Iris pats my leg—the only one of the three of them who is welcoming. Though I don’t think Leighton’s dad really even knows who I am.
“So nice of you to be here for Leighton. Did you have a game today?” She glances at my damp hair, and I realize that her eyes hold a sweetness her sister’s never do.
“Just a practice, but I was cutting it close. Almost had to come in a T-shirt and sweats.”
She laughs softly. “You should have worn your uniform.”
The judge clears his throat and knocks his gavel on the desk, pulling everyone’s attention. “Excuse me, is the conversation over there more important than what we’re here for?”
“No. No, sorry,” Iris says. “It’s just this is Hayes Carlisle, you know, the catcher for the Colts.”
Iris says it as if that’s an excuse. My mom would kill me if she were here.
The judge’s gaze shifts to me. I really wish Iris hadn’t done that. Today is about Leighton, not what I do for a living.
“Nice to have you in the courtroom,” Judge Northcott says. “Good luck this year. I think you guys might have a shot.” His tone is very businesslike. “Anyway, back to the case at hand so I can get to lunch. I’ll hear from you first, Miss Dupont.”
Leighton’s lawyer, who looks as though she could run Fight Club in the back alley, approaches the bench. “Sir, the will states that Leighton Sinclair is to be the guardian. Both of the parents, who are now deceased, listed and signed the papers appointing her. It was their wish for Miss Sinclair to have guardianship of the children, and we would like the court to abide by it.”
She hands the will to the deputy, who brings it to the judge. He puts on his reading glasses and glances over the document, paging through it.
“Well, it definitely states Leighton Sinclair.” He turns to the other counsel. “And your clients are objecting to this? They want to take guardianship of…” He scans the paper. “The three underage children?”
The other lawyer stands, giving Leighton’s lawyer a smirk. “My client is the biological brother of the deceased father, Your Honor. He is married, and he believes that the children should be left with him and his wife, Julianna. Their household would be best suited for the well-being of the children.”
“Oh my god,” Lily gasps, leaning over the edge of the pew. “Grow a pair,” she says to an older male on the other side.
Leighton’s dad tugs at his ex-wife’s shirt.
Leighton turns around to shush her mom, and her dad waves as though he’s desperate to tell Leighton he’s not part of it.
“That may be, Mr. Lochs, but the deceased named Leighton Sinclair. I’m going to need more than a marriage license to reverse what were very clearly their wishes,” the judge says.
The lawyer looks back at his clients—Patrick’s brother, Art, and that Martha-Stewart-wannabe blonde—and says, “We believe that Skylar persuaded Patrick into signing the will.”
Leighton’s lawyer laughs. “You’ve got to be joking. That’s your argument? Do you have any proof of this?” She turns to the judge. “Your Honor, we cannot dictate whether a deceased person was coerced. And it doesn’t matter. He signed the will, and I have the executor, the lawyer who prepared it, in the courtroom with me today. He can testify that Patrick signed the will of his own free will.”
She holds her hand out toward a perfectly dressed man with a salt-and-pepper beard, sitting a little too close to Leighton.
The judge nods. “I have to agree with Miss Dupont that we cannot go by what we think a deceased person was thinking or feeling at the time they signed, unless you have some evidence to suggest otherwise. Do you have anything else before I make my ruling for temporary custody?”
The other lawyer frantically looks through a few papers, while Miss Dupont leans her elbow on her podium, staring at him with a cocky grin as though she’s won already.
Julianna nods at the lawyer, and he blows out a breath.
“Leighton Sinclair works twelve-hour shifts three nights a week—which leaves, from what we know, the two grandmas, Lily Sinclair and Iris Richards, in charge of the children. She has no other help. Whereas my clients have a beautiful home—four bedrooms, enough for each child to have their own. They are in a committed relationship, married, with two incomes. The kids would want for nothing. On top of that, my clients are able and willing to support them on a single income so that the children would have a stay-at-home guardian. They would have love and security in my clients’ home.”
“They would have love and security with me,” Leighton says, glaring at Julianna.
Atta girl.
“Yes, but she cannot raise three children on her own. She’s thirty years old and actually lives in a one-bedroom apartment.”
“Oh my god. How does he know where she lives?” her mom whispers.
“Because they’re doing recon on her. They know everything about our daughter,” Leighton’s dad mutters.
Art’s lawyer continues. “Miss Sinclair isn’t in a committed relationship. She cannot raise three kids with her piecemeal babysitters. They need the consistency and stability that my clients can provide. We would like you to appoint temporary custody to Arthur and Julianna Sullivan.”
