CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The ride back to our apartment is silent. Skye stares out of the window, and there’s a light rain beginning to fall. It’s not like that hopeful spring rain on the night of our wedding. Everything in New York is aggressively green now and totally covered with pollen. It’s that depressing part of spring where the air begins to get thick and humid, a reminder that summer is lurking around the corner. And there won’t be many days before the heat starts seeping in.
“It’s nothing that hurts our case,” I say, reaching out for her hand. She pulls it away and stays silent. “It’s about the money I have put away. Marta wanted it—she always has.”
Skye sighs heavily. “I’d thought you told me everything. But I should have known better. The wedding. The apartment. Brie. It was all too good to be true. Or—maybe it wasn’t. I can’t tell now.” Her voice is soft and solemn, like she’s thinking out loud. “Now we’re at the end of it, and I’m being made to look like a fool. Or I will be—tomorrow.”
“It’s not like that.” I sigh quickly. “There’s money, and it’s put away. I have it in your name so that Marta can’t get to it.” I look away when I say it. Even at the first, the plan all seemed so simple, so easy to pull off. It seemed like I could make it all happen, make it all so that Marta would lose custody. I’d had it all worked out, bit by bit, as things fell into place. When I got the idea to marry Skye, when she signed on to be part of my life. What I hadn’t considered was her—and how she might feel about all of this.
She groans slightly. “You realize what this looks like. Whatever she found out—it’s going to look like it’s true. Even if the judge isn’t your typical old school Irish guy or whatever, he’s going to side with the woman who’s held custody for the better part of two years. Because we look ridiculous. How could you do this—”
“I didn’t do this to you, Skye.” Even as I say it, the words sound awful coming out of my mouth.
“I didn’t meant to me. I mean to Brie. She wants to live with you. To be with you. To be a part of this family—or whatever it is. And you knew Marta had people, people coming out of the woodwork to help her.”
“She’s a phony. Talking about how she needs extra child support when she bribes half the town. Donnelly’s told me that judge won’t side with her. We lucked out—”
“I can’t be a part of this,” she says. “I care about you, Liam. But I should have stepped out a long time ago. I should have known better. It’s best if I don’t come tomorrow.”
“Come on, Skye. I need you. I need you to be there.” When I say the words, I know I mean them, but there are so many things I’ve said along the way. Maybe these words don’t mean anything at all. Not to Skye, even if they mean something to me. “One last time,” I add.
There’s a long pause as the Uber I ordered for us turns onto the street in Queens. The one where we live—the street and the little house where we started to build a life, one that was better than anything I’ve ever known. I don’t blame her.
For the first night since we moved in together, we’re silent. We don’t sleep apart, but she stays on her side of the bed, and I’m on mine. She has one of her bags packed already, sitting casually by the side of the bed.
We never even had the bed frame delivered, and she’s moving out. There are so many things I want to say, words circling around in my brain. Long after Skye is asleep next to me, I lie awake. I think about the decisions that brought me here, from the very first night I met her. I had never thought I’d have the opportunity to be with my child again. I had the money, the family to back me. But I didn’t have a reason, a catalyst.
Skye became that reason for me.
I haven’t said the words in years, and I’m not sure if I even meant them when I last did. Tabitha and I were hot and heavy, and we didn’t know how to be in a real relationship. We were selfish, young, not ready for a child in our lives.
But when I look at her small, beautiful body next to mine, its curves rising and falling in time with my own heartbeat, I can imagine myself saying it to her. I’m not sure why I haven’t already.
I put a hand on her sleeping shoulder, and she pulls away ever so slightly in her sleep, stretching. When her body returns to its natural place, she turns to me again, and I see the outlines of her body illuminated by the moonlight.
I want to wake her, to take her in my arms, tell her I’ve taken her for granted all along. I love her, all of her, and I want her to stay with me and be a part of this family, no matter what form it might take.
Instead, exhaustion overtakes me. When I dream, there are swirling images of the judge’s chamber, and a picture of Brie’s face, fading out further and further until I can no longer see her. Then, I’m alone. No Brie, no Skye.
When we wake, the words won’t come. Instead, we get dressed in silence, her in her pinstripe skirt. And she hands me an ironed shirt and slacks that I haven’t worn for the past two years.
“Not sure if these will fit,” I say, watching her and holding the dark khaki pants in my hand. She’s ironed them out so that the long wrinkle from the coat hanger is no longer there. She did it without asking, without mentioning a single thing to me. Because she knows this day is important—it means something to me, and more than that, it means something to her.
“They will,” she says without thinking. “I checked. They’re the same size as your jeans. And the tux you wore to the wedding. They’ll be fine. There’s a tie hanging over the towel bar in the bathroom, too. It’s blue. They say that’s good for courtrooms. I think I read that in a magazine.”
“I trust you, Skye.” I look over at her, and she doesn’t meet my eye. She buttons up her blue shirt over her full breasts, and my stomach drops. By not being honest, I’m going to lose her too.
No daughter. No wife. I have a flashback to the lonely, dark cell I slept in for six months. And the empty apartment after that.
