Cassidy
AFTER MORE THAN a year in the court system, the asshole who’d taken Alyssa’s life would finally be sentenced today. It may have been selfish of me, but I was relieved when Blake told me the news that a plea bargain had been accepted. I feared what a trial may have done to our relationship–those demons and memories haunting us.
Blake didn’t talk much about the accident, and I didn’t want to pry. He’d been much better in the last few months opening up about his past with Alyssa, and I didn’t want to halt the progress we’d made. The very few details I knew about her death, I’d either gotten from Brooke, or from the Internet. I knew the man who’d killed Alyssa, Quint Michaelson, had a history of DUIs and didn’t even have a valid license at the time of the accident.
At first, I was hurt that Blake hadn’t confided in me. I was fearful that he’d run, just like every man before him. But, in the months we’d been together, he’d proven time and time again that he wasn’t like those other men. With each passing day, I was learning to trust Blake more and more. And, even though, neither of us had spoken the words, I knew I was in love with him.
Assuming it would be something he’d rather do alone, I was surprised when he’d asked me to travel back to New York with him for the sentencing.
After falling asleep in Blake’s arms, the night before last, we woke as if Blake had never mentioned needing to talk. I certainly didn’t want to press the issue, especially with the added stress of this day weighing him down. Truthfully, I was relieved when he seemed to have forgotten all about it.
Arriving at the courthouse more than forty-five minutes early, we checked through security and made our way into the empty courtroom. I took a seat on a long, wooden bench as Blake paced the length of the aisle, fidgeting with the knot of his tie.
Although we weren’t in the ideal location, I still took note of how delicious he looked wearing a light blue, button-down shirt which hugged his muscular arms and thick neck, and khaki slacks which perfectly outlined his trim waist. I watched him for a moment longer, thinking about what those same clothes would look like heaped on the bedroom floor, when he finally stopped, glancing in my direction.
“What’s on your mind?” he questioned, catching me in my gaze.
“Nothing, it’s not important,” I said, giving a half-smile. “Why don’t you sit down? You’re making me nervous with your pacing,” I added, patting the spot next to me.
“I just don’t think I can sit right now. Honestly, I feel like I’m going to be sick,” he admitted, exhaling sharply.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a dull voice. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?”
“You’re already making it better just because you’re here. I don’t know how I could be doing this right now without you,” he said, sincerity in his tone.
“I’ll stay by your side for as long as you need me to be,” I said, standing to place a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” he mouthed, as an assistant district attorney entered the courtroom.
“Mr. Mitchell?” she asked. “Would you follow me to the conference room so we can prepare you for the judge’s questions?”
“Certainly, I’ll be right behind you,” he said, as he lightly squeezed my face, pecking me on the forehead. “Do you want to stay here? I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Sure, that’s fine. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll just keep our places,” I said with a weak laugh.
Staring at the clock, I watched a few minutes tick by. Since it was policy that cellphones and other devices weren’t allowed in the courtroom, time seamed to pass by at a much slower pace. Picking a piece of lint from my black pencil skirt, I looked up as I heard the courtroom door open.
First entering the courtroom was the one who I believed was the defendant’s attorney. He was a good-looking man, probably a few years older than I with salt and pepper hair. He looked distinguished, a little like George Clooney, the exact definition of a silver fox. Following closely behind him, escorted by a police officer, was the defendant himself.
Seeing this man for the first time, dressed all in orange, I blinked rapidly hoping my mind was just playing tricks on me–the stress of the day finally taking its toll. Staring at him with my mouth agape, he finally looked in my direction–recognition sweeping across his face.
“No, no, no. This can’t be happening. That man is not Quint Michaelson,” I said to myself, as the room began spinning around me.
Needing air, I dashed toward the exit just as Blake and the DA were entering the courtroom.
“Whoa, Cass, are you OK?” Blake asked, catching me in his arms. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
If he only knew the truth behind his words, although maybe not a ghost, but more like a monster. “I–I need some air, maybe a glass of water. I’ll–I’ll be right back,” I stuttered, my entire body beginning to quake.
“I’ll go with you. You can tell me what’s going on with you,” he said, worry written on his face.
“Mr. Mitchell, I’m sorry, but you can’t leave right now. The judge is about to enter and you’ll be called to the witness stand first,” the DA said, listening in on our conversation.
He looked at me for a moment before turning back to the DA. “I’m sorry, but I need to be with her,” he said, opening the door for me.
“No, Blake, you need to stay here. You need to do this for Alyssa. You need to do this for me,” I nearly begged.
Confusion flashed across his face, “OK, you know I’ll do anything for you, but I don’t understand what this has to do with you?” he said.
