Mr. Bradley’s cold eyes turn to me again, the same shade of blue arrogance as Caleb’s.
“I assume there are terms?” he asks me, one brow lifted and his hand already drawing a check book from his pocket.
Ah, he came prepared.
“You can put that away.” I nod to the check book. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want anything from you or your son, except my freedom and my daughter.”
“No,” Caleb snarls. “You’re not leaving, and you won’t take my daughter from me.”
“You sadistic bastard, I’ve already left.” I lean forward, fixing my eyes on the piece of shit who fathered my child. “She’s my daughter, and we’ll go wherever I say.” I hold up my copy of the folder they have. “Unless you want the NBA, all your fans, sponsors, and the entire world to know their golden boy is an abusive monster.”
Maury, Caleb’s agent, closes the folder containing photo after photo, from every angle, of the bruises and swollen places aching under my clothes even now, two days later. The pictures, the rape kit, documentation of previous injuries – all of it tells the story I’ve hidden for months until I had as much damning evidence on Caleb as he fabricated about me. Maury pushes the folder away on the table like a plate of rotten meat.
“Shit, Caleb,” he mutters. “How could you do this?”
Maury looks at me for the first time, wincing when he encounters the evidence of Caleb’s brutality stamped into my face. The only sympathy I’ll find in this room lies in his eyes.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Iris,” he says softly, swallowing deeply. “What do you want? How’s this gonna go?”
I draw in a fortifying breath, ignoring the heat of Caleb’s glare. “As you see, the injuries I suffered only two days ago have been documented by a physician.” I steady my voice even though the humiliation of exposing what happened nearly chokes me. “X-rays and a complete examination also show evidence of past injuries never properly attended.” With one look, I fire a shot across the table at Caleb. “Tests also found evidence of rape.” I use the word deliberately, lest Caleb or anyone else think there was anything consensual about what happened to me.
“Rape?” Maury asks, his indignation emerging again. “What the hell? Damn you, Caleb. I’ll turn you in myself.”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head decisively. “Other athletes outed as abusers are fined and miss a few games, only to be back on the court, back on the field in a few weeks. I’m not trusting my life, my daughter’s life to a system that favors men just like Caleb. I’ve seen the so-called consequences we have for domestic abuse, and I need more than that.”
Cracks in the system are tailor-made and just the right size for men like Caleb to slip through. Caleb’s fame and money only tip the already-tilted scales even more in his favor. I’ve seen it too often to leave this to chance.
“No,” I continue. “You’ll comply with everything I ask or all the gory details come out. Endorsements gone, NBA career over, and at least a few years of your life behind bars.”
“Just get to the point,” Mr. Bradley says. “What do you want?”
My daughter. My innocence back. My tattered illusions repaired. My dreams restored.
My second chance with August.
All of it feels improbable, so I ask for the things I know I can get using the evidence splayed on the conference room table.
“I want my freedom.” I shift steady eyes to Caleb. “You don’t follow us. You don’t try to find us. You waive paternal rights, and you leave us alone.”
A disbelieving laugh sputters from Caleb’s lips. “You stupid bitch,” he spits. “You think I’ll give my daughter to you?”
“Did you bring the journal and my ring like I asked?” I ignore his insults and his arrogance. “Because I want those, too.”
He sobers fast, thinning his lips and icing his eyes over in the way that used to strike terror in me, but no longer can.
“Caleb,” Maury says sharply. “Give them to her.”
For a second it looks like he won’t, but his father snaps his fingers, and I know I’ve won at least this battle. Caleb pulls out the journal and slides it across the table so hard it skids off the edge and falls to the floor. Before I can squat to get it, Maury is there, picking it up and offering it to me with an apologetic look.
“My client’s an asshole,” he murmurs.
“Obviously, you don’t have to tell me that,” I say, accepting the journal. “And my great-grandmother’s ring?”
“I have no idea where your backwoods jewelry is,” Caleb drawls, contempt frosting his smile. “What use do I have for that cheap shit?”
I know he’s lying, but the ring is a small casualty in this war, considering all I’m gaining today. Considering all I’ve lost.
“Fine. My journal and my freedom will do,” I say, locking eyes with him.