Page 63 of Die for You
If the judge doesn’t grant me this protective order, I’m not sure what I’ll do by myself in New York without the Devils. Living with them now is nothing more than a temporary solution. Once Jeremiah discovers I’m alone in New York, he’ll come after me. Even in a huge city with eight million other people, he’ll find me.
My future is decided today. Now.
“Ms. Archer?” the judge prompts again.
So I clear my throat and begin. Starting from when we met, when I was in foster care and moved in with his family. How his parents enabled his bad behavior, how he mistreated me in small ways I couldn’t even articulate then, and how he escalated after his parents kicked me out. Showing up at the Sigma Chi party and my job, ambushing me on campus, and breaking into my apartment.
Everyone stays quiet while I speak. The judge doesn’t tell me to get to the point, and miraculously, neither Jeremiah nor Barb interjects.
Once I’m finished, the judge nods at Jeremiah. “You may now present any evidence to your defense, Mr. Crowder.”
“I have no defense, Your Honor.”
What the fuck? My head whips in his direction. He’s not going to defend himself at all? Jeremiah Crowder isn’t going to lie and gaslight and manipulate to make himself look better? To get his way?
He’s finally clean-shaven—probably at Barb’s insistence—and he faces the judge with his shoulders slumped like a turtle trying to curl back in its shell.
I glance back at his parents. Surely, they would’ve instructed him to say whatever he needed to to get out of trouble. But neither of them has fire blazing from their cold eyes. They’re stoic, resigned.
Maybe this is their strategy. Maybe if Jeremiah can pretend to be remorseful, he still has a chance to escape the consequences of his actions.
“You’re sure, Mr. Crowder? This is your last chance to speak in your defense,” the judge reminds him.
He gives a single, terse nod. “I’m sure, Your Honor.”
With that, the judge grants my protective order. Three years. With the possibility to extend it if necessary.
Three years.
Three years of freedom. Three years without Jeremiah Crowder in my life.
If he doesn’t violate it.
Still, even with everything I know about him, I can’t help the balloon of hope that floats up to my chest. Maybe this really is it. Maybe I can finally close the book on this chapter of my life.
I’m shaking when I leave the courthouse, but not from fear or nerves like I was this morning. From the adrenaline rush. From victory.
The Devils flank me as I practically run out of the building. I wait until we’re in broad daylight, the sun’s rays entirely too warm for their long sleeves and pants, and throw my arms around each of them. “Thank you. I’m so glad you were here.”
Damien’s suit is about to burst at the seams as it stretches over his bulky muscles. Knox’s fits him perfectly, like it was tailored to his exact dimensions, and the mint green button-up is a perfect match to his irises. The sleeves of Finn’s suit jacket are just on the side of too short, but they show off his glorious hands. He managed to tame his jet-black locks for the courthouse, and all I want to do is run both hands through it and mess it up again.
Knox squeezes my shoulders with both hands and rests his forehead against mine. My nerves hum in every place he touches me, and his wide grin comforts me in that way no one else’s can. “You wereincredible, Rory. I’m so proud of you.”
I mirror his grin. I’m practically bursting. I want to jump out of a plane or bungee jump off a bridge. I feel invincible.
Finn catches my chin in his hand, a rare smile spread across his lips too. “All over now.”
“Better fucking be.” Damien tracks the Crowders’ every movement as Jeremiah’s parents lead the way down the steps from the courthouse, Jeremiah following them like a scolded puppy.
For months, I tried to feel like part of their family. I was sixteen—only two years away from aging out of the system. Five years in foster care. All I wanted was tobelongto someone. The Crowders were wealthy, popular, philanthropic. Every weekend, we were traveling or volunteering or attending parties. A life of extravagance that I’d longed for during nights at my other foster homes when my stomach ached so bad, I thought about sneaking out to rifle through a neighbor’s garbage for scraps.
Jeremiah was the one to brush my knee under the table. The one to kissme. The one to sneak me into his room after his parents had gone to bed. But I was the one who was punished.
Barb raises her hand in the air, an obscene rock twinkling in the light from her finger. A wealthy family that loves to flaunt their extravagance. “Aurora! A word?”
I stiffen.Shit. We should’ve already left?—
Knox wraps my hand in his. “We’ve got you,” he murmurs.
