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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Bradley

T he cold steel bench beneath me was hard enough to bruise my ass, but I barely registered the pain. My body was in this holding cell, sure, but my brain… my brain was back in that squad car, where Nico looked me in the eye and told me he loved me.

Nico loves me.

The words burned like neon behind my eyelids, looping through my head like a chorus I couldn’t turn off. I held onto them like a life raft, desperate and shaky, while everything else around me crumbled.

The jail cell was as bleak as I remembered: cinderblock walls painted a sickly shade of beige, buzzing fluorescent lights that flickered with a strobe-like cruelty, and a single narrow window too high to see out of.

A metal toilet sat in the corner like a threat.

Everything stank faintly of bleach, sweat, and something sour I didn’t want to identify.

It wasn’t just jail. It was purgatory, and I was stuck in it again.

At least I didn’t have to deal with fucking Marvin.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and ran my fingers through my hair.

It was greasy, unwashed, and stuck up in too many directions.

My hands trembled slightly, whether from adrenaline or anxiety or just the sick déjà vu of it all, I wasn’t sure.

I’d been here before—literally and metaphorically—and I knew better than anyone how time stopped behind bars.

Every minute stretched like chewing gum on hot pavement.

And yet, through the fear, through the bone-deep dread of being back in a cage, one thought stayed bright in my mind: Nico said he loves me.

I laughed under my breath, a short, startled sound that echoed too loud in the small space. I probably looked unhinged. Hell, maybe I was unhinged. Because what kind of person sits in a holding cell, heart pounding from fear, and grins like a fool because their maybe-boyfriend said I love you?

But it mattered. God, it mattered. After everything—after prison, and lying to people who cared about me, and almost ruining this one good thing—I had someone who still saw something worth loving. Someone who looked at my wreckage and still wanted to climb in and build a home.

And now I might lose him. Again.

I stared at the floor, at the scuffed concrete covered in little black skid marks from too many shoes pacing too many miles.

How long would they keep me here? A day?

A week? Longer? The idea of being trapped again, away from Nico, away from the life I was finally starting to rebuild, made my chest seize up. Not just with panic, but with shame.

I had just begun to believe I might deserve this good thing. And now it was slipping through my fingers, all over again.

A sharp knock on the steel door snapped me out of my spiral.

It creaked open, and Brooke Keeland stepped in, clipboard in hand, tight bun, no-nonsense energy.

She looked exhausted. Maybe from dealing with me.

Maybe just from the job. Either way, her eyes flicked to mine with a mixture of weariness and concern.

“Bradley,” she said, voice flat but not cruel. “You’ve really done it this time.”

I flinched. Not from the words, but from the disappointment behind them. “I know,” I muttered, not quite able to meet her eyes.

She walked in slowly, dragged a plastic chair from the hallway, and sat across from me. “I’m not here just to scold you,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. “There’s something you should know.”

I felt a flicker of something. Hope? Terror? I couldn’t tell, but it lit up the hollow space in my chest.

“That handsome guy you keep bringing up, Nico,” she added with a faint smile. “He came to see me.”

My breath caught. I blinked hard, like I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it.

“Said he wanted to explain everything. Gave me the whole rundown. And honestly... it made sense.”

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. The kind that’s made of gratitude and guilt and longing all knotted together.

Brooke tapped her pen against the clipboard thoughtfully. “The man you… took down? He’s being charged. Not just for what happened with you and Nico. Turns out there’s a long list of laws he’s broken. So… you weren’t wrong.”

I exhaled slowly, a tiny crack of relief working its way into the crushing weight on my chest.

“So does that mean I’m getting out?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Brooke shook her head. “Not yet. I’m recommending to the board that your time be kept short, considering the circumstances. It’s the best I can do.”

I rubbed my eyes, trying to chase away the sting behind them. “Why am I even in here? I stopped a predator. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“It does,” she breathed. “To me. Probably to the board too. But the law doesn’t bend just because someone did the right thing for the wrong reason. Violence—any violence—violates your parole. I’m sorry, Bradley.”

My chest ached. Not from panic, but from the deep, bitter disappointment of knowing that sometimes doing the right thing still comes at a cost. I leaned back, head thudding gently against the cinderblock wall. The cold of it seeped through my shirt, a cruel reminder of where I was.

But still… Nico loved me.

I clung to that fiercely. Like a secret. Like armor. I pictured his smile, the sound of his laugh when he was really laughing, full-body and unfiltered. I pictured his eyes when he looked at me—really looked. That softness, that spark.

He saw something in me I hadn’t even seen in myself. Not yet. But I wanted to.

I wanted to earn it.

So I let the cold sink in. Let the cell do what it was going to do. But I wouldn’t let it hollow me out.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, I had something waiting on the other side of this.

Someone.

And that made all the difference.

* * *

The clink of my handcuffs echoed with every step as the guards led me into the courtroom. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. This was it. The sentencing. The moment I’d find out how much longer I was going to be locked away from everything I’d clawed my way back to.

