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Luke

Homos, in our town. Homosexuals in Salem, Idaho.

They want to teach in our schools, sit next to us in these very pews.

They want to instill their lifestyle on our young people.

It’s an abomination, what these perverts want to do with our children.

Their existence goes against the teachings of our Lord and Savior and they should be treated like the criminals they are.

They should be convicted—no. They should be lined up against a wall and shot!

That’s what God teaches, and that’s what I say to you today!

B ang. Bang. Bang .

It isn’t until I feel Dean’s hand lightly squeezing my thigh that I realize the sound of a torn and tattered bible hitting a pulpit is in my mind.

In reality, the only noise in this unfamiliar office is the dull buzz of the harsh white light overhead, casting the office and all its rich, mahogany glory in an artificial, offensive glow.

“You okay?” Dean asks, and I nod even though I’m not. He knows it, I know it. The only reason he keeps asking me that question is because there is nothing else to ask. Just like right after the accident, no one knows what to say to me.

The door swings open, and a tall, slender woman sashays in.

She’s got an iPad and a briefcase in one hand and the largest iced coffee I’ve ever seen in my life in the other.

Her long red hair swishes in a tightly pulled ponytail as she crosses the room and rounds the oversized desk with her name—Lori S.

Mason, Esq. — sprawled on a black and gold plaque.

“Thanks for waiting. My last call ran long and my assistant was no help in getting me the hell out of there and…you don’t care,” Lori says, waving a hand in front of her face as she settles into her chair.

When Dean first went to his parents for help in finding a lawyer for my custody case, I was annoyed. I have my own lawyers, and even if I might feel like a scared, caged animal at the moment, I am a competent adult who can do things on my own.

However, when I looked up Lori Mason on Google and found that she is a Harvard Law alum who comes from a long line of sharks who fight tooth and nail for their clients with a nearly perfect record, I was ready to concede.

When Dean told me that Lori’s father back in Tennessee was the family lawyer who helped his dads and Camila through their unconventional journey of starting their family over thirty years ago, I all but waved a white flag in his face.

It’s difficult for me to accept help from anyone except my sister. Now that she’s gone, I need to keep shoving down my urge to fight and let my people take care of me. So that’s what I’m doing here today. I’m letting Dean take care of me, the same way he’s been taking care of my girls.

“It’s fine Ms. Mason. We haven’t been waiting long,” Dean says, and Lori waves a hand again.

“Please, call me Lori. We’re about to get really familiar with each other, so we might as well skip the formalities. Now, Levi?—”

“Luke,” I say, probably a bit more sternly than I need to.

“Oh, the papers you were served say Levi Connelly?”

“I know. That was my birth name. My name is Luke Cannon.”

“Got it. Well, Luke. It looks like we’ve got a bit of a custody conundrum on our hands.”

“Right. My sister, Gigi. She, uh…she died. A few mo nths ago. And she left her three girls, Lemmie, Mellie, and Ollie, to me.”

“Lemmie, Mellie, and Ollie,” Lori repeats, an amused smile curling at her lips.

“I know. I thought Gigi was insane for the names, too. But they’ve grown on me.” My lips tip up at the corners as I remember the day the twins were born.

“I think they’re fantastic names. They’re cute, they rhyme, and they won’t ever be easily forgotten. Your sister sounds like she was a real card.”

I huff out the smallest of laughs. Because yeah, Gigi certainly was a card. After everything we went through, the way she took it upon herself to finish raising me on her own when she was still a kid, she managed to have the best sense of humor.

“She was really something. Gigi was the kind of person who could put a smile on your face even when you were determined to be miserable,” Dean says, squeezing my thigh again.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Both of you.” Lori sighs, then swipes to unlock the screen on the iPad. “I’ve looked at your case and the petition for custody?—”

“It’s bullshit, right?” I ask. “Tell me it’s bullshit, Lori. I mean, it’s not even my real name on those papers. How can I be sued if technically, Levi Connelly no longer exists?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. A person can be sued under their former name even if it’s been legally changed, because usually the person doing the suing can easily prove to the court that you are the person they are suing.

