Page 90 of Melt the Ice

“Good thing you’re sleeping with the artist,” she calls over her shoulder as she saunters toward the car.

It’s now that I realize I picked up something very important this morning on the way home from practice. I beat her to the car, digging through my bag before I push her up against the door. “How about ‘good thing you’re married to the artist.” Her eyes widen, only for her jaw to drop when the custom ring I had made for her catches the light of the sun.

“W-what?”

I wink, “You know the polite thing to do would be to say ‘yes.’”

Her arms loop around my neck, soon joined by her legs around my waist. “There’s no other option, Goldie. It’s you or no one.” She cries into my neck.

“Hmm…” I say as I sit her on the hood, reaching for her hand.

“Then I now would like to introduce you to the future, Mrs. Monroe.” I slide the ring on her finger, and she doesn’t even look at it. Her eyes are trained on me, lit up in a way I’ve never seen, as if she had chosen me long before I ever asked the question.

“Nothing has ever sounded better.” She leans forward and kisses me with fervor. Her hands slide into my hair, pulling at the hair tie that holds my bun in place. I straighten, causing her to let out a surprised yelp.

“Come on, wifey.” I chuckle as I pick her up again. “Let’s get you home before we get thrown in jail for public indecency.”

Her laugh is music to my ears. She lets me put her seatbelt on, kissing my cheek as I pull away. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

I cup her face, rubbing my thumb across her cheek. “I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you in a way that you’ll never feel like you have to earn it again. My love is the greatest gift I have the blessing of giving. And it’s yours, Scarlett. Only yours.”

“Even when we have little Monroe’s?” she asks shyly, her lashes fluttering as she tries to look away.

I quickly turn her face back to mine, “Don’t play with me. I’ll take you home, and we can start practicing. Screw it, I’ll put the seats down, we can start now.”

A smile so bright it feels like the sun splitting through the clouds tears across her face. “I will never respond to anything but ‘wifey’, ever again.” Her teeth lightly bite my ear as I pull away.

“As you wish, Wifey,” I chide as I close the door, walking around the front of the car with a renewed sense of purpose. A life that looks a heck of a lot brighter than it did all those months ago.

Scarlett Monroe. Yeah, I like that a hell of a lot.

scarlett

One year later

It’s been a freakin’ hell of a year. One that consisted of Lucas and I getting married in the sunflowers, with the cows just like we planned all those years ago. It took some time, but we’ve fallen into a routine. Jackson moved into Lucas’s old house when he moved into mine. Having the three of us together was our saving grace while the chase for my father was on.

Lucas, knowing his dad was with me when he traveled, was the only way he felt safe enough to let me go. And don’t even get me started on how protective he got when he found out I was pregnant. Now, here I am, three months left until our baby is in the world, watching with rapt attention as the jury shuffles around in their little box.

I shouldn’t be here, Lucas begged me not to come. But after everything my father did, not only to me, but to everyone else, I need to see this through. I need to hear the jury's words myself.

Across the aisle, my father sits at the defense table, hands folding neatly on top of the wood. If I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d think he was the perfect picture of composure. But I see the tremor in his jaw, the light beading of sweat across his brow. It makes him look older, almost human. Almost.

Lucas’s hand finds mine, his thumb drawing lazy circles on the inside of my wrist. I pull strength from his touch, from him, from all the nights we fought nightmares, noises that had us reaching for our guns. It was all worth it to be here. Jackson sits a few rows ahead, his posture rigid, scars peeking out above his collar, a reminder of all it costs him to bring the truth to light.

The judge enters, and the courtroom rises. “Please, be seated.” His gavel hits once. “Has the jury reached a verdict?

A woman in a navy suit, the foreperson, stands. She doesn’t look at my father. Instead, she turns her attention to the families who have lost someone due to his greed. Then at me. “We have, Your Honor.”

The judge sends her a tight nod, “Please proceed.”

My pulse hammers as she unfolds the paper, her voice clear and unwavering. “On the count of criminally negligent homicide, we find the defendant, Sebastian Arias… guilty.”

The words boom through the courtroom like a clap of thunder. Gasps ripple through the crowd, muffled sobs breaking the quiet that follows. My hand trembles in Lucas’s as I rest my forehead on his shoulder.

The foreperson continues, “On the charge of obstruction of justice, including falsifying federal safety documents, destroying evidence, and interfering with a federal investigation, we find the defendant… guilty.”

The silence in the room is deafening. One of my eyes pops open, scanning the room to make sure it’s not me who passed out. Then one of the mothers who lost her husband in one of the many hushed rig explosions lets out a choked cry, and that's when it all unravels. The emotion, the relief, the pain. It crashes over the room like a wave that’s been fighting to kiss the shore for years.