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Dylan reached up and ran his fingers through his bangs, pulling them back down and straight, but didn’t say anything.
She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then swept his hair to the side again as she stood.
Dylan’s brows knit as he reached up to fix his bangs a second time. His gaze followed his mother as she slid behind the second table, then turned and smiled at Dr. Ferndale, seated behind her in an obvious show of support.
Dylan frowned, slid closer to Lauren, and pressed himself into her side.
“I don’t like him,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly.
But Scott, attuned to his son, twitched.
He leaned toward Mark. “Did you hear that?”
Mark glanced across the aisle at Lindsay, head bent and studying the papers before her, then nodded.
“I thought...”
Mark shook his head, a subtle motion, but Scott stopped talking, forcing himself to stillness.
Mark spun in his chair, facing Dylan, seated behind them. But the banister—what lawyers call the “bar” —sat between them, the distance too far for a subtle conversation. Any movement on their part toward Dylan would catch Lindsay’s attention.
Scott clenched his hands, the bite of his ring grinding into his palm. Heat suffused his face. White-hot anger swept through him.
A hand on his sleeve brought him back to himself; Mark, head cocked, squeezed his arm and flicked his eyes behind them.
The susurration of voices too quiet to understand reached Scott’s ears, one, his son’s, the other less familiar. He strained his ears but could make out no words, locked eyes with Mark, and raised his eyebrows. Then, the voices stopped. Scott snuck a peek over his shoulder as fabric rustled behind them.
The guardian glided up the aisle, pressed aside the double door of the courtroom, then exited into the hall beyond.
He turned, words already on his tongue, but Mark shook his head again.
“Wait.”
He’d chosen Mark for his expertise; he’d trust his lawyer.
Scott had been his own worst enemy throughout the custody hearings, a fact he understood all too well. If he’d only managed to keep his mouth shut at the last one, maybe they wouldn’t even be here, today.
Minutes ticked past and Scott checked his watch. Judge Farmer had been punctual to the previous hearings. Mark had even warned him before the first one he had a bit of a reputation for it and wouldn’t have much patience for a parent who showed up late to discuss custody. Scott had always been early.
The rear doors opened again, and the guardian reentered the courtroom.
Moments later, the bailiff came in and, standing to one side of the bench, called the room to order. “Judge Farmer presiding.”
The judge entered, long, black robes sweeping the floor, and, settling himself, straightened the files on the table before him. It seemed to take longer this time than in their previous appearances.
Had his nerves gotten the better of him?
Satisfied, Judge Farmer cleared his throat. “Ms. Meyers, Mr. Edwards.” He paused and glanced behind Scott. “And you must be Dylan.”
Though he spoke firmly, the gaze he bent on the boy showed an unexpectedly paternal kindness.
“Yes, sir. Umm, Your Honor.” Dylan stumbled over the unfamiliar title and the edges of the judge’s lips twitched.
“Either is fine, young man.”
Judge Farmer paused again, cleared his throat, ruffled his papers. Then, gathering himself, he spoke. “I have been a Family Court Judge for a number of years, now, and I believe it is one of the most difficult fields to work in. To ask any person to judge between two parents on the care of their child is a grave responsibility, and one I do not now, nor ever have taken lightly. Sometimes, the choice is simple and straight-forward. Other times, it is more complex. This case appeared to be of the latter type.”
Scott’s chest clenched at his words.I’m going to lose Dylan. The realization flooded through him, paralyzed him, stole his breath.I’m going to lose my son.