“Just don’t tell anyone,” I whispered against his lips. “I want people to think I’m a badass.”

He chuckled. “You can be both.”

“Sounds good to me.” I took a deep breath, straightening and then pushing open the passenger door. I couldn’t put this off any longer.

Mason and I met at the front of the SUV, linking hands again. Keisha waved from the top of the steps. “Perfect timing. You guys ready?”

“I feel like I might throw up,” I mumbled.

“If you do, just aim it at the opposing counsel.”

Her retort startled a laugh out of me. “Think I’d go to jail for that.”

“Naw,” Mason said. “It’s a natural reaction to B.S., don’t you think?”

Keisha grinned. “I can make that argument for sure.”

I looked at them both. “Between the two of you, they don’t stand a chance.”

“Damn straight,” Keisha agreed. “Now, let’s do this.”

As we walked into the courthouse, I drew up short, almost walking straight into my parents. My father’s chin jutted. “It’s nice of you to finally make the time to make an appearance. But it’s too little, too late. The judge has already seen that Justin and Lyla aren’t important to you.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Keisha urged, hurrying Mason and me forward. “The judge is aware of your full-time job and the fact that you’re caring for Justin and Lyla.”

I gripped the strap of my purse tighter. “Do you think it’s possible the judge will see it as me not being involved?”

“No,” Mason assured me.

Keisha nodded. “He’s right. These types of cases come with intense emotional entanglements. Judges are well aware that it may not be in the participants’ best interests to come to court every day.”

I could only hope that she was right and that the judge would see my truth when I spoke. Everything became a blur as we sat. Commands from a bailiff. A foreign language of terms tossed back and forth between the lawyers and the judge. They called Mason’s name first.

I tried to study the judge as Mason answered Keisha’s questions and then Mr. Paisley’s. I couldn’t get any sort of read on him, either. There was no flicker of reaction on his face that I could find. Something about that was unsettling—too similar to the masks my father wore all too well.

My stomach cramped as Mason returned to our bench, and they called my name. Mason gripped my hand briefly, squeezing for reassurance. But it wasn’t enough. Blood roared in my ears as my heels clicked against the linoleum floor. The stairs to the witness stand felt like Mount Everest.