Page 141 of False Start
“You would have killed me if I’d have tried.”
“I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
I swatted the side of her ass, and then we were laughing and kissing and shedding clothes despite the frigid temperature outside, and the way the heat in our room struggled to keep up.
Soon enough, we made our own fire in that bed, Madelyn fitting me to her entrance and sliding down as we both groaned and held onto each other for dear life. I’d never had a time I didn’t thoroughly enjoy fucking this woman, but watching her ride in the moonlight reflecting off the snow outside with her belly swollen with my child unlocked a whole new kink for me.
I let her ride me long and slow until she found her release, and then I gently rolled her to the side so I could enter her from behind and let my hands explore her heavy breasts, her round stomach, her slender thighs and silky hair and wet, hot mouth.
I came with her name on my lips and a desperate, primal wish in my heart.
That she would be safe and healthy.
That Sebastian and our baby girl would be, too.
And that in a month’s time, we’d take her ass cactus ex-husband out by the knees and watch him burn.
Marshall would never hurt her again. He’d never get the chance to hurt my son.
Thosewere vows I knew I would keep.
One thing I knew for sure was that he picked the wrong motherfucker to test.
And now, Papa Bear was going to rip him to shreds.
January
Madelyn
I thought my hands would be shaking.
A million times, it seemed, I had played out what I imagined this day would be like in my mind. I had imagined everything from trembling fingers and a weak, shaky voice, to me breaking down into complete hysterics.
But instead, here I was, twenty-six weeks pregnant with a steady, calm heart and clear, focused mind.
I’d survived.
I’d survived hellish failures at mediation, and months and months of being civil with Marshall when he was nothing but nasty to me and Kyle both.
I’d survived Sebastian clinging to my legs not wanting to go to Marshall’s house, battling with the love he felt for his father, but the obvious lack of love his father felt for me.
I’d survived holding my son and soothing him after he had to endure on-camera interviews with the judge, his Guardian Ad Litem, and both our attorneys to tell his side of the story, to make his voice heard in this case.
I’d survived the presentation of evidence — everything from text messages Marshall had sent over the years, to photographic proof of him laying his hands on me. Marshall’s friends, who swore they weremyfriends, too, had testified against me. His colleagues had attested to his upstanding character. And thoughmyparents had testified the opposite, I wasn’t sure how that would hold. I couldn’t read what the judge was thinking as he listened and watched and analyzed.
I’d survived the cross-examination from Marshall’s lawyers, the way they’d tried to twist their questions and my response in tandem to get what they wanted out of me. Fortunately, the lawyer Kyle had hired for us had worked on this with me, and I was prepared.
I also had nothing to hide — unlike my ex-husband, who looked a bit sweaty in his seat as he watched me stand and address the court for the final time.
When I’d asked our lawyer for permission to read a personal statement to the judge, she’d originally nixed the idea. It wasn’t traditional. It wasn’t how things worked. She didn’t want the judge to think we were going for hysterics or fanfare.
But this was the one thing I’d insisted on.
In order for me to read a statement, though, Marshall had to be allowed to read one of his own. He’d done so yesterday, pleading with the judge and making himself tear up and look innocent, like he’d been painted as a victim, when really he was just a good father battling against a selfish mother who wanted to take his child.
Kyle elected not to testify — mostly at my insistence. We both knew my fiancé and the father of the child in my belly wouldn’t be exactly trustworthy as a source. He would be entirely biased, and anything hedidsay would likely be taken with a grain of salt.
I knew it had killed him to sit out. But he was still here, front row, right behind our lawyer, and holding hands with mymom, who held hands with my father, who looked ready to kill Marshall if the judge didn’t make the right decision at the end of all of this.
