I had spent my entire life trying to prove I was strong enough, tough enough, good enough.
But in the end, I'd only proven that I was broken.
And now, sitting in a holding cell with my career in ruins and blood on my hands, the truth became crystal clear.
Real strength looked like the opposite of everything I'd become.
CHAPTER TWO
Easton
Three Weeks Later
"Mr. Henley, do you understand the charges against you?"
I shifted in my seat. Tugged at my collar. Judge Wilson's eyes bore into me over her tortoise-shell glasses, salt-and-pepper curls bouncing as she leaned forward, waiting for my response. Beside me, Sunny stood straight-backed, hands folded, not a blonde hair out of place.
"Yes, Your Honor." The words came out gravelly, catching in my throat. Three weeks since the accident, and I still felt the raw, tender bruise on my ribs where the seatbelt had impacted.
"Assault and battery of a member of the press, in addition to reckless driving resulting in property damage exceeding five hundred thousand dollars. These are serious offenses, Mr. Henley." Judge Wilson peered at me over her glasses. "Not to mention the injuries sustained by a prize-winning thoroughbred valued at over two million dollars."
Nausea washed over me. The horse. God, that beautiful animal. Windchaser survived but would never race again. Its owner, Silas Yannis, sat in the gallery, his weathered face set in hard lines of suppressed fury.
"Your Honor," Sunny interjected politely, "my client has no prior criminal record. He's prepared to make full financial restitution for damages and has expressed sincere remorse for his actions."
Judge Wilson's expression remained unchanged. Only the slight trembling of her dark curls betrayed any internal struggle as she shook her head. "I've reviewed your proposal, Ms. Sunland. Given Mr. Henley's celebrity status and financial resources, monetary penalties alone would be insufficient."
My gut clenched.
Jail time. She's going to sentence me to jail time.
Judge Wilson shuffled the papers before her, then looked directly at Yannis in the gallery. "Mr. Yannis, I want to address you directly. The plea agreement your attorney negotiated with Mr. Henley includes full restitution for medical care for all four horses, lost earnings from Windchaser's racing career, rehabilitation costs, and additional compensation for pain and suffering. The total settlement of three point two million dollars."
Three point two million.
The number hung in the air like an accusation.
"That settlement," Judge Wilson continued, her voice measured, "is the only reason Mr. Henley is not facing felonycharges and a minimum of eighteen months in state prison. Mr. Yannis, you had every right to refuse that settlement and pursue maximum criminal penalties. You chose not to. The court respects that decision."
Yannis didn't move to acknowledge her words. But I watched his jaw tighten, watched his hands clench on the railing in front of him.
Judge Wilson turned back to me. "Mr. Henley, understand this: you are receiving leniency not because you deserve it, but because Mr. Yannis chose mercy over vengeance. The fact that you can write a check for three million dollars does not erase what you did. It does not give you a free pass."
She leaned forward, and her voice dropped to something more dangerous than anger.
Disappointment.
"Under normal circumstances, the charges you're facing would carry eight hundred to one thousand hours of community service, a suspended license for one year, and mandatory rehabilitation. However, as part of the negotiated plea agreement, those hours have been reduced to two hundred in exchange for your immediate financial settlement and your agreement to seek ongoing mental health treatment."
Two hundred hours. Because I could afford to pay my way down from eight hundred.
The shame of it burned worse than any sentence she could have handed down.
"Mr. Henley, along with the three point two million dollar restitution you've already agreed to pay, you will complete mandatory anger management therapy with weekly sessions for a minimum of six months. You will perform two hundred hours of community service at The Paw Whisperer Animal Support Clinic." She paused, letting that sink in. "And you will submit to monthly drug and alcohol screenings, because while you werenot intoxicated at the time of the accident, I want to ensure you're not using substances to manage the anger issues you clearly possess."
"Your Honor," I stepped forward despite Sunny's warning hand on my arm. "My schedule with the team—"
"Is not my concern." Judge Wilson's words cut through the air, sharp and crisp. Her glasses slipped down her nose as she fixed me with a stern glare. "Mr. Henley, the Shadow Wolves have already announced your indefinite suspension pending completion of this sentence. Or did you think your employer would welcome back a player who assaulted a reporter and nearly killed four animals in a rage-fueled joyride?"
