Drowning to Breathe (11 page)

“Thank you,” was all Nigel said before he took his seat.

Martin’s attorney approached and basically asked him the same questions, but with his own innuendo, trying to cast doubt, to catch him in a lie.

Lyrik’s story remained the same.

Nigel called Ash, then Zee.

Austin wasn’t here.

Nigel had assured us we didn’t need him, and Sebastian didn’t want him in the same room with Martin unless it was one-hundred percent necessary.

I didn’t blame him. God knew, I didn’t want to be around him, either.

Each of them gave their testimony, affirming I had been in the water with Kallie and she had in no way been neglected.

Each time Nigel finished, Martin’s attorney would approach them, doing everything he could to discredit them, calling their character into question, to chalk it up to their ties to the band.

A pact of deceit.

Last, Sebastian was called.

The power of the man’s presence stole the air from the room as he made his way to the stand. Filling it up with something all his own.

The weight of his gaze almost crushed me as he looked across at me, every admission, apprehension,
and
desire blazing in his eyes. Every reason he’d ever given to walk away and everything that had him running back played out in the depths of the roiling grey. A fire that flamed free and bold.

My heart beat frantically as he recounted the story from his perspective. The fear he’d felt was clear. There could be no denying how he cared for my child.

Most of the questions Nigel asked were the same he’d asked the rest of the guys, but he pushed a little deeper, gaining greater detail. It seemed as if Nigel were wrapping up his questioning, walking back toward the table where I sat, when he paused and looked back at Sebastian. “What is it exactly Shea Bentley means to you, Mr. Stone?”

Sebastian looked directly at me, something softening in the severity of his stare. “She’s my girl.”

His answer was simple, though his expression was anything but.

Yesterday, Sebastian had made a public statement.

Claiming me.

Claiming Kallie.

He denied our relationship had anything to do with the fact Kallie’s father was the same man who Sebastian had been arrested for assaulting. He’d calmly stated there was no bearing or connection, and it was just a twisted coincidence that had led us down this cruel yet exquisite path.

These two, they’re it for me, so as soon as we clear this mess up and get Kallie back home where she belongs, that’s where I’m gonna be.

That’s what he’d said before he pulled me a little closer and dropped a tender kiss on the top of my head, told them
thank you for your time,
and turned us away.

They’d rushed, firing question after question at us.

But Anthony had stepped in and corralled them as Sebastian quickly ushered me back inside Nigel’s office, saying we wouldn’t be available to answer any questions and making a plea for them to respect our privacy in this difficult time.

Nigel nodded. “One last question, Mr. Stone. How long has it been since you’ve used any illegal substances?”

Sebastian raked a hand down his face and blew a heavy breath from his mouth. “I’ve been clean for four years.”

“Thank you, that’s all.”

Nigel sat back down beside me, and Martin’s attorney approached. There was no missing Sebastian’s discomfort, the way he struggled to hold himself back, to keep himself in check, rage barely constrained as the man dove right in to undermine his testimony.

To undermine him as a man.

No doubt, just being in the same room as Martin Jennings was almost more than he could bear. Forcing him to sit through this attack was nothing less than cruel.

And make no mistake. It was an attack.

Mr. Carbellero asked the expected questions, before he shifted tactics and launched into his own agenda.

“Isn’t it true you came to Savannah knowing Martin Jennings had ties here?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it true you sought out Shea Bentley as a way to get back at Martin Jennings with whom you’re involved in both criminal and civil suits?”

“No.” That time, his answer was harder.

The judge cut in with a lift of her chin. “Mr. Carbellero, please keep your questions pertinent to the event taking place this past Sunday,” she warned.

In annoyance, the attorney’s lips thinned, and he offered her a clipped nod.

Sebastian fidgeted in the stand, hostility clear, before he was excused.

From the side, Nigel gave me a reassuring glance, confidence clear in his eyes, and I tried to temper the overwhelming emotion pricking at my eyes.

Climbing down from the stand, Sebastian looked at me warily as he passed, big body eating up the ground as he crossed through the short gate and took his seat.

A storm of turmoil ricocheted between us, all our hope clouded with fear and uncertainty.

My fingers twitched, wishing I could go to him. Comfort him the same way he’d been comforting me.

Nigel stood and called my name.

I pulled in a breath and shuffled toward the stand. I was sure my feet would give out as I approached, my breaths shallow and my heart erratic as it pulsed frantic beats through my veins.

Emotion pressed fervently at my chest, and my little girl’s face swirled through my mind, her sweet voice an echo in my ear. As if she were near, her spirit fluttering through me on her tiny butterfly wings, brushing across the vacant places where she remained just out of reach.

Calling for me.

I fumbled as I sat down on the chair.

Martin Jennings smiled across at me.

Pleasantly.

As if he’d perfected the act.

As if he held the fate of the world in his pompous hands.

A placating expression that oozed arrogance.

Vile, disgusting man.

Hate hit me like the crack of a sonic boom.

If only everyone here knew what he was truly capable of.

What he’d done.

No. I’d had no proof.

But I knew his guilt as well as I knew his game.

My gut had screamed it. Claimed it. A natural intuition that had risen from inside. An instinct insisting we survive.

And for so long I had.

Survived.

I was sworn in and Nigel Trondow asked me the same questions he’d asked the guys. Only with me like he had done with Sebastian, he went into more detail, beginning from the moment Sebastian and I went on the walk down the beach.