In your parent’s case, they would likely use your birth certificate or social security card with your birth name. ”

“But it’s still bullshit, right?” Dean asks, his grip on my thigh getting tighter and tighter with each passing second. “I mean, come on, Lori. These people didn’t even know they had grandchildren?—”

“My kids are not Joseph and Rebecca’s grandchildren,” I interrupt. The insinuation that my girls are anything to those fuckers stokes the fire burning in my chest.

“I know babe, I know. I just meant that they didn’t know that the girls existed until a few weeks ago, blood relation or not,” Dean soothes, stroking his thumb over my leg. Even through my slacks, I can feel the heat of his touch on my skin, and I’m tempted to melt into it.

“And, again, it’s not as simple as your insistence that Joseph and Rebecca have no relation to the children. I understand where you’re coming from, but the court might not. Grandparent’s rights are a thing, Luke,” Lori says, and I have to fight back the snarl I want to throw at her.

“Aren’t I paying you to represent me? Because so far, it seems like you are more than happy to let those people snatch my girls away from me.

Gigi wouldn’t have wanted that. Gigi didn’t want that.

She took me the fuck away from our parents as soon as she could, and she—fuck.

She trusted me to take care of her daughters.

I’m the parent she wants for her kids since she can’t be here,” I say, my voice trembling with bottled up anger and resentment.

“Luke, Dean, I am on your side. But I’m not a sugarcoating bullshitter.

I’m not going to hold your hand and tell you that this process is going to be smooth like peanut butter.

Custody battles are ugly in the healthiest family units.

Like I told you, I’ve looked into your case.

Gigi left the girls in your care. Her will is clear cut, no court is going to deny that.

What gets more complicated is when they start to look into the welfare of the children. ”

The…the welfare of the children?

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Dean asks.

“It means that a lot of different factors are going to come into play. Personal history, work schedules, ability to provide for the children, whether there is a stable home environment, the character of the caretaker. And unfortunately, Luke, you have a bit of a reputation as a hothead. It’s not a secret that you weren’t the nicest guy to be around during your last season in the league, and the article that ran this week doesn’t help negate that. ”

A shudder runs through me when I remember the way I acted in my last months as the Redwoods quarterback.

I was scared, hurt, pissed off. I’m not proud of it, but I was lashing out.

I knew from the moment I went down in that NFC Championship game that my career was over.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out from the pain was a field of players on their knees in a show of respect.

They knew it too. But still, I had to do physical therapy.

I had to attend the practices, had to suit up for the games just to sit on the sidelines because the franchise told me to.

At this point, I understand why the Redwoods did what they did when it came to me. Not every injury is a career-ender. There was always a chance—albeit a small one—that I would bounce back. My coaches, team management, James, they all just wanted to give me and the team the best shot we had.

At the time, though? I felt like a prize pig taking one last trot around the farm before being sent to the slaughterhouse, and I decided if I was going down, I was going down in a blaze of disrespect.

I mouthed off. I talked shit to the press.

I fucking spit on the turf at my coach’s feet like an asshole.

The only thing I did right last year were the private practices and workouts I did with the rookie quarterback, Breaker Lawson.

And even those were selfish. I wasn’t thinking about the kid’s success.

I was thinking I didn’t want to watch the team crash and burn with a last round draft pick at the helm.

I was a fucking asshole, and now I’m paying for my actions.

“Lori, Luke is the nicest guy around. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Sure, there were some arguments and less-than-stellar moments last year, but he was on edge. He has never—would never—take his anger over losing football out on his family. Ask anyone on the team,” Dean says.

“Again, I believe that. And I’d like to reach out to some of your former teammates, coaches, maybe even the Redwoods owner for statements of character to that effect.

But gentlemen, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t point out every soft spot the Connelly’s legal team can and will try to expose during all of this.

Luke’s history of anger issues is working against us, and we need to get out ahead of it. ”

With my head in my hands, I start to laugh. The humorless chuckle works its way up my throat and out of my mouth before I have time to stop it, just as tears spill from my eyes.