“Is Gram still out?” Levi asked.
Gram had declared that she was going to the store because she needed to do something normal. Then she’d dared her grandsons to stop her. They’d wisely let her go.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Look, I know none of us want to talk about this, but we need to,” Logan said. “Is he going to go to prison?”
My stomach went queasy at the mention of prison.
We all looked at each other, full of fear and worry. Because we didn’t know what was going to happen. We’d all been at the arraignment. We’d heard the charges.
It felt like we were on a runaway train with no brakes. Out of control, hurtling toward the end of the line where the tracks were unfinished. To a chasm with no bridge.
“How could they charge him with murder?” Gavin asked.
“Right? That piece of shit was going to…” Logan trailed off, like he didn’t want to finish the sentence in front of me. “Any man would have done what Asher did. He was saving Grace, not trying to kill anyone.”
“It doesn’t help that he knows how,” Evan said quietly.
“Knows how to what?” Logan asked.
“Kill someone.”
“Fuck that. So he took jiujitsu. Why the hell does that matter?”
“He’s right,” Levi said. “In court it matters. So does his assault charge.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “The lawyer said the state will probably accept a plea bargain with reduced charges. That means he won’t go to trial for murder.”
The lawyer had seemed confident when he’d met with us briefly after the arraignment. He’d assured us today’s court appearance was just one step in the process. Told us not to panic.
That was easier said than done. Especially after I’d looked up the sentencing guidelines for manslaughter. Murder in the second degree was worse, of course. That could mean as much as life in prison. But manslaughter meant prison, too.
“There isn’t much we can do, except wait.” Evan turned his gaze directly on Logan. “And stay out of trouble.”
“Why are you looking at me?”
“I’m just saying the last thing we need is another Bailey behind bars. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Logan grumbled something incoherent and slumped back against the couch.
I leaned my head against Logan’s shoulder and twisted my ring around my finger. I wished I could at least see him. I’d tried on Sunday morning, but they’d told me no visitors. It hadn’t helped much that they’d been apologetic about it.
I’d wanted to yell at them. To lose my cool and scream that it wasn’t fair. Instead, I’d accepted their assurances that I’d be able to see him soon, and left.
Left him there. Alone.
My breath felt shaky and tears stung my eyes. I chewed on the inside of my lip, fighting them back. I couldn’t fall apart. Not now. I had to stay strong.
I didn’t know what tomorrow was going to bring. My future was once again hazy, the road I traveled shrouded in fog. But I knew one thing: I wasn’t giving up on him. Not now. Not ever.
No matter what happened, no matter how bad things got, Asher was mine. And I would always belong to him.
16
Asher
My heart thumped uncomfortably hard and I shook my leg under the table. Sitting still was impossible. I was too agitated. There was nothing like robbing a man of all semblance of control over his life to make him restless.
Sean took the seat across from me. He’d met with the prosecutor this morning, but I couldn’t tell anything by his expression.
“Here’s where we are,” he began, his tone all business. “The prosecution agreed to reduce the charges, so it’s no longer murder. It’s manslaughter. Unfortunately, they’re insisting on manslaughter in the first degree, instead of second.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means a longer sentence. The standard range is six and a half to eight and a half years for someone without a criminal history. The prosecutor agreed to eight. That’s a win, considering you have a prior assault charge.”
Eight years. I shifted in my seat.
“I highly recommend you take this. If it goes to trial, you’re back to facing second-degree murder charges. Yes, you were defending your fiancée, and most people would understand that. But Asher, the eye-witness accounts support the prosecution’s assertion that your martial arts training means you have to be held to a different standard. The police reports show you tore through two men to get to the victim. That took more than blind rage, it took skill. They’ll argue that you should have stopped when you neutralized the threat—before the altercation turned deadly.”
My chest felt like it was being crushed. Deep down, I knew he was right. As much as I wanted to fight my way out of this, I couldn’t. There wasn’t a way out.
“Do you need some time to think about it?” he asked.
“No.” My voice ground out of my throat. “I’ll accept it.”
He nodded slowly, and I didn’t miss the sympathy in his expression. “You’re making the right decision, Asher. I’ll notify the prosecutor. You’ll remain here until the plea hearing.”
“When will that be?”
“Probably a week.”
“That fast?”
“Yeah. In a small community like this, the courts aren’t usually too backlogged. Things move quickly, especially with a plea bargain.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, still shaking my leg. Fuck, this was really happening.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Can I see anyone?”
“I should be able to arrange for a visitor. Do you want to see Grace?”
Just hearing her name felt like a knife to the chest. It took me a second to reply, and when I did, my voice was hoarse. “Yeah. Please.”
“Okay.”
Another day went by before I heard anything. It gave me time to let it all sink in. In some ways, I felt better. The uncertainty had been driving me crazy. At least now I knew.
