He glances around, as if the defense attorney might appear behind a column and confirm it.
I laugh, but my jaw stays tight. “She does. I checked her case history. Five straight defense verdicts.”
“C’mon,” Nash says, nudging my sleeve with his knuckle. “Get home and get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”
***
The rest of the week unfolds in a slow-motion collision of testimony and mid-morning sugar crashes.
On Tuesday, I sit upright for six straight hours, every muscle tense. The defense puts on its witnesses: men in suits who talk in acronyms, women who say “the standard of care” until the phrase flattens into pure nonsense.
I scribble feverishly in the margins of my legal pad, underlining “contradicts earlier statement” and “breathe, just breathe,” my pen nearly puncturing through.
James is a stone in the gallery, his expression never wavering, his gaze fixed on the front of the courtroom with an intensity that feels brutal. Nash alternates between anxious doodling and watching me.
Wednesday is packed full of expert testimony and by the time it’s over, I have the worst migraine. I gather my trial binder and my laptop, my hands trembling with something worse than exhaustion.
I’m halfway to the doors when James falls in step with me.
Outside, the sky is low, and the parking lot is nearly empty. Just a few cars, dusted in a thin layer of pollen.
We walk in silence to my car until I can’t hold it in anymore.
“It’s not going well, is it?” I ask, but I don’t give him an opportunity to answer. “I knew I was gonna fuck this up. I knew it! I can tell I’ve already lost most of the jury at this poi—”
The words are barely out of my mouth when James closes the distance between us and takes my chin in his hand. The movement is so swift and so gentle I don’t have time to react. Histhumb presses softly at the hinge of my jaw, steadying me, and then his mouth is on mine.
I want to fight back. To finish what I was saying.
But I give in to the kiss, practically melting into him. All the words I had lined up die in my throat.
For a heartbeat, I forget where I am. I forget I’m standing in a courthouse parking lot with a migraine and a certainty that I’m about to fail in front of everyone.
He pulls away slowly, his thumb brushing my lip.
“You haven’t fucked up. Don’t count yourself out before it’s over, Anders.”
He says it so quietly.
I want to argue, but the words don’t come. Instead, I just nod and that’s enough for James.
“Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he adds.
“See you tomorrow.”
***
By Thursday, all testimony has concluded, and it’s time for closing arguments. My mind goes back to James during the break before we all returned to the courtroom.
“Don’t try to be perfect. Just make them feel it.”And then, softer,“You have everything you need.”
The courtroom is colder than I remember.
The bailiff calls the session to order, and the judge gives a brief nod that feels like a dare.
I run the closing in my head again, the lines and the emphatic pauses, the final plea for justice. I have memorized every sentence, shaved every word to its emotional core, just like James and I practiced in the conference room night after night.
I’m not sure if the words I have prepared are enough. I’m not sure if I am enough. But I walk to the podium, steady as I can, and start to speak.
