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“Please rise,” the bailiff bellowed.
The judge left the room.
“You’re may be seated, and you’re dismissed,” the bailiff stated.
The sheriff’s officer walked to the bench, unlocked my cuffs, and removed the shackles.
“Any questions?” Beecham asked.
“Nope,” I said.
“I’ll send you a bill.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Peyton walking toward the door. I felt like yelling at her, telling her to stop, and asking to use her cell phone, but realized I had to refrain from any contact with her – at least in the courtroom.
Not telling her how much I appreciated her help was difficult. Having no idea if she was going to remain the same person toward me after she gave her testimony was worse. The possibility of losing whatever it was we shared sank into the pit my stomach like a rock.
It was painfully obvious she meant more to me than some girl who was simply interviewing me.
I liked the thought of it.
But I wasn’t sure if I could allow it.
