Shit is about to get awkward real quick.
I follow him into an office filled with dark bookshelves lined with law books. He circles the massive desk, rolls out an executive chair, and sits—his posture near perfect. Clasping his hands together, he rests them onto the desk.
“Have a seat,” he demands.
I ease into the chair, doing my best to match his posture and not slouch. I wait for his interrogation … or threats to stay the fuck away from his daughter. Although the chance of him scaring me away from her will be harder in his eyes because he’s under the impression his daughter is having a baby with me.
“Does Grace know about your past?” he sternly asks.
That’s the question I’ve been terrified of.
The reason I took so long to take my relationship further with Grace.
I didn’t want her to know about my past.
I told her about my family, but what her father knows? It’s deeper.
It’s humiliating.
But she does deserve to know.
“She doesn’t,” I reply, hating the hint of shame in my voice from keeping this from her. It’s embarrassing that I haven’t been as open and honest with her as I should’ve been.
“I figured so.” He expels a long breath, and his eyes are serious when they level on me. “Finn, I’m well aware that people make mistakes. Every day, I look at people’s mistakes and decide the consequences of them. Their future is in my hands. For as long as I’ve been a judge, I pride myself on reading people well. I’m pro second chance because people learn, and as bad as it seems, some are given shitty cards in their game of life. When they’re young, it can take a minute to figure out the best way to play them. Along the journey, they might break the law.” He hesitates and holds up a finger. “Sometimes, good people break the law because they don’t want to starve or for their families to go without.” His voice turns low and even. “The day you walked into my courtroom, I knew it was because of the cards you’d been handed. You weren’t some punk kid breaking the law for fun. You were a survivor. The second time, I’ll admit, I wasn’t happy about it, but there was something in my gut that told me to give you another chance—that you weren’t some hardened criminal who’d do wrong in society. You had a bad family—no offense—and you needed to escape their ways.”
My brain flashes back to those times I saw him in the courtroom. I was fourteen and fifteen, scared out of my motherfucking mind over what would happen. I didn’t want to go to juvie, but I also needed food. My pride wouldn’t let me ask others for help—not to eat, not for school supplies, not for basic necessities. So, I shoplifted the shit I needed because I saw that as a better option in my immature eyes. I stopped the petty crimes after Judge Mitchell—aka Gregory, aka Grace’s father—told me that was my last chance.
“I know your family,” he continues. “I was aware of the household you were growing up in. And frankly, I was relieved you were only shoplifting, not robbing homes, doing drugs, or harming others.” He shakes his head and scoffs, “You were barely a teen, stealing food, cough medicine, and ibuprofen.”
I shut my eyes at the memory. I was so sick. I called my dad for hours, only for him to tell me to stick a cold washcloth on my forehead and take some ibuprofen. When I told him we didn’t have any, he told me tough shit and to sleep off my fever. I was miserable, so I shoved on my boots and walked a half-mile to the local convenience store, not giving a shit about being busted because even if I got arrested, the jail had to have some damn medicine.
Gregory taps his desk, a wrinkle creasing along his forehead in concentration. “After that final warning, I never saw you in my courtroom again. I did, however, see you bagging groceries at the market six months later. It made me proud that I’d seen you were a good kid and not thrown you to the wolves.” He smiles for the first time tonight; it’s a timid one, as he’s still wary of my role in his daughter’s life. “My Grace, she’s understanding.” He snorts. “Way more understanding than most. Be honest with her. She deserves to know the past of the man she’s having a child with.”
I do the first thing that comes to mind.
I salute him. “Yes, sir.”
And then I feel like a fucking idiot for doing so.
Do people in their circle salute each other?
His smile widens, not making me feel so much like a dumbass.
Then, his lips press into a thin line. “And don’t break her heart.”
I lift my head high and wait until his eyes meet mine before answering, “I won’t.”
If there’s any certainty I have in life, it’s that.
I’ll never hurt Grace Mitchell.
“If it’s worth anything, I think you’ll be an amazing father.”
That statement.
It’s as if he’d just told me I won the lottery.
That I’d have happiness for the rest of my life.
“You’ll be an amazing father.”
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted to hear because it’s everything I’ve always been terrified of. I don’t have a good dad. Neither did my dad. Bad dads run in my DNA, and I’ve always worried about whether I’d break that curse.
I gratefully bow my head. “Thank you.”
He gives me a strong, decisive nod before standing. “I’m here if you need anything. Brian has seemed to already taken a liking to you. Anything Grace, the baby, or you need, don’t hesitate to come to us. My biggest priority has always been my family, and it seems you’ve now joined it.”
Nearly speechless, I repeat, “Thank you.”
He stares at me in expectation. “On another note, do you plan to marry her?”
Chapter Thirty
Grace
“Tonight didn’t go as bad as I’d expected,” I tell Finn when we get home.
But it also didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.
My mother’s reaction was dramatic, to say the least.
Which is weird because she tends to be the most levelheaded person I know. I guess not seeing your daughter in months and then learning she was randomly knocked up might lead a parent to that sort of reaction.
He nods. “It didn’t.”
“You want to tell me what my father said in his office?”
After I was done helping my mom in the kitchen, Finn was nowhere to be found. When I asked Brian where he was, he said my father had stopped him on his way back from the bathroom and that they were in his office. My father is a fair man, but he’s also not one to beat around the bush. He speaks his mind and reads people well, considering that’s his job. Whatever they talked about in that office, I hope to God it doesn’t scare Finn away.
It’s not like Finn is required to stay if it does.
It’s times like this that I remember he’s not the father and he isn’t obligated to be here.
Finn’s back straightens before he releases a deep breath and sits on the couch. “We need to talk.” He pats the space next to him with a fixed look of concentration on his face.
Oh God.
Here it comes.
There wasn’t much conversation on the ride home. We laughed about Raven’s request to see my belly, not reading the room whatsoever.