Page 81 of Claim

“Mr Slade,” he looked directly at me for the first time, “I am satisfied that bail conditions can adequately manage the risks identified. Bail is granted.”

For a second, I didn’t breathe.

“Strict conditions will apply. Any breach will cause immediate remand. Do you understand?”

I had to clear my throat to speak. “Yes, Your Honour.”

Still, the guards owned me. They moved for me straight after. Routine. Efficient. The machinery of it resetting around the decision. But before they turned me fully away, I risked one last glance across the courtroom. At Tristan.

He was watching me.

There wasn’t anything on his face that anyone could fault. Nothing that belonged in evidence. But his chest rose, as if he’d been holding his breath the same way I had and was letting himself take air for the first time since he’d stepped in here. Then his gaze shifted. And whatever he saw made his face close down. Not fear. Not shock. Something colder. More alert. And he looked away from me, gathered his papers, straightened his robe and switched on the professional again.

I followed his line of sight.

Public gallery. Third row back. Immaculate suit. Legs crossed. Hands resting loosely in his lap as if waiting for a train, Lord Wolfe watched not me and my life tilt on a judge’s pen, but Tristan. And in that second, with the courtroom still and the decision ringing in my ears, I understood how this hadn’t been about whether I got bail. This had been about who won the room.

And Tristan had.

He left the courtroom, and I got turned towards the door then, the guard’s grip firm around my arm. But as I walked out, heart crashing into my ribs, one truth settled hard and sure in my chest: This wasn’t over. This was just the last wall before I got to reach for Tristan again.

And Wolfe was standing on the other side of it.

chapter fourteen

Razor

Suddenly there was air.

Cold. Sharp. Real.

It hit my face as I stepped out of the courthouse, as if the world had been waiting to remind me what it felt like to breathe without permission. For a second, I just stood there, lungs dragging it in, not trusting it. Not trusting that I wasn’t about to be turned around, shoved back inside, told I’d imagined the whole thing.

Bail.

Didn’t feel like freedom. Not really. Just a longer leash.

But whatever, I was out.

Then I saw Lennon. Hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders set, leaning against his motor as if he’d been there a while. Waiting. He stilled when he clocked me. Took me in. Properly. Whole. Upright. Out. I didn’t expect anything from him. No hug. No clap on the shoulder. I’d already fucked his life once just by being in it. Dragging all this back to his doorstep again… that wouldn’t earn me a welcome home.

He had a life now. Plans. Something clean.

A life that didn’t involve court lists, remand wings, and men like me.

Still…He’d shown up.

But not gonna lie, his silence sucker-punched me. The way he watched, face closed, bracing for impact instead of relief. Then he jerked his chin towards the car, and that was it. Our reunion. I glanced behind me. Looked around. No sign of Tristan or anyone. So I got in. Lennon started the engine. Then he took a breath and pulled away from the kerb.

London slid past the windows. Ordinary. Oblivious.

After a while, I couldn’t bear the silence or the distance between us, and I said the words that felt way too late and a little redundant, “Sorry. And thank you.”

He shut his eyes, then opened them and tightened his grip on the wheel. “Jesus, Rich. All I hope is that you’ve learnt something through all this.”

“I have.”

He glanced at me. “Yeah? What?”