Judge Brennan settles into his chair; glasses perched on the end of his nose. Since he’s become responsible for our case I’ve only seen him twice and each time he seemed very strict. He has a short, black afro and always wears his black judicial robe.
I wonder if he remembers our faces when he goes home at night, or if we’re just case numbers blurring together in an endless parade of broken families. Although I doubt that we’re a normal case… the internet is full of articles about it. There are paparazzi photos of me going into court. Mira’s out there doing interviews, talking shit about me like always, and I’m honestly thinking about doing an interview by myself just to clear things up. Most romanticize Jenna and me on the internet. Which is stupid because this case is so much more. It’s about my life. My daughter.
“We’re here to continue the custody hearing for Olivia Kirillov,” Brennan announces drily. “I understand there are new developments to consider?”
Goldblatt rises smoothly to his feet. “Yes, Your Honor. If I may?”
The judge nods, and Goldie launches into what sounds like a well-rehearsed speech.
“Your Honor, it has come to our attention that Mr. Kirillov’s mother has been hospitalized with a serious kidney condition.” He pauses, letting that sink in and my stomach does sink. About a mile. “While we sympathize with Mr. Kirillov’s family situation, this creates another significant obstacle in his ability to provide consistent care for Olivia. He’ll soon have to travel through the US and Canada for work.”
My jaw clenches so hard I hear something pop. How did they find out about Mama? I’ve only told the coach and my best friends. I look at Jenna.
“Someone at the hospital must have leaked it,” she whispers.
Yeah. Maybe. It was probably some orderly recognizing my name on the international calls log and selling the information. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I’m sweating. A lot.
Fuck. We’re fucked.
And then Jenna’s hand finds my forearm under the table, a silent command to keep my composure. I force my shoulders to relax, but my mind is still racing. Yes, Mama is sick. Yes, I feel like shit. But I’d never leave Livy unattended—something Mira doesweeklywithout consequence. I can’t believe this fact isn’t enough.
“Mr. Kirillov has stated that his mother will look after Olivia when he’s back to work,” the lawyer continues, consulting a paper in front of him with theatrical precision. Fuck I hate that guy. “This demonstrates a clear pattern of unpredictability. With his hockey schedule already creating significant absences, and now even family emergencies, how can he possibly provide the stability that Olivia requires?”
The sharp little inhale next to me makes it pretty clear, Jenna’s annoyed too.
“Furthermore,” Mira’s lawyer continues, his voice taking on a tone that makes my stomach turn, “We have evidence that Mr. Kirillov has been researching dual citizenship options for his daughter. We believe he presents a flight risk if granted primary custody.”
What.
The.
Fuck.
What a fucking lie!
This time, I can’t hide my reaction.
“That’s—” I start, but Jenna’s grip on my arm tightens, cutting me off.
Her green eyes flash a warning at me.
“Let him. We’ll have our turn,” she murmurs, barely moving her lips.
I settle back, seething.
This bastard lies in court. I looked into Livy’s citizenship rightsyearsago. Yes—she’s entitled to Russian citizenship through me—but not to take her away. Only to ensure she knows both sides of her heritage. Something Mira has actively discouraged since the day Livy was born.
Judge Brennan is watching me, my reaction.
I force myself to not move an inch, channeling every media training session I’ve ever had. Don’t show emotion. Don’t give them anything to use against you.
Fuck. I already gave them too much, didn’t I?
Goldblatt drones on about my “unpredictable schedule,” my “divided loyalties,” and my “cultural differences” in parenting style, each phrase carefully crafted to paint me as a foreign threat rather than a father who would die for his daughter.
I steal a glance at Mira.
