by Layla Hagen
"That will be for a judge to decide. I will petition for an emergency trial as soon as possible, the end of this week at the latest."
"No!" I bellow. "Can't you at least wait until after Christmas?"
"These kids are her family. Heck, they’re my family too," Christopher says angrily. "You can't do this."
"As a matter of fact, I can, Mr. Bennett. I have been assigned to this case to keep a close eye and determine if the minors are not cared for properly, or if they are in danger. You are obviously a danger, and Ms. Hensley is incompetent. I knew this from the first time I visited their home, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I shouldn't have. Ms. Hensley, you will be informed of the trial date as soon as possible, but it will be no later than Friday. Until then, Mr. Bennett, I suggest you stay away from Ms. Hensley and her siblings."
Somewhere at the back of my mind, I register that Hervis's voice is softer, and he used the word “siblings” for the first time. Too little, too late. I'm holding even tighter to Chloe, who is now sobbing. She might not understand everything, but she understands enough.
With a curt nod, Hervis turns around and leaves. I become aware that everyone in the emergency waiting room has been watching us.
I lift Chloe in my arms and, almost robotically, place one foot in front of the other, reassuring her softly. She’s streaked my sweater with tears, and I'm afraid I’ll break down in front of her any minute now.
Christopher walks silently behind us until we reach my car, which I parked a block away from the hospital. Without even looking at him, I place Chloe in her car seat.
"That idiot won't get away with this," Christopher says the second I shut the door. "He's just some over-eager social worker. He—"
"This is not a pissing contest between you and Hervis, Christopher." Instantly, my blood begins to boil. Squaring my shoulders, I make myself taller, facing him.
"I know, but the stuff he was saying was unbelievable." He runs his hand through his hair, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"This was not about winning a popularity contest. It was not about winning at all. It was about the kids."
"Victoria, I can help."
"Really? Because all you did back there was nix my chances of keeping custody of the kids. You going on and on about your money and power didn't help jack shit. On the contrary, you just gave Hervis reasons to paint you as a raging lunatic and me as an idiot for allowing you anywhere near the kids." I want to cry out in rage, to drill in to his skull just how much harm he’s done, but I keep my voice as low as possible for Chloe's sake, hoping she can't hear us from inside the car.
"I know it wasn't my finest moment, but I can help."
"You heard Hervis. It's best if you stay away."
"But—"
"You plan to threaten the judge and who knows who else just like you did with Hervis?" Christopher's expression is stricken. "You've done enough. This… mess? That was your help."
Chapter Thirty-One
Victoria
When I finally climb into the car, Chloe is asleep, probably exhausted from all the crying and sobbing. I swallow a sob of my own, not wanting to wake her up. I barely keep it together on the way home. She jolts out of her sleep as I park the car in front of our house.
"Victoria!" That's all she manages to utter before sobbing again. In less than a minute, I climb out of the car and join her in the backseat.
"Are you giving us away?" she whispers, breaking my heart into a million pieces.
"No, sweetheart. Of course not. There's been a misunderstanding, that's all." My voice falters, unsure how to put what’s happening into words—words that won't scare the living daylights out of her.
"Chloe, I am not giving you away. I love you."
Her sobs subside a little, but she still doesn't look convinced.
"But what if they take us away?" Chloe presses. "Will you still want us back?"
"Of course, sweetheart, but no one will take you away." Freeing her from the car seat, I pull her into a hug. "I love you to the moon and back."
"To the sun," Chloe corrects. "The sun is farther away."
"I love you all to the sun and back," I say, my voice uneven again. "Everything will be all right. Let's go to Lucas and Sienna."
I briefly considered not telling Lucas and Sienna about the possibility that they'll be taken away from me by the end of the week, but that wouldn't do anyone any good. They need to be prepared, and Chloe already knows and she could never keep the secret.
Breaking the news to my other two siblings almost undoes me. Lucas goes into shock, asking if they could move in with Aunt Christina. My heart breaks as I deliver my answer: a firm no.
Right after our parents died, when my abilities as a guardian were being questioned, I naively thought Aunt Christina could just sign up to be their guardian if the kids were taken away. The problem is that once the kids are in the state’s custody, a potential guardian must be deemed fit by the authorities. Because Aunt Christina is a homemaker and her husband is the only breadwinner in the family, it was determined that their household income could not sustain three additional children.
Sienna keeps remarkably calm, given that she knows the ramifications of all of this.
"I know a great lawyer," I tell her, thinking about Alan. "He'll help us. I have to call him."
With a nod, she directs her attention to the little ones, who are sitting on the couch, hugging each other.
"Chloe, Lucas, you both have to go to bed," she says. "It's late. Come on, let's get both of you upstairs."
As soon as they’re out of earshot, I call Aunt Christina. I know she can't help, but I just need to talk to someone who isn’t the kids about this. Christopher… I can't talk to him just yet.
I relay to Aunt Christina what happened beat by beat, barely holding it together.
"I'm really sorry about this. I'll fix it," I say.
"I know it's not your fault, Victoria. State agencies are very rigid. But a great lawyer will get you out of this mess."
"I'm letting Mom and Dad down," I whisper into the phone.
