The day of my trial, I’m nervous. I know I have a good attorney— the best I could ask for, and it also helps that I have her in bed as well as in the courtroom— but, as she’s reminded me too many times in the past, everything at trial is unpredictable.

Both attorneys introduce themselves and the judge nods a greeting to them. Riley told me that at a pretrial conference in chambers before the trial started, the judge had noted his surprise that she was back on my case. But she said, he said it in a way that showed he was happy that she was still representing me.

I try to sit up straight and respectable, knowing that the jury is watching my every move. I listen to the prosecutor’s ridiculous opening statement: “This man may be a veteran but that shouldn’t stop justice from prevailing. He must be punished for the crime that he committed.”

And then I listen to Riley’s amazing opening statement— “Jensen Bradford is a decorated war hero who was merely defending and protecting his mother at the time this incident occurred.”

The scumbag boyfriend of my mother’s gets up on the stand and gives a sad sob story about how I repeatedly beat him to a pulp. You’re lucky you’re still alive, you douchebag, I think, as I try to look at him neutrally for the jury instead of with all the hate I actually feel towards him.

And then the State rests its case and Riley says, “I would like to call to the stand the defense’s first witness, Bobbie Jean Bradford.”

I whirl around in my seat, watching in shock as my mother enters the courtroom. I exchange glances with my equally bewildered brothers who are in the gallery, and then look up at Riley in confusion.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you she would be testifying,” she whispers. “But she wasn’t exactly… committed… and I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it turned out that she couldn’t make it.”

I can’t believe my mother is here, taking my side over one of her many no-good-loser boyfriends. This whole time, I kept thinking that it was ridiculous that the guy wasn’t being charged for assault on my mother, but instead I was being charged for assaulting him. Everyone told me it’s because my mother didn’t want to press charges against the asshole, whereas the asshole wanted to press charges against me, so I was shit out of luck.

But here’s my mom, willing to finally speak up against the guy, and for me, for once. And I can’t believe Riley was able to make it happen. I smile up at her in appreciation.

At the same time, though, I’m also nervous about what my mother is going to say. She’s not exactly the most reliable witness, and I don’t know if Riley knows what she’s in for.

“Ms. Bradford, how do you know the defendant, Jensen Bradford?” Riley begins.

“He’s my son. My middle son, out of three boys.”

“And what happened on the day in question?”

“Bill Warner was over at my house and he was drinking and got mad at me for no reason. He began hitting me and pounding my head into the wall. I felt as if I was going to die. I could feel my life closing in on me and I even began to feel myself ascend into Heaven…”

Oh, Mom, you always did have a flair for the dramatic, I think, as Riley reigns her in with the next question.

“And just to be clear, Mr. Bill Warner is the alleged victim in this case?”

“He is,” says my mom. “Although he most definitely is not any victim. I’m the victim here. And my son Jensen, for being forced to defend these trumped-up charges just for defending me…”

“And then what happened, Ms. Bradford?” Riley expertly cuts her short again.

“My son Jensen saved my life. He pushed Bill off of me. But Bill just kept swinging. He was too drunk and belligerent to have any sense left in his noggin. He was still hitting me and also hitting my poor boy who was doing nothing but trying to help me. So Jensen had to hit him back.”

“Thank you, Ms. Bradford.”

“My son hit Bill so hard that he was knocked out. Because my son never misses a punch. He’s defended our country and now he defended me.”

Gee, thanks Mom, for that unnecessary and likely harmful information.

“I have no more questions for this witness,” Riley hurriedly tells the judge.

“I do,” says the prosecutor.

Great.

“Go ahead, ADA Stemple,” the judge motions his forward.

“Ms. Bradford, how would you characterize your son’s personality?”

“Objection!” Riley leaps up. “Outside the scope of my original questioning.”

“Goes to character,” says ADA Stemple, but rather weakly, as if he knows he’s lost the fight but has to say something.

“Sustained,” says the judge.

“Would you say he has a temper? That he’s quick to anger? Easily triggered?”

