Page 33 of Glass Wings

Harley

Eighteen

HARLEY

Four Weeks Later

The courthouse smells the same as last time: faint bleach, paper, and nerves. I try not to let the memories creep in, but as soon as I walk through the doors, the weight of it presses on my chest like I’m back there again, crumbling as the gavel comes down.

This time is meant to be different. Rick says he has new evidence, that he’s filed for reconsideration. He told me not to pin my hopes on it, but what else am I supposed to do? Hope is all I have left.

I tug at the loose cardigan I threw over my dress this morning, an attempt to hide the curve of my stomach. Four months isn’t much, in terms of a baby bump, but to me it feels like a billboard screaming pregnant to the whole room. Every time someone’s eyes linger, I wonder if they are judging me, thinking what kind of girl I must be to carry the child of a man in chains.

Kennedy brushes my arm as we pass through security, her voice low and firm. “You, okay?”

I nod too quickly. “Fine.”

She doesn’t buy it. She never does. “Just breathe, Harls. You’re not alone in this.”

We slide into the second row, the same place we sat last time. The bench is hard, the kind that makes your back ache if you shift too much. I press my hands into my lap and try not to fidget, even with my stomach deciding to participate in an acrobatics show of nerves and nausea.

The doors open, and chains rattle, and my heart stops beating for a second.

Easton.

He looks the same, and yet not. His shoulders are squared and his jaw tight, but his eyes still find me instantly. For a heartbeat the room falls away, and it’s just him and me, tethered through the space between us. I mouth I love you before I can think better of it, and his lips twitch in the faintest echo of a smile.

The bailiff barks for everyone to rise, and the spell breaks.

The judge sweeps in, black robes pooling, his expression as unreadable as before. My throat tightens.

“State versus Easton Ryder Diggs, pre-trial conference,” the clerk announces.

The prosecutor rises first. Her voice is crisp, efficient, like she’s been rehearsing in front of the mirror. “Your Honor, the State maintains its position that the defendant poses a danger to public safety and should remain detained pending trial. We have exchanged evidence with defense counsel, and we are confident in our case moving forward.”

My stomach churns. Confident. She says it like Easton is already guilty.

Rick stands slowly, buttoning his jacket with that calm steadiness I’ve begun to rely on. “Your Honor, the defense respectfully disagrees. We have reason to request reconsideration of bail based on new evidence that has come to light since the preliminary hearing. Specifically, witness statements that call into question the credibility of the complainant.”

A flicker of hope flares in my chest. This is it.

The judge’s brow furrows slightly. “Proceed.”

Rick flips open his folder. “The defense has obtained information suggesting the alleged victim has been bragging publicly about the incident, including acknowledging that he shoved Mr. Diggs first. Furthermore, witnesses can place him handling a drink belonging to Ms. Kennedy Starr, who has already testified to the same. These details significantly undermine the State’s claim that Mr. Diggs acted as the aggressor.”

Beside me, Kennedy squeezes my hand hard. My pulse thunders in my ears.

The prosecutor shoots to her feet. “Your Honor, the defense is relying on hearsay and secondhand accounts gathered outside the scope of this courtroom. The fact remains that the victim sustained a concussion at the hands of the defendant. He has a criminal history. He is a repeat offender. That is what matters here.”

I want to scream. I want to stand and shout that Easton isn’t just a “defendant,” that he is a man who has protected me, protected Kennedy, and is about to be a father. Instead, I sit frozen, nails biting into my palms.

Rick doesn’t flinch. “Your Honor, the State cannot dismiss corroborating accounts simply because they are inconvenient. My client acted in self-defense, and continued detention is unjust.”

The silence that follows stretches like wire. My heart is in my throat.

Finally, the judge leans forward, his voice cool, measured. “The request for reconsideration of bail is noted. However, given the defendant’s prior record and the seriousness of the current charge, bail is again denied. The matter will proceed to trial. Evidence lists are to be exchanged in full by the end of this week.”

The gavel cracks, final and merciless.