Page 10 of Glass Wings

A beat of silence. Then, sharper, “You’re still with her?”

“We’re supposed to be getting married in a few months.” The confession scraped out of me, heavier than it should have been. Guilt slammed into my chest. Rick hadn’t even been invited. Harley and I wanted something small, just family and the closest of friends. And yet here I was, telling him like it mattered.

Rick exhaled, a sound halfway between frustration and pity. “I’ll be there in the morning. I know you’re a good kid, Easton. I’ll do my best.”

The line went dead, and I sat there with the receiver still pressed against my ear, like maybe if I held on long enough, I’d find the words that could make me believe him.

A guard escorts me to a room that reeks of stale coffee and the kind of sweat that clung to concrete. It was warmer than the cell I’d been confined to, with a thick pane of scratched glass separating me from the rest of the world.

I sit across from Rick, my wrists itching from where the cuffs had been, trying not to look like a caged animal. Even though I feel like one. Rick didn’t bother with small talk, but he never did. He drops his briefcase on the table with a thud and gives me a long, assessing stare over the rim of his glasses.

The last four years had been kinder to him than I expected. The beer belly I remembered was gone, the double chin too.

“All right,” Rick says, flipping open a file. “Start from the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.”

I rub my palms against my knees and lean forward, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “We were at a music festival. Harley and I met up with her best friend, Kennedy, and her new boyfriend. He was supposed to get us into the VIP section. Everything was fine. We were sitting around, dancing, just hanging out. Then I saw one of his friends slip something into Kennedy’s drink. He thought no one noticed. But I did. And I wasn’t gonna let that slide, Rick. I grabbed him, called him out. Next thing I know, he’s swinging at me. I hit him back. Harder than I meant to.”

Rick’s pen freezes mid-scratch. He looks up over his glasses, tired eyes narrowing. “The kid you hit has a concussion. He’s pressing charges. The DA is going to make you look like a violent repeat offender who can’t control his temper.”

The air seemed too thin around me. My chest tightens. “He was going to hurt her. I couldn’t just stand there.”

“Easton.” His voice cracks like a whip. “Intent doesn’t matter in an arraignment. Optics do. Today isn’t about guilt or innocence. It’s about bail. About whether the judge believes you’re capable of staying out of trouble until trial. So, when we go in there, you keep your mouth shut. Let me do the talking. No outbursts. No excuses. Understood?”

I shake my head, shame burning hot in my chest. “I promised Harley I’d be better than this. I promised her I wouldn’t end up here again.”

“Does she know what happened? That you were protecting Kennedy?”

I shake my head again. “I haven’t been able to speak with her.”

Rick sets his pen down and finally looks at me, not like a lawyer, but like a man who has been down this road too many times with too many broken kids. “Then you better give me something I can work with. Because if this goes south, Easton, promises won’t mean shit.”

The guard bangs on the door. “Time’s up.”

Rick snaps his file shut and stands, smoothing his tie. “Arraignments in ten. Get your game face on.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me with the hollow sound of my own pulse and the taste of fear thick on my tongue. I don’t want to disappoint my Little Bird … but I wasn’t sure we’d survive a second round.

The clank of my shackles echo off the paneled walls, louder than it has any right to be. Every step I take across the courtroom floor feels like a spotlight is on me. I keep my eyes down, but I can feel the stares of strangers, lawyers, and even the bailiff, sizing me up like they already knew who I am. A repeat offender, a man who can’t stay clean, a lost cause.

The cuffs bite into my wrists as I sit beside Rick, the chain at my ankles rattling when I shift. He doesn’t look at me at first, just flips through the file in front of him with sharp, practiced movements. Only when I lean forward does he murmur, “Quiet. Steady. Don’t make my job harder.” His voice is low, but the warning in it hit harder than the steel digging into my skin.

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. I take one quick glance around the room, and that’s when I saw them.

Harley.

Kennedy.

My parents.

She’s in the second row, small and fragile against the wooden bench, her hands knotting so tightly in her lap that I can see the whites of her knuckles from here. Her eyes are red, swollen, but unflinching when they meet mine, and for half a second, the world around me dulled. She is here. She still believes in me enough to sit here, to look at me, even like this.

Beside her, Kennedy is a fortress. Back straight, lips pressed into a line, her arm angled protectively toward Harley. Her gaze cuts through me, too, sharp and unyielding. Maybe anger, maybe fear. Probably both.

My parents were on Harley’s other side, both of them wearing matching expressions of worry and fear. I wonder what they think of the situation. Did they think I was guilty because of my past? Did they regret finding me and giving me a chance at their company and in their lives?

Relief washes through me when my gaze lands back on Harley, but it’s poisoned. Because Harley doesn’t belong here. She belongs anywhere else—at the newspaper, planning our wedding, laughing in the sunshine. Not in a courtroom, watching as I’m chained like an animal. Every promise I’ve made to her, the vows I haven’t even had the chance to speak yet, felt like ash on my tongue.

“All rise,” the bailiff barks, and the sound of benches scraping fills the room as the judge enters. My stomach twists so tight I think I might throw up.