“The pictures that allegedly took place while Kallie was left alone. You claim they took place down the beach without Kallie present?”

“That’s correct.”

I knew no matter what, those images shed me in less than stellar light. The pictures appeared dirty and lewd. No doubt, they gave pause to my judgment as a mother.

My voice quieted as I swallowed around the lump at the base of my throat, my explanation shaky. “We thought we were completely alone…there wasn’t anyone on that part of the beach. That never would have happened in front of my daughter, or in front of anyone else for that matter.”

I realized my statement came across as a plea.

For the judge to understand I would never intentionally place my daughter in harm’s way.

Nigel strode back to the table and pulled out the images he’d marked for evidence that morning.

“Your Honor, these are the pictures taken without Ms. Bentley or Mr. Stone’s knowledge last Sunday, on private property, no less.”

He stated the date they were taken and passed them to the judge.

They were the pictures of Sebastian touching me beneath my bikini top, our passionate kisses, the ones of Kallie from a distance with her face blurred out and surrounded by paramedics.

He handed her more prints. But these…these were the rest of the pictures. The photographer who had sold the condemning pictures had captured moment after moment of that afternoon. There were pictures of me playing in the water with Kallie. Close-ups of her smiling face. The wave. Me screaming when I lost her. Sebastian running in to save her.

They were all there.

I wasn’t entirely sure how this stunning reel of evidence had been obtained.

Sebastian had said he would spare no cost and clearly Nigel had dug until he’d found the proof.

“You’ll see by our own pictures that Ms. Bentley and Mr. Stone’s intimate encounter on the beach did not take place in the same spot where Ms. Bentley lost hold of her daughter behind Mr. Di Pietro’s beach-front home.”

There could be no question.

They were two separate events.

The judge perched her reading glasses on the narrow bridge of her nose. Quietly she perused them, saying little. The bit she did, she directed at Nigel, asking how and when the second set of images were obtained. Bile worked its way through my stomach.

Because no matter how much proof we believed we had, it still came down to perspective. To the way the judge would see, read, and interpret.

When she finished her inspection, the judge pulled off her glasses, and Nigel turned his attention toward me. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Bentley, I have no further questions.”

Mr. Carbellero stood.

He didn’t hesitate to tear into me.

Twisting his questions.

Slanting innuendo.

Casting an illusion of neglect and disregard and possible abuse.

Finally I could take it no more and there was nothing I could do to keep the tears from breaking free. They streaked down my face as my words cracked on the appeal. “I would never intentionally place my daughter at risk. She’s my entire life.”

I was sobbing by the time I was excused, no longer able to stand beneath the pressure, beneath the possibility of losing my daughter.

I broke in front of them all.

The judge adjourned for a fifteen-minute break.

Those passing moments were nothing less than excruciating.

Sebastian stood behind me, rubbing my shoulders, pressing gentle kisses to the back of my head while I felt as if I stood at the cusp of eternity. Two paths tangled. One that would lead me to perpetual torment, and the other directly to deliverance.

How daunting that a woman I’d seen for the first time today held the fate of my daughter in her hands.

An unparalleled position of power.

If only she could have seen the years I’d given Kallie. If only she’d been there to watch my sacrifices. The hours of loving her and protecting her and nurturing her.

Always keeping her safe.

She would know I’d never hurt her or put her in harm’s way.

We all rose when she reentered from her chambers, and sat when directed to do so.

It seemed as if the entire room held a collective breath.

She looked in my direction. “I find no evidence of neglect on Ms. Bentley’s part.”

Her words spun through me, tempting and teasing at my understanding.

She turned her gaze in the direction of Martin. “Mr. Jennings, if you have any true interest in forming a relationship with your daughter with joint custody, then I would suggest you do it through the normal channels and not through a stunt like this.”

She lifted the gavel. “I find in favor of the defendant and hereby lift the emergency injunction in the care of Kallie Marie Bentley. Care should immediately be reinstated to her mother.”

Wood cracking against wood thundered through the courtroom as she slammed the gavel down, and I was hit with a violent jolt of relief.

Resonating.

Pulsating.

Taking hold.

I gasped. My shoulders dropped in the same second I dropped my head into my hands. And I sobbed. Only this time…this time it was out of thankfulness. Out of joy.

Simple, simple dreams.

They cried out from within me.

Finally.

Finally.

They were within my reach.

A barrage of flashes went off the second the door swung open.

Click.

Click.

Click.

I ducked my head and Sebastian pulled me closer to his side, and I could feel the way every inch of him hardened in defense.

Resentment and hostility.

“Don’t even acknowledge them, Shea,” Sebastian hissed against my head as he sought to protect me from the swarming onslaught of paparazzi questions.

They pushed and pressed in, vying for position, to be the first to grab our attention.

My head spun with the sudden intrusion. It was a sharp contrast to the rest of my body that felt lighter than it ever had. My arms and legs tingled, my heart stampeding hours into the future when I would hold my baby girl again.

As if I were flying there, more desperate for that moment than for any I’d ever lived in the past.

Over the last two days, as the shock had worn off, the sadness had grown. We’d never had a day apart. It had been utter agony. As if a tangle of roots had sprouted in my insides.

Spearing.

Tunneling.

Burrowing.

Cutting through muscle and bone and marrow.

Piercing me to the core.

To the most vital part of me.

They say our children are made of us. Essential to our being.

It’s never so apparent until they are ripped away, and now all those places resonated with the void only my baby girl could fill.