She doesn’t respond, and I don’t blame her. I used her. I didn’t consider what she would want to know, who she was, or what she needed. I think of that bank account, still sitting in Skye’s name. If Marta’s able to spin it the right way, we’re finished. Skye married me for nothing, and I’ll be in another dark cell—but this time, it will be one entirely of my own creation.
Skye checks her phone and gives me a glance, smiling very slightly. “Today’s the day,” she says. “I’m with you. But I should probably get going after tomorrow. If they give you custody of Brie, it won’t have anything to do with me. So there’s no point.”
She walks up to me and helps me adjust my tie, cool fingers brushing against my neck. She puts one finger to my jawline and kisses me there.
“I’ve told you a thousand times I don’t want you to go, Skye.” My heart beats harder when she’s this close to me. Maybe I hadn’t noticed that before, or I hadn’t put a name to it. I lean in and kiss her, and she melts into me for a moment before pulling away.
“I know. It’s just best that I go before this gets messier than it is.” She gives me that weak smile again. “But I learned a lot about what I want. And I think it might be a man like you. I never knew that before.”
I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
“It is,” she says. “I see how strong and protective you are when it comes to Brie. How you fight hard for your family. It’s not just how you are in bed—there’s that too. I’m at home in my own body for the first time, ever. It’s how you are with everyone around you.”
“Just not with you, I guess.”
She shrugs and looks away. “We better get going, Liam. Whatever happens today, I think you’ll always be a big part of that little girl’s life. But don’t give up. Keep fighting, even after I’m gone.”
“Skye—”
“Let’s go,” she says. “We have to make a good impression when we get in there. Whether any of that is real or not.”
Despite everything, she reaches out and takes my hand. Her fingers seems small and fragile inside mine. I keep that thought in my head as we make the ride over to the courthouse and walk up the stairs, still silent, to the judge’s chambers. This time, my whole family is here, and each of them greets Skye with a hug.
There’s an air of eerie silence as we sit in the courtroom, waiting for the judge. Marta is sitting next to Brie, blocking her from my sight. But I can feel her here, just as I can feel Skye, sitting next to me, nervous and unable to relax. I put my hand on top of hers until I feel her grow calmer.
She’s worth protecting, too. Worth fighting for.
I sigh and look down at my feet. The benches in the judge’s room remind me of the pews at the church where I married Skye, where we said “I do.” And all the other vows that said we’d stand by each other through thick and thin.
I look over her as the judge enters the courtroom. She’s fiddling with a lock of her deep brown hair, crossing and uncrossing her ankles. Like she said from the start, she’s in this. She has been from the beginning.
I wanted her then, and I still want her. I want her home with me, waking up next to me. Getting books from the library and eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Even if I have Brie, I think about that little first floor apartment in Queens, and it doesn’t feel like home without Skye. Not truly.
“I’m ready to hear the case,” the judge says. He sifts through papers, and I watch as Donnelly and Marta’s lawyer whisper, arguing about something. The judge raises his hand to stop them.
“It looks like Mrs. Maguire’s counsel has evidence about the marriage to present,” the judge continues, looking over at Skye and me. “I believe this is a new marriage, and Mr. Ellis has evidence here to show that the marriage is fake.”
Something deep in my chest clenches hard, and I try to stifle the string of curse words that want to come out of my mouth. I look up at my lawyer and grimly shake my head. There’s not much to say—since every word is true.
“And why would the father here engage in a falsified relationship? We went over this yesterday for a brief time, and it doesn’t seem likely.”
Ellis, Marta’s lawyer, hands a document to the judge. “It appears that Mr. Dougherty met the woman in question at a bar that he owns. He offered Ms. Williams a large sum of money that had been earmarked for Brie’s child support in exchange for her complicity in this ruse. The wedding and subsequent marriage are both for show. The father appears to believe it would make his case stronger so that he might regain custody of his daughter. My client told me that she believes Mr. Dougherty wishes to have full custody in order to enjoy the tax benefits and collect his deceased wife’s social security.”
“That’s enough,” I growl.
“Liam, please,” Donnelly says. He gives me a piercing look. “If you’ll look at this, your honor—the trust in question is set up to be in Ms. Williams’ name. However, it is not accessible to Ms. Williams under any condition. It becomes Brie’s property when she turns eighteen.”
I sigh, and I try to hold my tongue. I hadn’t set it up that way originally, but Donnelly may have pulled some magic behind my back in the past twenty-four hours.
“So is the marriage in question fake or not, Mr. Donnelly? What are you saying here?” The judge adjusts his glasses and looks over the financial documents my lawyer has given him. “This does show that Ms. Williams doesn’t have rights to the trust, though it is in her name. Is this so that Mrs. Maguire won’t have access to the money?”
“That’s correct,” I say. “She doesn’t get a red cent of it. It’s all for my daughter.”
“Mr. Dougherty, this is an issue for the lawyers to sort out with me. Unless you have something to say about the validity of your marriage.”
“I do, your honor.” I stand from where I’m sitting and approach the bench.