I glanced up and barely stifled the instinctual groan. “Oh crap, it’s the devil.”
Ian laughed, motioning to my lawyer sitting a couple chairs down from my dad. “Is that your pit bull?” Before I could answer, Ian used his thumb to point to the guy in an expensive suit standing next to him. “This is my pit bull. He’s here to get me out of trouble again.”
“Where are your parents?” my mom asked him, recognizing Ian from my past run-ins with him over the years.
Ian had a blank look on his face. “What are parents?”
My mom was visibly embarrassed, unsure what to say.
Ian let her off the hook. “My dad is banging his new girlfriend in Cabo. He couldn’t make it.”
My mom gasped and I heard my dad do a choke-laugh combination.
She managed to get out an inadequate, “Oh.”
“What are you doing here, loser?” I asked Ian, wanting him to stop shocking my mom with his dirty mouth.
As his lawyer moved to converse with mine, Ian purposely took a seat on the other side of my mom. I leaned forward as he said, “My lawyer says the judge decided to combine our hearings since we committed the crime together. I’m not worried. My lawyer is really good. You should be grateful he’s offering his wisdom to yours.”
A middle-aged woman opened the door to the courtroom and called out, “Ian Crenshaw, Caleb Morrison.” She held the door open while Ian, myself and our entourage filed into the courtroom. The room was small and since our crimes weren’t exactly newsworthy, the pews were empty.
The similarities between court and church always amused me. My mom got on a Jesus-kick for back when I was in the seventh grade. She’d claimed the spirituality of it had helped inspire her artwork. In response, I’d suggested that many artists found alcohol inspiring. I’d been more than happy to get drunk with her instead of going to church. She’d made me recite a prayer. I’d been overjoyed when she’d moved on to meditation soon after that.
At church, I’d had to dress up, pray for my eternal soul and listen to an old dude in a robe lecture me. There were pews and an altar.
Court paralleled the church experience.
At court, I also had to dress up, pray for mercy and get bitched at by an old dude in a robe. They even brought the bible into both situations. There wasn’t an altar, but the judge did sit up on his bench all high-and-mighty. He just didn’t jabber on about the lord almighty. Instead of hearing about what a great guy Jesus was, I got to hear about what a piece of crap I was.
What Would Jesus Do?
Well, I was positive he would have kicked Josh’s ass too.
After going through all the formalities the justice system required, the judge went on to explain why we were being tried together. Duh, we’d beat up the same dude. Then for each of us, the judge listed all the times we’d broken the law in the past.
Big shocker, Ian was even worse than me. What a criminal he was. I might have been caught with drugs, but the guy had gotten caught selling them before. Why would he need to do that? His dad was a millionaire.
When the judge mentioned we both had former assault convictions on our records, we glanced at each other in a weird sort of understanding. Reading from old court documents, the judge summarized the circumstances of our past assault convictions and I realized there was a difference between mine and Ian’s.
I’d put a guy in the hospital because he’d hit a female friend of mine. Ian had done it for shits and giggles. Ian had been messing with some guy’s girlfriend and when the guy got in his face about it, Ian went crazy on him.
A list of minor offenses was read through for both of us. Vandalism, petty theft, truancy, etcetera. What I took from the judge’s lecture was that I’d gotten caught way too many times in the past four years.
It was strange listening to all of it, because that wasn’t who I was anymore. I couldn’t imagine pulling the dumbass stunts I had in the past now that I had Gianna in my life. Anything that took me away from her was a bad idea. I needed to be the kind of guy she deserved and could count on.
She was coming back in just six days. After getting court over with, I looked forward to a fresh start with her. I’d plan how to bring her back to herself and heal her hurts.
Last week, I’d done something completely out of character and checked out library books on psychology and helping victims of violence. I’d paid special attention to information pertaining to victims of sexual assault.
As much as it turned my stomach to think about what Gianna went through, I needed the advice on how to help her work through it. The books told me what kind of behavior to expect from her. Her emotions could include guilt, shame, embarrassment, depression, anger and detachment. Basically every crappy feeling possible.
I’d also learned all sorts of tips and methods for healing. I’d leave the hardcore therapy to whatever psychiatrist her dad set her up with, but there were simple things I could do to help her. When she came back, I’d gently start helping her heal.
“Caleb Morrison.” As the judge stated my full name, I realized it was judgment time. “Ian Crenshaw,” the judge also said. I glanced over at Ian to see his lawyer place a hand on his shoulder for support. We’d both entered a no contest plea as our lawyers had advised.
The judge continued, “Unfortunately, the victim was not able to attend the hearing. However, after reviewing the case, hearing the arguments from your lawyers, I’ve come to a decision.” The sour expression on his face began to worry me. “I can understand the reason behind the brutality you both displayed. But as a judge, I have to follow the letter of the law. This wasn’t the first instance of assault for either of you boys. Repeatedly, you’ve ignored the dictates of the law and done as you’ve seen fit. Had this been a first offense, probation would have been my course of action.”
He sighed as if it was his life in the balance. “Seeing an escalation in the seriousness of your crimes, I feel it is in your best interests that I order a harsher punishment for both of you. A punishment which will hopefully deter you from future infractions that would see you in prison as adults later on in life.”
I felt real apprehension start to build within me. Looking over at Ian, I took in his clenched fists. Suddenly feeling hot, I wiped the sweat off my brow and glanced behind me at my parents. My mom was already crying.
Turning back to the judge, I imagined him as the grim reaper in his black robe. “I order your parents to take you to the State of Colorado Youth Corrections facility in Pueblo by Monday morning at 9am. You will each remain at that facility in the custody of the state for the duration of 304 days from now, approximately ten months.”
Hitting his gavel, the judge effectively ruined my life.
“True love stories never have endings.”
-Richard Bach
Book Three of the Beware of Bad Boy series
COMING SOON
Also by April Brookshire:
YOUNG LOVE MURDER
DEAD CHAOS
BEWARE OF BAD BOY
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April Brookshire, Danger! Bad Boy
(Series: Beware of Bad Boy # 2)
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