Page 37

Marty

There’s what feels like a long hesitation before I hear the lock disengage and the door to the stall slowly opens.

Stevie’s face is coated with tears, her eyes red, as she stares at me.

So I just open my arms.

And she launches herself into them.

I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, letting her cry against my chest.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’ve got you. Everything is going to be all right.”

She mumbles something unintelligible, but it doesn’t matter.

“Shh.” I stroke her hair with one hand and keep the other firmly around her waist. “You’re going to be okay.”

When her sobs finally subside and she’s a little calmer, she slowly lifts her head.

“Wh-what are you…doing here?” she whispers.

“I thought you might need a hug,” I say simply.

She doesn’t respond, big tear-filled blue eyes staring up at me.

“What you did, Stevie…” I shake my head. “We have a lot to talk about, but I had to be here for you regardless. Even if you don’t love me.”

A tiny frown creases her forehead. “What makes you think I don’t love you?”

I’m not sure how to respond to that so I just lean down and kiss her forehead.

“Right now, nothing matters but getting through the trial.”

“What about hockey?” she asks.

“I took leave for a family emergency. Harper gave her blessing. She would be here too if she could.”

“Where are the kids?”

“With my mom. Ally is going over after school to help out too.”

“Did you find a nanny?”

I smile, brushing my knuckles across her damp cheeks. “I’m working on it. But don’t worry about me—let’s just get through the trial.”

“Marty, this is why I had to leave,” she whispers, a fresh bout of tears puddling in her eyes. “I’m always the villain, no matter what the storyline is, and you and the kids deserve better than that. You can’t get caught up in my messes.”

“There are no messes,” I say firmly. “Damien is going to prison. And if for some reason he manages to escape criminal charges, we will sue him in civil court every way to Sunday, until he’s so broke he’ll wish he was in prison. He is not going to get away with this. One way or another, we will make him suffer. And even if he doesn’t, I love you. The kids love you—they ask me every day when Auntie Stevie is coming home. Not to visit, baby, but when you’re coming home . Because you’re part of what they consider home.”

“I don’t think?—”

“Stop it.” I reach for a paper towel and gently dab at her tears. “Everything going on right now is background noise. I’m here for the long haul, baby, if that’s what you want too. The kids love you… and I love you more.”

I look down at her, hoping my words get through. That she doesn’t just hear them but understands them on an emotional level. In her heart. Her soul. Her entire being. Because that’s where I’m at in all of this.

She’s it for me, and I never should have let her walk away, no matter what was going on.

“You love me?” she asks, as if she’s struggling to take it in.

“You need me to say it a few hundred more times?” I dip my head and softly brush my lips across hers. “Stevie, you have to know how I feel about you.”

“If this is because of the money I gave Brenna—” she begins.

“No!” I’m probably a bit more vehement than I mean to be, but I need to be firm that the money has nothing to do with it. Well, maybe a little. It was the catalyst I needed to realize the depth of her feelings.

“We’re going to talk about all of that,” I promise. “But right now you need to get something to eat and relax before your testimony.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m so scared.”

“You have nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be right behind you, along with all your friends. Everyone that loves you, except my mom and the kids. But Mom has been texting me for updates all morning, even though I was on a plane. I meant to be here before the trial started but I was coming from Montreal and the flight was delayed.”

“You’re on a road trip?”

“I was. But now I’m on family leave. Now go wash your face and breathe. I’ll be waiting right outside.” I kiss her forehead and then slip out, giving her some time and privacy to get herself together.

“How is she?” Chey and Saylor ask in unison the moment I come out.

“Better,” I say, nodding. “She had a good cry, and we talked. Now she’s washing her face. Let’s try to get her to eat something.”

Everyone nods in agreement, and I can’t help but smile at the support group that’s here today. Her good friends—Chey, Saylor, and Effie—are a given. But it’s the others that are special. L’il Barracuda is here, and I’m a little ashamed to admit how jealous I’ve been of him. I found out he’s dating her friend Marcie and he seems like a genuinely good guy.

Madame Bertrand is the owner of the fragrance company that just hired Stevie as their brand ambassador, and there’s truly no reason for her to be here. Except she must love Stevie just like the rest of us.

Grim and Rage, two guys who work for the security company Saylor uses for her own protection—they didn’t have to be here personally. But they know Stevie from the gallery, and from what I gathered, they volunteered to do this. They’re not even getting paid. Saylor just covered their travel expenses.

Even Stevie’s sister, Jeri, whom I haven’t met yet, made the trip.

And Madeline.

She definitely didn’t have to be here, much less pay her own way. She doesn’t do anything for free, but she is for Stevie.

And that’s okay.

That’s the magic of Stevie.

Everyone loves her.

She’s the only one who doesn’t see it, but I plan to spend the rest of my life working on it until she does.

* * *

Stevie’s testimony breaks my heart.

Her recounting of what happened the morning of the attack is gut-wrenching.

