He said it like he was reciting a grocery list. Bread, milk, eggs, ruined life.
“It wasn’t just a fight,” I said, leaning back in the hard plastic chair. The room smelled like coffee and old stress. “He was attacking someone.”
“I understand that’s your position, Mr. Ward—”
“My position?” I cut in. “Like it’s some kind of opinion piece?”
His jaw tightened for a second, then smoothed out. Practiced calm.
“I mean, that’s your version of events,” he corrected. “The officers’ version is that they arrived to find you standing over an unconscious man with significant injuries, no other parties present. There’s no statement from the alleged victim. No security footage. No corroborating witnesses. Right now, it’s your word against his injuries.”
“Alleged victim?” I repeated, heat creeping up the back of my neck. “He had his hands on her. Dragging her into the trees. You want me to draw you a picture of where that was going?”
He shifted some papers around but didn’t look at them. “Do you have a name? For the woman?”
“No.”
“Contact? Anything?”
I shook my head. He scribbled something on his legal pad that looked a lot like a swear word under his breath.
“She ran,” I said. “I don’t blame her. I told her to, in my head. I wanted her gone. Safe. Not… this.” I gestured to the room, to the walls, the table, the chain attached to the cuff on my wrist.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed louder for a second, then went back to its steady drone.
“Without a statement from her or a security camera angle, this doesn’t look good, Jaxon,” he said. He’d switched to my first name at some point. I’m not sure when. “You’re not the one in the hospital.”
Right. Because that’s what matters in court. Not why you hit someone. Just how hard.
“How bad is he?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
The lawyer blinked. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It matters.”
He shuffled through the papers in the file like he was searching for something to hold onto. “Concussion. Fractured cheekbone. Broken nose. A few cracked ribs. He’s awake. Talking. Already painting you as an unprovoked attacker.”
I snorted. “Of course he is.”
“Look,” the lawyer said, leaning forward, lowering his voice like the walls might care. “I’m not saying standing by and letting something happen would’ve been better. I’m not. But the system… it doesn’t see intent the way you want it to. It sees outcomes. You? You look… rough.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
He flushed. “That’s not what I meant. You look like a fighter. You have priors. The other guy looks like someone who got beaten half to death in the snow.”
“He was dragging a woman off a public path,” I said, each word clipped. “That matters at all. Or do we just skip that part in the record?”
“Right now, it’s not in the record,” he said carefully. “Right now, what’s in the record is what the officers saw when they arrived, the injuries documented, your history, and his statement. We need more.”
“Maybe she’ll come forward,” I said, and heard how pathetic that sounded.
He didn’t saymaybe she won’t. He didn’t have to. It hung there between us.
He closed the file and stood, straightening his tie. “I’ll push for bail, but given your history and the severity of the injuries, I can’t promise anything. Best case, we argue self-defense on behalf of a third party. Worst case…” He didn’t finish that either.
“Got it,” I said. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
He hesitated at the door. “For what it’s worth if what you’re saying is true… You did the right thing.”