“Just stay. Please just stay here. I’ll be fine,” I pleaded, trying to conceal my anguish.
Truthfully, I wasn’t fine. The baggage that I’d carried around for years had just shown up at my doorstep. The demons I’d tried to bury when I’d met Blake had just resurfaced. I was sure he would never forgive me for this. I had to leave before I could give him the chance to leave me.
Convincing Blake to stay in the courtroom, just as the judge was about to enter the chamber, I ran into the restroom and splashed cold water on my face. Staring at my reflection, I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Gone was the confident woman who’d overcome her fears, and who at last had given love a chance. She’d been replaced with her former shell, the woman who just lived day by day, not letting anyone get too close.
Knowing court would be in session for at least an hour, I slipped out of the courthouse, hailing the first taxi that came into view. Sliding into the back seat, I asked the driver to take me back to the hotel so I could grab my things, and get the hell out of this city. I couldn’t be around Quint Michaelson, the name Steve was going by these days. And as much as I wanted the comfort of Blake’s arms wrapped around me, I knew he wouldn’t want anything to do with me once he learned the ugly truth about his wife’s killer.
Pulling up to the hotel entrance, I asked the driver to wait for me while I went in to grab my suitcases. Knowing I didn’t have much time before Blake came looking for me, I scurried around the room trying to remain calm. Throwing my bags into the trunk, and sliding back into the taxi, I finally reached for my phone, noticing I already had two missed calls from Blake. Not bothering to open my voicemails, I quickly dialed Brooke.
“Cass?” she answered, alarm in her voice.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I responded.
“What the hell is going on with you? Blake just called me in a panic telling me that you just up and left the courthouse without so much as a goodbye. He has no idea what’s wrong!” she yelled into the phone. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
Taking a deep breath, “I guess you could say that—at least I thought I was losing it when I saw Quint Michaelson for the first time,” I explained.
“I don’t understand. The guy who killed Lys? What does he have to do with any of this?” she asked.
“Brooke, Quint Michaelson is Steve. It must be his alias, or something, because Quint Michaelson is really Steve Jackson. Or maybe Steven Jackson is really Quint Michaelson. Regardless, my baby’s father killed Maddy and Ben’s mother,” I told her, tears by now streaming down my cheeks.
She gasped, “What? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m positive. You should’ve seen the look on his face when he saw me in the courtroom, Brookie. I just keep replaying it over and over in my head. It was a nightmare!”
“Cass, you need to calm down,” she said, trying to soothe me. “Where are you now? Wherever you are, just wait for Blake.”
“No, no, no! You can’t let Blake know where I am. He’ll hate me, Brooke. He’ll resent Kaity for being a part of HIM. I love Blake and he’s going to reject me. I should’ve told him sooner, but I didn’t. I was afraid, and now it’s over and he’ll never know how much he really meant to me–to us.”
“He won’t hate you. He only loves you, Cass,” Brooke said, trying her best to reassure me.
“He may have loved me before, but he certainly won’t after he learns the truth,” I protested, my voice revealing defeat. “Please, just promise me you won’t tell him that I’m at the airport. I need to be hundreds of miles away before I can even bear to talk to him. Promise me.”
“Fine, I promise. Text me with your flight information and we’ll come get you when you land,” she said.
“It’s fine. It might be late. I can just take an Uber.”
“You aren’t shutting me out, too, Cass. Text me!” she said, sternly.
“Fine. I love you, Brookie,” I said.
“I love you, too,” she replied, ending the call.
After boarding the plane, I finally decided to listen to the four voice messages from Blake after he realized I’d left the courthouse–with each message, his voice becoming more and more frantic. Knowing that I couldn’t talk to him, but I didn’t want to worry him either, I typed out a quick text before powering off the phone.
Cass: Blake, I’m sorry that I left you alone in that courtroom when you probably needed me the most. I didn’t mean to hurt you. In case Brooke hasn’t already told you, which I’m assuming she did, Quint Michaelson is actually an alias for Steve Jackson. Yes, the same Steve Jackson who left me pregnant with Kaitlyn. The same Steve Jackson who left me unable to trust any other men–until you. You were able to break down my walls, and help me to believe. I know this is all coming as a shock to you, and I understand that you’ll never want to see me again. Seeing me would just be a painful reminder for everything that you’ve lost–everything your children have lost. Just know, I love you–I know I waited too long to tell you, but I do love you–I probably always will. Please don’t come after me, I’ll be OK. This will be best for all of us. Kiss those babies for me. Goodbye, Blake.
Even though I’d said goodbye before, this one seemed like the most difficult.