Kings of Linwood Academy - The Complete Box Set: A Dark High School Romance Series Callie Rose (i read a book TXT) 📖

fall too behind. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, part of me is with my mom in her little cell in the Fox Hill Correctional Center.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Worrying.

I ditch class on Tuesday, and Dax and Chase drop me off at the courthouse so I can watch Mom’s pre-trial hearing. I want the guys with me, but I know if they all came in, she’d pick up on the thing going on between us in a heartbeat, and I don’t want her wondering or worrying about that right now. I want to tell her in my own way, when I’m ready.

The Fox Hill Courthouse is classic looking and well-maintained. It’s a beautiful building, actually, but my skin still crawls as I step through the entry doors. I can feel my heart rate picking up, and I clench my hands into fists and then release them, trying to banish some of the nervous tension flowing through my body.

I wander the halls on shaky legs for a few moments before I find the courtroom mom will be in. When I pull the door open and step inside, the room is mostly empty. I take a seat behind the defendant’s table and wait, shrugging off my coat and twisting my hands together nervously. My phone buzzes several times in quick succession. Text messages from each of the guys wait on the screen, and I try to let them comfort me.

Finally, Mom is led in through a door at the side of the room, and I practically leap to my feet.

She looks different—again. When she first went to prison, the sight of her in orange was so jarring, so unsettling, she almost didn’t look like my mother. For better or worse, I’ve gotten somewhat used to it by now, but seeing her in her orange jumpsuit in this austere room, with a guard holding her lightly by the elbow, makes my stomach drop.

She looks like a convict.

And it occurs to me with a slow burn of acid up my throat that this is how a jury will see her when the time comes. Not wearing her comfy old jeans and a t-shirt like she used to at home. Not even wearing the stupid maid uniform she wore as the Black family’s Executive Housekeeper.

But wearing prison orange as if she belongs in it.

I shove that thought away as she catches sight of me, and when a smile breaks out across her face, she looks like my mom again, no matter what the fuck she’s wearing.

She settles into the seat in front of me, and I lean over the divider a little to speak to her.

“Hey. You look good.”

Mom shoots me a deadpan look in response that makes my heart ache. “You’re a bad liar, Low. But you’re the sweetest girl.”

Before I can say anything else, Scott Parsons bustles up and sits in the seat next to her. He’s in his early forties, round at the middle and thin everywhere else. He’s got an earnest, wide-eyed face that makes him constantly look a bit surprised by everything around him—which I can’t imagine is a quality that makes for a good lawyer.

“Hi, Penelope. Harlow.” He nods in my direction as he pulls things out of his leather briefcase, dropping several papers on the ground.

Mom looks almost embarrassed, like she doesn’t want the world to know this mess of a human being is her lawyer. But I keep a smile plastered on my face. I don’t want to throw him off his game, and I don’t want to put my mom in her head. I’m here to offer as much emotional support as I can, and that means keeping my own emotions under control.

Mom and Scott confer in low voices for a few minutes as the prosecuting attorney walks in and gets settled, and then the bailiff tells everyone to rise as the judge comes in. Judge Conway is a severe looking woman with a white and gray bob and reading glasses hanging around her neck. She settles herself behind the judge’s desk like a queen settling onto her throne, and nerves prickle my skin.

Unlike Scott Parsons, this woman does look put together. She looks like once she’s made up her mind about something, she won’t change it, and she doesn’t look like the type to tolerate incompetence.

Fucking great.

I sit on my hands to stop them from fidgeting nervously as the pre-trial hearing begins. The proceedings go on for several hours, and I do my best to follow along, but it’s like watching a sport I’ve never seen before. I don’t know who’s up and who’s down, if Mom is doing okay or if things are going terribly.

By the time the hearing is adjourned, I’m a nervous wreck.

I give Mom a wave and a forced smile as she’s escorted out by a guard, and then I get up to leave, following the flow of people heading out of the room. I tug my cellphone out of my pocket and shoot a text to Linc.

ME: I’m done. The hearing just finished.

His response is almost instantaneous.

LINCOLN: Leaving now. Be there soon.

School is still in session, but the guys were adamant about me letting them know the second I was finished. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just stood up and walked out of class mid-lecture.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and step into the ladies’ room. As I wash my hands, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, then I splash a little water on my wan looking face and dry it with a paper towel. It doesn’t make me look much better, but I feel a little more human as I step back out into the hallway.

I head toward the entry, and I’m rounding a corner when I almost collide with someone walking the other direction. I let out a surprised yelp, and hands reach out to steady me.

“Sorry!” I blurt. “I—”

Hazel eyes stop my voice.

Judge Hollowell gazes down at me, dressed in black robes