“Objection!” Riley shouts. “Badgering the witness. And Your Honor has already prohibited this line of questioning.”

“Sustained,” says the judge, and glares at the prosecutor. “ADA Stemple, please limit your questions to those that Ms. Riley asked this witness about previously. I will not give you any more leeway.”

I can see the beginnings of a victorious smile start to spread across Riley’s face, but she quickly suppresses it. Damn, she’s good. I just want to victory- fuck her, right here and now.

“My son has a great personality,” my mom says, with a smile.

Although my mom and I have never had a great relationship, to put it mildly, I can’t help but feel touched that she’s jumping to my rescue like this. Even if, in typical Mom-style, she’s not exactly cooperating with the way that things are supposed to go, she showed up for me, and she’s speaking up for me. That’s more than she used to do.

The prosecutor looks like he wants to run with that and ask her more questions about my personality, but he knows he can’t. So instead, he asks, “And you testified that Mr. Bradford knocked out Mr. Warner with one strong punch?”

“Objection,” says Riley. “Attempting to characterize and inflate previous testimony.”

“Overruled,” says the judge, but my mom has already started answering the question.

“He sure did! He’s one strong man.”

“Would you say that he overreacted more than another man would have, to the situation?”

“Objection,” says Riley. “Calls for speculation.”

This time the judge sustains her objection but once again my mom answers anyway.

“I think he reacted like any man would have and should have,” says my mom proudly, speaking to the jury with confidence and authority. “And I’m glad he has good aim because I raised him to act strong and quickly when justice requires it.”

No you didn’t, I think, but the jury buys her act. They’re staring at her spellbound like she’s a preacher at a revival service.

“But did he act too strongly and too quickly?” The prosecutor meagerly attempts to save himself but Riley objects and the judge sustains her objection.

“Mr. Stemple,” the judge says, with obvious impatience. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask Ms. Bradford that I’m going to allow you to ask?”

“No, Your Honor,” says the prosecutor, looking resigned. “No further questions.”

It’s obvious that he’s lost this round, and perhaps the entire trial. The jury is on my side, the judge is on Riley’s side, and even my mom is here by my side for once.

The prosecutor requests a short recess and then motions for Riley. She goes over to talk to him in a whisper and then leads me into a small attorney/client room inside the courtroom.

When we’re safely inside with the door shut and locked behind us, she turns ecstatic. Absolutely glowing with happiness, she tries her best to throw her arms around my neck, but she’s quite a bit shorter than I am, so it requires me to bend over in order for her to be able to make it.

“It’s working, Jensen!” she says. “The judge is pissed at ADA Stemple and we have the jury wrapped around our finger. And to top it all off, the prosecution just lowered their plea offer. That means that even the prosecutor has realized we’re likely to win.”

“Should I take it?” I ask, but even as I say it, I know I don’t want to.

“Of course not. He only offered it because he knows you’re going to get off scot-free.”

“I can’t believe you got my mom to testify, and relatively well too, compared to what I feared,” I tell her. “Good job.”

“And just think… you fired me as your attorney.”

“Only so I could fuck you and then re-hire you,” I tell her, as I bend down to kiss her welcoming lips.

She returns my kiss and I’m glad that there are no windows in the room. Attorney client privilege is a great thing, I think, as I reach down to grab her ass.

But a strong rap on the door disrupts us and we pull apart like guilty school children, even though the door is locked.

“Enough hanky panky,” she says.

“For now,” I add.

“Exactly. I still have to present my expert before we can say we have this trial in the bag.”

“Oh yes, the contentious expert that was the reason for all of our problems.”

“Just trust me, Jensen,” she says, reaching up to run her hands over my mouth. “I promised, I’d never let you down.”

“I know, Riley,” I say, as I bend down to kiss her on the top of her head. We spend a brief moment in a comforting embrace. “I’ve definitely learned my lesson. I’ve learned to trust you.”

“Now let’s go kick some ass.”