However, no matter how many ways Damien’s attorney tries to twist her words, she was well-prepped by Lorna and the prosecutor. I didn’t think it possible to hate Damien more than I already do, but watching how they’re trying to portray Stevie almost kills me.

Luckily, the prosecutor has a plan because she has responses to every point Damien’s lawyer makes.

And when Stevie talks about the aftermath of the incident that morning at her brownstone. The broken ribs. The concussion. The miscarriage and subsequent hysterectomy—the jury isn’t feeling much love for Damien. Even when his attorney tried to talk about her pushing him into a state of temporary insanity, it’s obvious they don’t agree.

The psychiatrist they call as an expert witness isn’t much help to them either, in my opinion, and after Damien takes the stand, I left the courthouse feeling pretty good about things.

Stevie, however, is a mess.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, leaning forward, wrapping my fingers around hers as we get into Madame Bertrand’s limo. “I’m right here.”

She shivers slightly, and I wish I could scoop her up and take her far away from all of this.

I keep my fingers threaded with hers, hoping to keep her grounded. I know all the lawyer’s talking points as he wove a web of half-truths, exaggeration, and outright lies bothered her. It was mind-boggling listening to him describing Stevie as some drug-addled airhead who creates drama wherever she goes, has no friends, and whom no one wants to work with.

Hopefully, this will all be over tomorrow.

Closing arguments will be in the morning and then, if we’re lucky, the jury won’t deliberate for long. The case is open and shut as far as I’m concerned—you don’t get to inflict violence on someone because they’re irritating.

It’s been a long day, and Stevie demurs when dinner is suggested by the group.

“Rest, cherie ,” Madame Bertrand says softly as we pull up to the hotel. “Tomorrow, by the grace of God, this will be over. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Stevie and I get out, and Grim walks us inside.

“Rage is parking the car,” he says. “We’re in the adjacent room. If you need anything at all, just call.”

“Thank you.” Stevie huddles against my side but doesn’t say anything as we get into the elevator and ride up to the floor her suite is on.

Grim nods before going into the room next to hers and then, finally, we’re alone.

Stevie tosses her jacket to the side, kicks off her heels, and then throws herself on the bed.

“You hungry, babe?” I ask softly.

“I don’t know.” Her eyes are closed, and she just lies there, not moving.

“What can I do?” I ask, approaching the bed.

“Hold me?”

“Anytime.” I stretch out beside her, and she curls into her favorite position against my chest.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers.

“I missed you too.”

“Do you want to talk now?” she asks after a moment.

“I want to do whatever you want to do.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Will you…make love to me?”

Her voice is tentative, like what she’s asking is some kind of hardship.

“Why do you sound so unsure?” I ask gently.

“Because you heard a lot of…ugliness about me today.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “You know what? Get undressed.”

“What?” She looks startled but I sit up and start unbuttoning my dress shirt. Then I make a hurry up motion with my hands. “Come on. This is a conversation we’re going to have naked.”

“O-okay.” She slides off the bed and then looks over her shoulder. “I need you to unzip me.”

I move behind her and tug the zipper down so that she can shrug out of the modest long-sleeved dress she’s wearing. She unsnaps her bra as I take off my slacks and boxers and then she drags her panties down her legs.

I make quick work of my socks and we’re finally naked.

Together.

I reach for her, reveling in the warmth of her body against mine.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly. “I mean, beyond the obvious trial stress.”

“Now that I’m with you? Yes.”

“Do you love me, Stevie?”

“So much.” She blinks back tears. “I couldn’t bear the thought that you might lose custody because of me.”

“I lost custody because most judges won’t take custody away from a mother without evidence of some kind of abuse.”

“Yes, but Brenna was making trouble for you because of me—I had to do what was best for you. And the kids.”

“What’s best for us…is you .”

She gives me a faint smile, though I’m not sure she believes me.

Not yet anyway.

“Now tell me how much you paid Brenna.”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. My contract with Adieu à L'amour is embarrassingly generous. I don’t need all that money. How many shoes and purses can I possibly buy?”

“So you gave it to Brenna?” I demand incredulously.

Her brows knit together. “I’m not crazy… I didn’t give her all of it. Just five million.”

“ Just five million?!” I gape at her. “Seriously?

“I have more,” she says softly. “All the money from my brownstone. All my savings and retirement funds. And the other twenty million Adieu à L'amour is paying me… there will be some taxes and such, but it’s a lot of money, Marty. Isn’t it?”

I swallow, trying to wrap my head around her selflessness. “It is.”

“Are you…mad?” She looks tentative again, and I mentally kick myself.

“Mad? Baby, you did something unimaginable for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.”

“I don’t need you to thank me—I only need you to love me.”

“That’s the easiest thing in the world. I already do.”

I drop my lips to hers and it feels like home.

It doesn’t matter where we are.

If we’re together, we’re home.