I tried to cling to the fact that it wasn’t life in prison. It was eight years. I’d be getting out by the time I was thirty.
But eight years in a state penitentiary was a long fucking time.
And when it was over, it wasn’t like I’d be able to come home and pick up where I’d left off, as if it had been nothing but an interruption. I’d be a convicted felon. Unlike my juvenile assault charge, it couldn’t be sealed someday. It was never going away. I’d always have a record.
Which meant I’d never be a career firefighter. Never be a fire inspector, or one day fire chief. All my plans for my life, everything I’d been working toward—it was all gone.
And now I had a mountain to climb. One that was brutal and mercilessly cold. There was only one thing I could do. Survive. And it was going to take everything I had.
Like a man planning for his impending death, I wrote letters to Gram and my brothers. I let them know how sorry I was to have done this to them. How much I hated that I had to leave them like this. I told Gram I loved her, and not to worry about me. To focus on my brothers, because they’d need her more than ever. And I told my brothers to keep their shit together, and to take care of each other, no matter what.
But Grace… I had to face her in person. I knew what I had to do. It was going to rip my insides out to do it, but I didn’t have any other choice. I had to do what was best for both of us. For her, because she deserved a future. And for me, because this was the only way I’d survive.
The handcuffs bit into my wrists. I twisted my hands, feeling the pull of cold metal. Deputy Spangler had apologized for having to cuff me before taking me to the interview room. I told him I understood.
I felt strangely calm. Almost numb again. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I knew I was doing it on purpose. Pulling away. Constructing defenses. I was coming to terms with my fate—with my future. I hated it, but it was inevitable.
The door opened and I a
lmost couldn’t look up. Grace paused and her eyes landed on me, her heartbreak written all over her face.
And something inside me broke.
This was my fucking fault. I wasn’t going to make this worse. I’d ruined my life. I sure as hell wasn’t going to keep ruining hers.
Deputy Spangler directed her to the other chair. She didn’t have anything with her. No purse. Not even a coat. They must have searched her before letting her come back here.
At least I wasn’t behind a glass wall. That was one good thing about this small-town sheriff’s office.
Spangler gave me a short nod, then left the room, closing the door behind him. I had no idea if he was supposed to leave us alone or not, but I was grateful to not have an audience.
“Hey.” Grace’s voice shook. “I want to ask if you’re okay, but of course you’re not.”
“How are you?”
“I don’t know. Okay, but also terrible.”
I nodded. “They told me you weren’t injured.”
“No, just a little bruising, but it’s not bad.”
A wave of emotion crashed over me. My chest felt like I was trapped under a pile of bricks, the weight crushing my lungs.
“Asher, I—”
“I’m accepting the plea bargain,” I said, interrupting her. I needed to get this out. “First-degree manslaughter. Eight years in prison.”
Her lips parted, and for a second, she didn’t speak. “So… that’s it?”
“That’s it. No trial.”
“You mean, it’s official? It’s done?”
“There’s going to be another hearing. After that it’s over.”
“Can you change your mind? Can you tell them—”
“No. This is my best option.”
Tears filled her eyes and I forced myself to maintain eye contact. To not look away. “But… eight years?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Swiping beneath her eyes, she took a deep breath. Straightened in her chair. “Okay. Eight years. It could have been worse, right? This is fine. We can do this.”
I put my hands on the table so she could see the handcuffs. “No, Grace. We are not doing this.”
“What?”
“I have to do this. This burden is on me, not you.”
She shifted away slightly, eying me with suspicion. “What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. What I had to say. “None of this is your fault. And I’m so fucking sorry, Grace. But it’s over. You’re not going to wait for me, and we’re not getting married when I get out.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t want this any more than you do. I don’t want any of it. But I have to live through it. I don’t have a choice. And I refuse—I fucking refuse—to ruin your life any more than I already have.”
“You haven’t—”
“Listen to me. Please.” My voice broke and I swallowed down the emotion threatening to choke me. “You have to take that ring off and move on. Go back to school. To WSU—don’t stay here in this town. Finish your degree and then start your life. I can’t give you a future. Not anymore. You have to go out there and live your life. Find someone who makes you happy. It’s what you deserve.”
She stared at me with her mouth slightly open, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Grace, you have to let me go.”
I needed to cut this short. Letting her go was the hardest thing I was ever going to do, and if I stayed with her much longer, I’d crack. I couldn’t afford that. If I walked through those prison gates wounded and bleeding, they’d rip me to shreds.
I had to be hard. Impenetrable.
“Spangler?”
“Asher, don’t.”
The deputy opened the door and poked his head in.
I stood.
“Asher.”
Spangler’s eyes flicked between me and Grace. I jerked my head in the direction of the holding cells, and he nodded.
I stepped out ahead of him.
“Asher, don’t do this.”