"No, you're not. You've put a solid roof over the kids' head and given them all they need. Heck, you’ve given them more than they need. Your parents would be proud of you. Tell me if there is anything I can do."
"Thank you."
After hanging up, I barely wipe away my tears when my phone rings again. Jackson Hervis. That bastard.
"Ms. Hensley, we have a date for the hearing," he says the second I answer. "It's this Thursday at two o'clock. You will be served papers tomorrow morning. I know this is hard," he continues in a tone that conveys how clueless he is, "but it's for the best for you and the minors. They deserve a proper home, and you're obviously in over your head."
Even while grief looms over me, his words stab me, and I bleed anger.
"Hervis, with all due respect, you have no idea what you are talking about. From the moment you were assigned to us, you put a label on me. Then you started looking for anything that you could use against me. You are misjudging me, and Christopher. You look at us through checklist-framed glasses and miss the most important part: we are a family."
"Family is not always a safe haven, Ms. Hensley."
"I’ll see you in court." I hang up before he has a chance to answer. Panic flares through me, but I can't break down just yet.
I need a plan first, so I call Alan Smith. He informs me that Christopher has already called him and relayed all the information. As usual, he remains calm and warm, assuring me we can build a rock-solid case even in the short time span. It takes all I have to listen intently and absorb the information about the next steps, tucking it at the back of my mind, from where I can pull it out tomorrow morning and act on it.
After the call is over, I hurry upstairs, checking on the kids, fully expecting them to still be awake. Instead, I find them asleep in Sienna's bed, all three huddled together. The thought that they might have cried themselves to sleep has me
sobbing. I want to hug them, but that would certainly wake them up.
I run downstairs, locking myself in my room, needing to let the anger out. Because I am so damn angry. At Hervis, the system, myself… and Christopher. Oh, I am so angry with him. The worst part is that I know he meant well, and when he said the kids are his family too, I nearly melted. Hervis was pushing his buttons, but the result is all the same. I have to go to court to fight for the kids, and I might lose them. It takes mere seconds for me to break down. Opening the door to crying is a dangerous endeavor because it might end up consuming me, but I have to let the tears out of my system.
Tomorrow I will be strong again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Christopher
"There are bad Mondays, and then there's this." Blake places a glass of scotch in front of me, and I take a large gulp with no hesitation. I stepped into his bar a few minutes ago, heading directly to the counter. He started pouring me scotch before my ass was on the barstool. "What happened?" he inquires.
"Long day" is all I say for now. My brothers will arrive shortly for our Monday gathering, and I'm not up to repeating the story more than once. We originally chose Mondays to meet here because they were slow nights for Blake, but that's no longer the case. The place is full almost to the brim, to my annoyance. Too many voices to drown out.
Logan joins us by the time my glass is dry, sitting on the barstool next to me.
"Sebastian is still at the office," Logan says. "He won't make it today."
"That means it'll just be the three of us," Blake replies. "Daniel's busy, and the girls are a no-show, again."
"Don't take it so personally. They just all have busy schedules," Logan says.
"They never miss any gatherings at our parents' house," Blake points out.
"Yeah, but Mom always has chocolate cake for dessert. That's much more of a draw for the girls than alcohol. But not for me. I'm thirsty. Give me a scotch." Turning to me, Logan cocks an eyebrow. "Where did you disappear to this afternoon? You've been ignoring everyone's calls."
"Interesting," Blake remarks. "So this Monday is even worse than I predicted."
I quickly tell them what happened this afternoon, trying—and failing—to ignore their expressions, which change from grim to dismayed to pissed. In that order.
"Let me get this straight," Logan says after I'm done. "The social worker was riding your ass and instead of playing the part of the Dalai Lama, you somehow managed to convince him you're a raging, dangerous lunatic?"
"Yeah."
He groans. "You're lucky Victoria didn't strangle you."
All I can do is nod because I want to strangle myself. I've replayed that scene in my head over and over again, trying to make sense of it. I'm usually a calm guy. The people I work with can attest to that, as can my family. But I'm man enough to admit I was scared out of my wits the moment I realized that Hervis was grasping at straws so he could make a case against Victoria. Apparently fear turns me into a moron.
Drumming my fingers on my glass, I become aware that Blake isn't saying anything, which is unlike him.
"What?" I bark.
"Tell me you're not here sitting on your ass and drinking instead of fixing things, or I'll put chili peppers in your next drink."
"Why do you think I ignored everyone's calls the entire afternoon? I was fixing things." Gripping my empty glass tightly, I shove it in Blake's face. "Another scotch. No chili peppers. I'm working with Alan—he's Victoria's lawyer—putting all my resources at his disposal so he can build a bulletproof case."
"Alan is a great lawyer. Can we help in any way?" my older brother asks. "You might have sounded like a pompous pig to that social worker, but we actually do have enough influence to turn all of this in Victoria's favor."
"I know. I'm pulling all the strings. I'm handling this, but I appreciate the offer. I’m making one thousand percent sure she's going to win."
"Have you talked to Victoria?" Logan continues.
"Alan said it's best if I keep my distance from her and the kids until the trial. I’m not sure she wants to hear from me right now, anyway."
