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I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to breathe again.

They won’t let me in.

They won’t let anyone in.

Killian is on trial for his life and he’s not allowed support from a single human being.

Donna won’t say it’s my fault, but I have a feeling it is. The media circus we created when blasting Lawson’s crimes out to the world created an almost unstoppable frenzy, to the point where it radicalized a lot of people. Some are calling for Killian’s head, but a majority of people began demanding that he be set free, no questions asked. There were protests in the streets, a riot not far from the courthouse. They didn’t really have a choice. Opening this trial to the public almost certainly wouldn’t end well, and despite my best efforts to get Donna to put me on the witness list, she wouldn’t. Apparently, she can’t in good conscience allow me to commit perjury.

Fine.

I’ll sit on this uncomfortable ass bench just outside the courtroom doors holding my nephew Noah like a lifeline while my sister looks at me like I’m nuts. “Don’t judge me,” I mumble.

“We’re in a courthouse, Joey,” she deadpans. “If I can’t judge you here, where can I judge you?”

“Nowhere, that’s the point. You’re supposed to blindly support me.”

She sighs, scooting closer and moving my niece Avery to her other side. “I do. But you know everything is going to be fine. From everything we’ve heard, the prosecution doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“When has that ever mattered?” I snap quietly. “People make their own decisions, and jury verdicts are rarely a reflection of the strength of the prosecution’s case. No one just says ‘oh, I think he did it, but the prosecutor didn’t bring enough evidence so I guess he’s innocent’ and you know that. It’s all biased.”

Violet nods as Avery speaks up. “But people like Uncle Killian, don’t they? Why would they think he did the bad thing?”

I don’t know what gets me more, the fact that she just called him Uncle Killian or the fact that she knows people like him. It makes my chest tighten, so I hand baby Noah over to Violet and pat my lap as Avery climbs up. “You know what, Av? You’re so right. People do like him, because he’s a likeable guy. You’re gonna love him.”

“I bet he’ll let you braid his hair,” Violet whispers, eliciting a joyous laugh from her daughter that sounds so out of place bouncing off these walls. “What do you think, Joey?”

The thought alone nearly makes my heart explode. “I think he’d love that. We’ll get bows and clips and you can make him look just as cute as you.”

Avery smiles widely, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I like Noah even though he does bad things.”

“What bad things?”

She pokes his little nose gently. “He pulls my hair and throws up.”

“Sounds like the men your mom dated in college,” I tease, earning a playful glare from my sister. I guess I deserve that. “You’re a smart kid, you know that? I don’t think I was half as smart as you when I was your age.”

“You weren’t,” Violet agrees. “You were scared of blankets, do you remember? You were convinced if you slept with one, it would wrap around your neck in the middle of the night, fling you off the bed and hang you.”

“What does hanged mean?”

Oh, god. “Nothing, sweetie. Your mom is just being silly.”

She’s not wrong though. I really was scared of everything, and it’s funny to me now that I’ve dealt with real-world problems and things that should actually terrify me. The blanket noose doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

We fall into silence until the courtroom doors open and a couple of people file out, but I can’t see Killian anywhere no matter how I strain my neck. Donna comes up a couple of minutes later looking grave. “Okay. I told you this would be a quick trial, right? I warned you?”

It can’t be over already. “Yes, but it’s only been a couple of hours. What the hell happened?”

“Nothing, we’re just breaking for lunch. We laid out our opening arguments and the prosecution began with their case. After lunch, we’ll hear from the prosecution’s experts. There are only two, so their side will likely rest today. Tomorrow it’ll be my turn, then our closing arguments, then it’ll be up to the jury.”

Killian’s life will be up to the jury, she means.

Forcing myself to stay calm, I nod. “And? How’s it looking so far?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “I still don’t believe the prosecution has met the burden of proof, but the jury seems... undecided. Just based on body language, I’d say we have about a 70/30 shot at a not guilty verdict.”

That’s better than the reverse, but she was almost a hundred percent sure before the trial started. This isn’t good. “I understand. How is he? Is he holding up okay?”

For once, she smiles. “He’s holding his head high, staying calm, and doing everything he needs to be doing. I’ve never seen someone with so much poise in my life. It may be the thing that turns this in his favor. He’s coming across as confident but not arrogant, capable but not cruel.”

Of course he is. That’s my Killian. “Good. Thank you again, Donna. You’ve been incredible.”

“Don’t thank me until it’s over. Just hang tight, okay? I’ll come find you when we’re done for the day.”

Nodding, I watch her walk away and let my shoulders slump. “I knew the jury would be a problem. We should’ve never left the cabin that night.”

“So it would’ve happened the next time, anyway,” Violet reminds me. “You weren’t ever going to be able to stop this. Prolong it maybe, sure. But not stop it. If you ask me, it’s better this way.”

“Better? On what grounds? He’s in there fighting for his life while twelve strangers decide if he gets to go home or if he has to spend the rest of his life in prison. How is that better?”

“Because he did it,” she whispers, nearly inaudibly. “Whether we agree with him or not — which we do, don’t forget that — he did it. This was always going to be hanging over your head, grinding your lives to a stop. You’d have been setting yourself up for a lifetime of seclusion and fear. Were you ever going to bring a child into that world? A pet? What were you going to do if he got hurt, or sick beyond what soup and NyQuil could handle? I wouldn’t wish that life on anyone, let alone my sister. At least this way, one way or the other, you can really live again.”

She’s right. I hate it, but she is. The cabin was always a temporary solution, even before I realized Killian was there. And it’s not like I don’t have a plan if the worst happens and he goes to jail. As long as he doesn’t get the death penalty, anyway. Death row changes things. But without that, it’s not complicated. I’ll move out here permanently, we’ll get married. I’ll have access to conjugal visits, he can call me, I can visit as often as they’ll let me. I’ll make sure his commissary stays stocked and he’s well taken care of, and I’ll pay as many lawyers as I have to in order to ensure we exhaust every appeal effort. There’s also parole, if the sentencing doesn’t take it off the table.

So I have a plan. Either way, she’s right — life will begin again.

I’d just prefer he was out here with me to enjoy it.