Concerned me? The only thing that man's ever done to concern me is quietly cover Old Pete's tab at my shop for two years running without ever once mentioning it to a soul. I only found out because Pete's granddaughter let it slip at Christmas." She looks past Priya, straight at the judge. "You want to know the kind of man he really is, that's the kind of man he really is. The sort that does the right thing when he thinks nobody's watching."

The room shifts a little at that, something in the air loosening, and I let myself breathe for what feels like the first time since Bennett opened his mouth.

Maggie's next, still in her work apron because she came straight from a shift, and she doesn't wait for a question before she starts talking, which earns her a small, tired smile from Judge Marsh.

"I've watched Jenna Walsh come into my diner looking like a ghost of herself more mornings than I can count, back before Rafe Montgomery was anything more than her boss. I've also watched her come in since looking like an actual person again, laughing, present, not flinching every time a man's voice gets loud two booths over." Maggie's voice doesn't shake once. "You want to talk about who's dangerous to that woman and her kids, I'd start by looking at who used to make her flinch in the first place, and it wasn't the man sitting behind me."

Bennett objects, something about relevance, and Judge Marsh overrules him without much interest in pretending to consider it.

Sheriff Cole testifies last, uniform pressed, hat under his arm, carrying the sort of steady, unhurried presence that makes a room settle just by existing in it.

"I've known Rafe Montgomery since he moved back to Pinewood Ridge. No arrests, no complaints, no incidents of any kind on file." He addresses the judge directly, like he's reporting rather than testifying. "During the flooding last spring, he was the first man on the ground helping coordinate sandbagging on Route Nine, working alongside my deputies for eleven straight hours without being asked twice. I've worked emergencies with a lot of men who claim to keep their heads under pressure. Montgomery's one of maybe three I'd actually trust to."

"In your professional opinion, Sheriff, does anything in Mr. Montgomery's service history give you pause about his presence around children?"

"In my professional opinion, counselor, what should give this court pause is a man trying to weaponize somebody's service against them for scoring points in a custody case." He doesn't look at Bennett when he says it, doesn't need to. "That's not instability. That's a man who went through something hard and came home and built something good anyway. Around here, we tend to respect that."

I watch something in Judge Marsh's face settle, decided, and something in my chest finally loosens enough to let me believe this might actually go the way we need it to.

Priya calls me back to the stand near the end, and I go up with steadier legs than I expect, like something in the room's shifted enough to hold my weight too.

"Mrs. Walsh, can you describe for the court the pattern of control you experienced during your marriage?"

I've rehearsed this answer a dozen times in my kitchen at midnight, and every version came out either too small or too dramatic, like I couldn't find the register that made it sound like what it actually was. Standing here now, I don't reach for any of those versions. I just tell the truth, plain, the way Priya asked me to.