The courtroom was colder than I remembered—air-conditioned within an inch of its life, sterile and humming.

Pale wood paneling, rows of wooden pews for an audience I didn’t think I had, and fluorescent lights buzzing with bureaucratic indifference.

It was full but quiet. Uncomfortably quiet.

The kind of quiet that pressed against your ears like water pressure.

I was guided to the defense table, cuffs tight around my wrists, and sat beside my court-appointed attorney—a tired-looking woman with a salt-and-pepper pixie cut and a pile of folders in front of her.

She gave me a brief nod. We’d met only once, briefly.

She’d said my case was “complicated but not unwinnable,” which inspired about as much confidence as a parachute made of tulle.

The judge entered, an older Black woman with a commanding presence and reading glasses perched low on her nose. Her expression was unreadable, like she’d seen a thousand Bradleys before and wasn’t particularly impressed. I couldn’t blame her.

“All rise,” the bailiff said, voice booming.

We stood. I tried to keep my breathing steady, but my pulse was sprinting laps. The judge sat. We sat. I stared straight ahead, bracing for the worst.

And then I heard a shuffle in the gallery behind me.

I turned just enough to glance over my shoulder. My heart stuttered.

Nico.

He was there.

Not just there—he was watching me with those wild blue eyes that had once made me feel like the entire world had color again. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Like he’d run straight here from something important. And he wasn’t alone.

Jack, Liam, Petyr, Dimitri. Nessa, in a too-loud leopard-print blazer. Laura, arms crossed, chin up. Moira, big hair and bigger sunglasses, already tearing up behind them.

All of them. They were here.

For me.

I nearly lost it.

“Bradley Mitchell,” the judge began, looking down at a sheet of paper like it was my Yelp review. “You’re here today for a parole violation related to an act of violence committed against a Thomas Luke. Are both sides ready to proceed?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” my attorney said.

The DA, some baby-faced guy who looked like he hadn’t yet learned how to fake empathy, stood and nodded as well.

My attorney rose. “Your Honor, the defense would like to call a witness: Nicholas Steele.”

Nico stood up and walked to the stand. I watched every step. His shoulders were squared, his jaw set. No jokes this time. No masks. He raised his right hand, swore to tell the truth, and sat down. My throat went dry.

“Mr. Steele,” my attorney said. “Can you describe the events that led up to Mr. Mitchell’s alleged assault of Mr. Luke?”

Nico nodded, voice steady. “Thomas Luke had been harassing me, trying to blackmail me over my involvement in the adult entertainment industry. That day, I told him to leave me alone. He didn’t take it well, and he punched me.”

A murmur ran through the courtroom. Even the judge’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

Nico went on. “Bradley saw it happen. He didn’t know the full story, but he saw Thom hit me, hard.

Thom threw the first punch. And Bradley…

yeah, he reacted. Fast. He hit him back.

More than once. But it wasn’t like some random outburst. He wasn’t trying to start a fight.

He was trying to end one. Bradley stepped in to protect me. ”

“And to your knowledge,” my lawyer asked, “was Thomas Luke planning to extort or publicly expose you?”

“Yes,” Nico said simply. “He told me he had information on me and would ‘ruin my life’ if I didn’t give him money. We have a USB stick he dropped in my bathroom.”

That was it. A bomb in a silent room.

The DA tried to object, but the judge waved him off.

My attorney stood and approached the bench, holding up a small plastic evidence bag.

“Your Honor, the defense would like to submit this USB drive into evidence. It was recovered from Mr. Steele’s bathroom, where Mr. Luke dropped it during an earlier visit.

Upon review, it contains personal files and recordings that support Mr. Steele’s claims of blackmail and coercion.

We believe it further demonstrates that Mr. Mitchell’s actions, while a parole violation, were in response to a credible and escalating threat.

” My attorney stepped back to the defense table. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

The judge looked at Nico. “You may step down.”

Nico caught my eye as he left the stand. Just a second, no more. But in that second, I felt every inch of my body light up. He still had my back. He still…

“Mr. Mitchell,” the judge said, turning back to me.

“Given the testimony and the charges against Mr. Luke, which are now being pursued separately, I believe the context of your actions matters. You violated your parole. That much is clear. But you did so while protecting another person from harm. That counts for something.”

I held my breath.

“Your sentence is three weeks in county jail, with credit for time served. That leaves two weeks remaining. Sentence begins immediately.”

Before I could process anything, the back of the courtroom exploded.

Nessa let out a full-body “WOOOO!” and slapped the back of Jack’s head in celebration.

Moira screamed, “That’s our boy!” through hands full of rhinestone rings.

Petyr and Dimitri clapped politely, like this was a student violin recital.

Laura just smirked like she already knew this would be the outcome.

And Nico—Nico was still watching me. Quiet. Steady. The corners of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure it was safe yet.

It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want two more weeks in this place. I didn’t want another second behind bars. But something was different now.

This time, I knew what was waiting for me when I got out.