My face flushed red up to my ears. “Oh my God, stop.” I looked to Sawyer. “Jackson said I should come. That it might help…”
“Don’t you have to work?” Sawyer asked dully.
It was going to put a dent in my bank account to miss another day, but what was that to what Sawyer was facing? I’d worry about it later.
“This is much more important,” I said.
Sawyer held my gaze a moment more, then nodded and moved to the sedan idling at the curb.
“See?” Jackson murmured in my ear as we followed him down. “He’s shut down.”
“No,” I said, my heart heavy. “He’s just scared to death.”
In the car, I sat wedged between Sawyer and Jackson in the backseat. Sawyer propped his chin on his hand, his gaze on the streets outside. His other hand was in his lap. Without giving myself a chance to outthink it, I reached over and took it in mine. Sawyer stiffened and didn’t pull his gaze from the window. But after a moment, he sighed; a little tension left his body and he laced his fingers with mine.
I eased a sigh of relief too and glanced over at Jackson. He gave me a surreptitious a-okay sign. But as the car rolled up in front of the Superior Court, Sawyer’s body tensed all over again. He let go of my hand and got out of the car without a word.
Inside the courtroom, the Abbotts were already there. My immediate reaction was confusion; I’d imagined them as heartless monsters, but they looked put together and wealthy with their pastel clothing and silver hair.
They look like nice people.
Both of them turned in their seats when we came in, their eyes searching to meet Sawyer’s, both wearing hopeful smiles. But he refused to look at them, and their gazes landed on me.
I smiled brightly at them, almost like a reflex. I couldn’t help myself, and besides, I figured it couldn’t hurt if someone on Sawyer’s side acted as a goodwill ambassador.
The Abbotts’ attorney frowned at me, whispered something to his clients. They turned back to me as I took a seat in the audience, directly behind Sawyer and Jackson’s table, wary now.
Yes, that’s me. I’m the recovering drug addict, I thought. But I kept my chin up and smile friendly. A few minutes later, the bailiff told us to rise and the judge came in.
He settled his glasses on his nose and took up an envelope in his hand. “In the matter of the custody provisions for Olivia Abbott, a minor child, the Court has received Mr. Haas’ paternity results.” He fixed his stern gaze on Sawyer. “Mr. Smith, does your client have anything to enter into the record at this time?”
Jackson rose to his feet. “Your Honor, we’d like the Court to recognize Darlene Montgomery.” He turned to gesture to me. “The last time we met, Mr. Holloway tried to cast aspersions on those who have helped Sawyer take care of Olivia, and we would like the Abbotts, and the Court, to hear a few words from Ms. Montgomery herself.”
My eyes widened and I shot Jackson a panicked look.
No one said anything about talking!
But I sucked in a breath to calm down. Hell, I’d already taken the Silkwood shower. What was saying nice things about Sawyer compared to that?
But the judge shook his head.
“There will be time enough after the test results are read for any character statements, though if Mr. Haas himself has anything he’d like to say, he is free to do so.”
From my vantage behind them, I saw Jackson nudge Sawyer under the table, but Sawyer remained still as stone. My gaze darted to the Abbotts. Both looked on the edge of their seats, craning in with hopeful expressions on their faces.
The judge sighed. “Very well. The Clerk of the Court shall now read and enter the DNA test results into the record.”
He handed the envelope to a young woman in a sharp navy suit. The courtroom went silent but for the soft tearing of paper. My imagination told me that was the sound of Sawyer’s heart tearing in two.
He lifted his head, and the sudden movement drew everyone’s attention.
“Please don’t.”
The words hung in the air and it took me a second to realize Sawyer had said them. A collective gasp whipped through the courtroom. My own breath stuck in my throat to hear the pain that saturated every syllable; he sounded exhausted down to his soul.
“Please don’t read that,” he said.
Sawyer rose to his feet. His shoulders were rounded, as if he carried the weight of the universe in every pore and sinew of his body. But I watched him unfold, stand straighter, his voice strengthening but still soft with pain and hope and love.