Blake is handing out drinks to a group that's lingering in front of the counter, but I can tell he's still listening to our conversation.
"Look at the bright side," he says once the group leaves, retreating to a table at the back.
"Oddly enough, I don't see any."
"You have time to come up with a grovel plan," he informs me.
"Don't start with your crap." I down the whiskey in two gulps.
Blake smirks. "Free drinks come with my crap."
"I'll pay for my drinks, then."
"I know Blake can be obnoxious," Logan interferes, "but he makes a good point."
"You've now managed to offend and praise me in one sentence. Congratulations." Blake raises my empty glass, tipping it in Logan's direction. Logan clinks his scotch against Blake's glass. I can't believe I'm witnessing the least probable alliance in the Bennett family. Once upon a time, when Blake's full-time job was partying, Logan was riding Blake's ass continuously. It came from the brotherly concern that Blake was wasting his life, but it was fun to watch. At any rate, much more fun than seeing these two team up against me.
"Just because you're ensuring the result of the trial will be in Victoria's favor, it doesn't mean she'll take your sorry ass back," Blake clarifies. "It’ll require some serious groveling. Now, my usual weapons of choice are flowers or presents. They've rarely failed me. Then again, my antics were of a different kind. More of the ‘I forgot your birthday’ variety." After a brief pause, he adds, "Or the ‘I slept with your best friend’ variety."
Logan and I snort at the same time.
"How did groveling go after you pulled that stunt?" I ask.
Blake shrugs. "It was the first time I legitimately feared a woman might cut my balls off."
"I would’ve paid good money to see that," Logan remarks with a shit-eating grin.
"I want to hear the whole story."
"It wasn't precisely a groveling case. I broke it off with that chick, Monica, and she and I agreed to stay friends. You know, in that way where neither of you actually want that, but it's the least awkward thing to say. About a year later, I met her best friend at a party. She was complaining how she'd had a dry spell for months."
"The horror," I mutter sarcastically.
"Exactly. I thought I'd help her out." Blake clearly hasn't picked up the sarcasm. "I'm always happy to take one for the team."
"Except you weren't on her team," I point out.
"I change teams according to my interests," Blake says seriously. "She confessed everything to Monica afterward. I never understood why."
Logan leans over the counter, stealing a jar of peanuts. "Might I suggest remorse?"
"That makes no sense. Monica and I had broken up an entire year before the event, and we'd been together for a week."
Shaking my head, I shove some peanuts in my mouth. "And you say you know women."
"How did you end up groveling?" Logan asks, mystified in honest.
"Showed up at Monica's door with flowers. I honestly don't know what got into me."
"Some of that Bennett honor reared its head, and you wanted to come clean," Logan suggests.
"Its ugly head," Blake corrects. "Anyway, enough about me and one of my less-than-stellar moments. Our boy Christopher is the one in need of counsel."
Damn, I don't want this conversation to circle back to me. I know what's at stake.
I make a grab for my glass but narrowly miss it. I miscalculated the distance and my vision's blurry; no more scotch for me. Pressing my palms against my eyes, I attempt to do away with the fog. An image pops at the back of my mind: Chloe shoving the two cards with the phoenix and the unicorn under Victoria’s nose, and Lucas and Sienna proudly showing her the vanity table we built. The thought of losing Victoria and the kids is excruciating. Ever since I left them this afternoon, there is a physical pain in my body. Th
ey all mean the world to me, and I will get them back.
"I will pretend I didn’t hear that." Blake's voice snaps me out of my pity party for one.
"What?" Looking from Blake to Logan, it's hard to tell which one's grinning wider. I have the sinking suspicion I might have voiced some of those thoughts.
"You said something about a unicorn, a phoenix, and how Victoria and the kids mean the world to you and some more mushy stuff," Blake informs me. "Too much cutesy there. My masculinity is being threatened."
Logan clasps my shoulder. "Christopher doesn't need our advice. He'll do well on his own."
"Suit yourself, but no more scotch for you, Christopher, or you'll add a dragon to the mix so the unicorn and phoenix don't get lonely."
"Blake!" I warn.
"You know what the best part is about all of you getting hitched?" Blake continues undeterred.
"No, but I suppose you'll enlighten us," Logan deadpans.
"The best part is that I can watch you mess up and avoid the same mistakes when my time comes."
I snort. "You take the cake, anyway."
"When your time comes?" Logan asks our younger brother skeptically.
"Five Bennetts down in four years." Blake shudders, grimacing. "There's definitely something in the air. Before I know it, that damn virus will get me too."
"It definitely will if Pippa and Alice have anything to say about it." Logan downs his scotch, handing Blake the empty glass, then turns to me. "Go get those kids back."
Blake points his finger in my direction. "And the girl."
I nod. There is one thing I’ve learned since I met Victoria. You have no say when the people who will become your whole world walk into your life. But it sure as hell is up to me not to let them walk back out.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Victoria
I arrive at the courthouse fifteen minutes before the scheduled start of the trial. I ditched my usual multicolored outfits, opting for the dark blue suit I wear during bank visits, hoping this will contribute to establishing my image of a responsible adult.