He fell in step behind me. I didn’t ignore Grace’s pleas for me to wait. I heard them. Let them sink in. They were a conviction and punishment all their own. The price I had to pay for what I’d done.
17
Grace
The courtroom was packed. Only a handful of people had been here for the arraignment, but today it seemed like half the town was stuffed into the bench seats. The air was thick and stuffy, the temperature uncomfortably warm.
Gram sat next to me, holding my hand firmly in hers. Levi sat on her right, holding her other hand. She was seventy years old, sitting in a courtroom waiting to hear the fate of her oldest grandson. You’d think her hands would have been clasped with ours to give her strength. But she was the one supporting us. Her strength giving us hope.
The rest of Asher’s brothers were in a line on my left. Logan couldn’t seem to sit still. His leg shook next to mine, but I didn’t tell him to stop.
As for Asher, he hadn’t looked back. Not even once.
I’d told everyone about the plea bargain, so they knew what was coming. We also knew there was a chance the judge would impose a different sentence than the recommendation in the plea deal. It could be longer. This could all be about to get worse.
Or maybe the judge would go easy on him. Perhaps six years instead of eight? Maybe five?
I’d been silently praying, pleading, hoping for a shorter sentence. Willing the judge to show some mercy. To give Asher a break.
I hadn’t told his family everything else Asher had said.
To take off my ring.
Go back to school.
Find someone else to make me happy.
Move on.
Let him go.
He’d broken up with me.
In the moments after he’d been led away by Deputy Spangler, I’d been numb with shock. I’d left the sheriff’s office in a daze, my heart in my throat.
Instead of going straight home, I’d driven around for a while. Finally I found myself stopped outside the old house on Evergreen Street.
It was about then that I’d gotten mad.
I’d flown out of my car, seething with anger, and started throwing things. Rocks, sticks, pinecones, anything I could find. I’d yelled, and cried, and hurled things at the side of the house.
Fortunately, I hadn’t broken any windows.
I was still mad. Furious, in fact. I was hurt and angry and frustrated. I’d been assaulted, and that one vile act had been like a bomb going off, ripping my life to shreds. I didn’t want anyone to be dead, but this entire thing was his fault. If he hadn’t dragged me out of that bar, none of this would have happened. He’d still be alive, and Asher wouldn’t be facing criminal charges and prison time.
We’d be planning a wedding. Not sitting in court, waiting for a judge to tell us how bad the future was going to be.
I shifted on the hard bench, but there was no getting comfortable. Gram squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.
We’d listened to the details of the plea agreement. The charges and suggested sentencing. Sat through the prosecution’s statement, followed by the defense. There had been explanations of the law and how it had been applied. The prosecution had given the reasons Asher deserved to be incarcerated. The defense had outlined the arguments for leniency in sentencing.
And now it was time for Asher to speak.
The judge called on him to stand. He got to his feet, still not casting a single glance behind him.
“Mr. Bailey, do you understand the charges brought forth against you?”
“Yes.”
“And are you making an intelligent and knowing waiver of your rights and making this plea of your own free will?”
“I am.”
“Mr. Bailey has entered a plea of guilty to the charge of manslaughter in the first degree, as agreed upon by the state. The court has taken the sentencing recommendation into account. Asher Bailey
, this court sentences you to eight years in a state penitentiary.”
The judge continued speaking, but the details of his words were lost to me. Eight years. They were taking him away from me for eight years.
Worse, he had to survive in prison for eight fucking years.
By the time I realized I was crying, my cheeks were already wet with tears. Gram still held my hand, her grip sure and steady. Logan had thrown an arm around my shoulder, hugging me tight.
Oh god. He was going to prison.
A man in uniform approached Asher. He held his hands in front of him while the man handcuffed him.
And then he was being led away.
“Wait, they’re taking him now?” Logan asked. “We don’t even get to see him first?”
“No,” I said, my voice flat. I’d asked the attorney what would happen, so I already knew. They’d transport him to the prison today. “They’re taking him now.”
He seemed to move in slow motion. Hands in front, bound by metal. Head down. Every step he took opened the wound in my heart a little more, threatening to rip it in two. Vaguely, I wondered if I’d bleed to death.
Without looking back, Asher followed the man in uniform through a door. And just like that, he was gone.
18
Dear Asher
Dear Asher,
I’m still not sure how to begin this letter. I think I’ve started it a dozen times. You should see the pile of crumpled paper in the garbage can next to my desk. It’s ridiculous. But nothing seems right. What am I supposed to do, ask you how you’ve been?
I’ll just get straight to the point.
Fuck you, Asher.
I’m sorry to pick a fight with you right now, of all times. But you are not breaking up with me.
I understand why you said the things you did. I realize you’re trying to do what you think is best for me, and I appreciate that. I really do.
Protecting You: A Small Town Romance Origin Story (The Bailey Brothers Book 1) Page 12
