Chapter 239

Aiden

We all held our breath as the judge began to read the verdict.

I felt Noah beside me before I really registered him. The tension in his body. The way his fingers curled into my sleeve like he needed something solid to stay upright.

“On the charge of continuous family violence,” the judge said, voice steady, unflinching, “the court finds the defendant—guilty.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

“On the charge of stalking—guilty.”

“On the charge of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, resulting in serious bodily injury—guilty.”

Micah closed his eyes. His jaw tightened. His hand found Hale’s arm, fingers curling there for balance.

The judge didn’t pause. Didn’t soften it. Didn’t give James Blake a single inch.

“On the charge of first-degree premeditated murder of William Hart—

—guilty.”

For half a second, nothing happened.

And then the room came apart.

Gasps. Sobs. Someone whispered, “Oh my God,” like they couldn’t believe it was real. Margaret’s shoulders sagged as if years had finally dropped off her back all at once. Emily pressed her face into her mother’s arm, shaking.

A breath shuddered out of Noah, sharp and broken, like something inside him had finally been allowed to crack.

The judge raised a hand, restoring order with practiced authority. “The sentence of this court,” he continued, “is life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.”

Life.

Without parole.

The words landed heavy. Final. Irrevocable.

James Blake didn’t react.

Not at first.

He didn’t shout. Didn’t cry. Didn’t fall apart the way men sometimes do when the world finally refuses to bend for them.

He just sat there, hands cuffed, face blank—like he’d already rehearsed this ending and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

When the guards stepped forward, he rose without resistance.

That was when he turned.

Just once.

His eyes found Noah.

There was no remorse there. No apology. No regret.

Only something dark and sharp and bitter, like he was trying to carve himself into Noah’s memory one last time.

Noah didn’t look away.

Not this time.

And that—right there—was the moment I knew it was over.

The guards led James out, the heavy door closing behind him with a dull, final sound that echoed through the room.

It felt like a release.

Not relief.

Release.

Like a knot that had been pulled tight for decades had finally been cut instead of untied.

Noah’s grip on my sleeve loosened.

Then his knees buckled.

I caught him before he fell, pulling him against my chest, one arm tight around his shoulders, the other cradling the back of his head.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured into his hair. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He didn’t answer.

He just breathed.

In.

Out.

In again.

Slowly.

Lexie was there a second later, wrapping her arms around him too, her forehead pressing into his shoulder.

“It’s done,” she whispered, voice trembling. “It’s finally done.”

Micah stood nearby, pale but steady, watching like he was afraid to blink and jinx the moment. Hale rested a hand on his back, grounding him the way only Hale could.

Around us, the courtroom buzzed—lawyers speaking in low voices, people gathering their things, reporters already moving like sharks outside the doors—but none of it touched us.

For the first time in his life, Noah wasn’t bracing for the next blow.

For the first time, there was nothing left his father could take.

I pressed a kiss into Noah’s hair, holding him before he rushed to embrace his mother and sister. They silently hugged each other, crying for the years they had been robbed and for all of those yet to come, while the world slowly, cautiously, began to move again.

“This is the last page of that chapter,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.

And for once—

I believed it.

The weeks after the trial didn’t snap back into place.

Nothing did.

Life didn’t resume—it rearranged.

Grief has a way of doing that. Trauma too. It doesn’t end when the courtroom doors close. It lingers, reshapes routines, redraws the map of what feels safe and familiar.

What surprised me was how instinctively we gravitated toward each other.

Not in dramatic ways. Not with speeches or declarations. Just… proximity.

We kept gathering.

At first it was tentative—checking in, making sure no one was slipping under the weight of everything that had happened. Then it became a rhythm. Once a week turned into twice. Sundays at Lexie’s place. Some evenings at Hale’s house in Houston, just to change the air. On those occasions, Margaret and Mrs. Hart would disappear together for tea or some quiet ladies’ outing, leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves.

A few times we went out together—quiet things. A play. A late movie showing. Coffee somewhere no one knew our names.

“I still don’t get why we can’t just meet at my place,” Micah complained one evening.

“Micah, you live in a studio with, like, one recliner,” Noah teased him. “Unless we take turns sitting on it, the six of us would be standing between your toilet and your kitchen.”

“I call that efficiency,” Micah shot back, offended. “Utilizing space.”

“I call it a cheap bachelor pad, dude.”

“The coffee shop doesn’t pay for two recliners,” Micah continued, ignoring him, “but now that Master Hale is making me his executive—”

“Assistant, Micah.” Hale corrected smoothly, barely containing his grin. “You’re my assistant.”

Micah waved him off. “—I’ll be able to afford a perfect place to bring the ladies…”

Both Lexie and Hale raised an eyebrow at him.

“The ladies,” Micah amended with a wicked smile, clearly enjoying himself, “and the gentlemen?”

Neither of them reacted.

“…Okay,” he sighed theatrically. “My beautiful lady and this one and only gentleman.”

That did it.

Lexie laughed as Micah leaned in for a gentle kiss, and she pretended to be offended while clearly enjoying the attention.

Our get-togethers were always like that.

Easy.

Natural.

No expectations. No pressure.

Just presence.

The past wasn’t erased. William was still gone. Lexie still carried that loss in ways that didn’t always show. Noah still woke some nights with his heart racing, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that the danger was over. Micah was still healing, still rebuilding trust in his own strength. Margaret and Emily were learning what peace felt like when it wasn’t temporary.

But something had shifted.

The bond between all of us deepened—not because we clung to the trauma, but because we refused to let it define the rest of our lives.

We talked about normal things.

Books. Music. Stupid arguments over movies. Hale and Micah, bickering like they were born for it. Lexie, slowly stepping into spaces that used to feel forbidden to her. Laughter showing up when none of us expected it—and staying.

Healing wasn’t linear, but it was happening.

College wrapped up quietly. Finals were over. The campus thinned out, students scattering into summer like nothing monumental had happened. Noah took time off entirely. Real time. Continuing his therapy appointments, taking long walks, nights curled against me on the couch with his head on my chest—my fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm until his breathing slowed…

We didn’t rush.

For once in our lives, we didn’t have to.

Two weeks after the verdict, I realized I’d been holding something back.

Not out of fear, but out of respect.

I’d been working nonstop behind the scenes securing every detail for Noah’s future after that meeting with the New Orleans Saints.

Securing our future—if he still wanted me in it—but I hadn’t said a word to Noah about any of it. Not because I didn’t trust him. Because I wanted him steady first. Grounded. Able to hear the future without it feeling like another demand placed on his shoulders.

That day, we were alone at my place.

No noise. No visitors. Just the two of us, sunlight filtering through the windows, the city moving on outside like it always had.

Noah was sprawled on the couch, bare feet tucked under him, absently scrolling through his phone. He looked… calmer. Not healed. Not untouched.

But present.

I sat beside him, close enough that our knees brushed.

“Here you are!” He immediately reached up to kiss me.

I kissed him back, tenderly, as he wrapped his hand around my neck, bringing me closer and deepening the kiss. For a moment I almost forgot what I had in mind, tempted as I was to give him what I knew he wanted. And God, I wanted it too…

Focus, Aiden.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” I said gently, breaking the kiss.

He looked up immediately. No panic. No flinch. Just curiosity—and trust.

“Okay,” he said simply.

That was when I knew the timing was right.

Not because everything was fixed, but because we were finally standing on solid ground, and it was time to show him what I’d been building—for him, for us—on the other side of everything we’d survived.