She was already mine. She just hadn’t signed the contract yet.
Chapter thirteen
Safe Harbor
The benches in that courtroom were cold as hell. I sat there in my new suit, trying to look like the “respectable business owner” Henry kept telling me I was, but my skin was still buzzing from yesterday.
I’d spent the whole night in that hotel room tossing and turning, mad as a hornet because Dex really had the nerve to walk out of my shop right when things got good. He’d left me standing in my lab with my pulse jumping and my head spinning, and the worst part was I couldn’t even cuss him out for it because he was the reason I wasn’t sitting in a cell right now.
I looked back at the gallery. My cousins and Nel were all lined up looking like a literal wall of family I didn’t deserve after everything I’d put them through. I’d finally told them the truth about being locked up and seeing them there made my chest tight.
Dex was sitting right in the middle of them, arms crossed, looking at me like he already knew how this was going to go. He didn’t look worried at all. He looked patient, like a man waiting for something that already belonged to him. Every time I caught his eye I felt that heat crawl up my neck, reminding me of that baecation talk he’d been doing.
My eyes shifted to the other side of the room where Kel sat three rows back, looking smaller than I remembered. She wasn’t testifying anymore. She had told them she didn’t want to go through with it. Bitter Trisha hadn’t made the same decision. That girl was sitting up near the front close to the prosecutor, looking smug and untouched. Not a scratch on her, which made the lump on the back of my head throb with a fresh wave of resentment.
“All rise,” the bailiff barked. “State of Alabama vs. Dominique Simmons is now in session. The Honorable Judge Miller presiding.”
Judge Miller took the bench, a stern looking woman who clearly didn’t have time for anyone’s domestic drama. Henry stood immediately, his voice smooth and commanding.
“Your Honor, Henry Thompson for the defense. We are here regarding the matter of Ms. Simmons.”
“Mr. Thompson,” the judge said, looking over her spectacles. “I’ve reviewed the police report. Why are we here with a salon scuffle when one complainant has already withdrawn?”
The prosecutor stood, gesturing toward Trisha. “Your Honor, the remaining complainant Ms. Latrisha Franklin wishes topursue the assault charges. She suffered property damage to her business and claims Ms. Simmons was the sole aggressor.”
Henry didn’t even flinch. “Your Honor, if we are discussing aggressors we should discuss the glass vase Ms. Franklin shattered over my client’s head while her back was turned. My client required medical attention for a concussion. Ms. Franklin was a third party interloper in a verbal dispute. If the State wishes to pursue charges against Ms. Simmons we are prepared to file a cross complaint for assault with a deadly weapon against Ms. Franklin as soon as possible.”
Trisha’s smug look evaporated instantly. She shifted in her seat, suddenly very aware that pressing charges could go both ways.
The judge sighed, looking between Henry and the prosecutor. “It sounds like a room full of people who don’t know how to handle their emotions. Is there a resolution here that doesn’t require me filling my docket with a trial over a broken vase and bruised egos?”
The prosecutor leaned in toward Henry, whispering for a moment. I looked back at Dex. He gave me a slow approving nod, to let me know it would be okay.
“Your Honor,” the prosecutor said, standing straight, “in light of the mutual nature of the incident and Ms. Simmons’ lack of prior criminal history, the State is willing to offer a Deferred Prosecution. Ms. Simmons will complete twelve weeks of anger management and pay restitution for the damages to the shop. In exchange the charges will be dismissed in six months.”
Judge Miller looked at me. “Ms. Simmons, do you understand that if you commit any criminal offense in this city over the next six months your case may be reinstated?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said, my voice finally finding its strength.
“And Ms. Franklin,” the judge said, turning to Trisha with a voice dripping with warning, “you’re lucky you aren’t beingfitted for a jumpsuit yourself. Using a weapon in a fistfight is a felony in this state. Consider this your only warning.”
The gavel hit the desk with a crack that sounded like freedom. “Case dismissed pending completion of terms. Next!”
I was out of my chair and through those heavy double doors before the court reporter could even finish typing. The second I cleared the courtroom the silence shattered.
“Thank you, Lord!” Nel shouted, his voice echoing off the marble. He caught me first, pulling me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe. “Don’t you ever do no shit like that again, Dominique Simmons. You hear me?”
“I hear you, Donnel Simmons,” I breathed, finally letting the tears I’d been holding back spill over.
Then London and Paris were on me too, turning it into a full-blown group huddle right there in the middle of the hallway. We were swaying, crying, and laughing all at once. London was slapping my arm one second and kissing my cheek the next while Paris was already wiping my face with a silk handkerchief.
“We got our girl back!” London cheered, loud enough to make the bailiff peek out the door.
Once the initial chaos settled the girls stepped back, though Nel kept a protective arm looped through mine. Dex was leaning against the stone wall a few feet away, his suit jacket unbuttoned, watching the whole scene with that quiet satisfied look he got when things went exactly how he planned them.
“I guess that means you’re coming to Tulum,” he said, his voice dropping into that low steady bass.
I wiped my eyes and rolled them at him, but the small grateful nod I gave him said everything I didn’t have words for. I couldn’t snap at him, not after he’d just spent thousands to keep me out of a jumpsuit.