"I can walk," I tellhim.
"I know," he replies, buthe doesn't put me down.
He tries calling my mombecause I know I can't bring myself to say the words that Robinwrote, but he tells me it went straight to voicemail.
Well, we'll be at court ina couple of hours either way.
Sam orders room serviceand a in-room movie that I pay no attention.Sam keeps watching me,like he's checking to make sure I'm not going to panic again, andthough I know I've earned his concern, what I don't understand isthe hint of guilt that colors his features.
Chapter Twenty
Iam a royal asshole.I've known guilt before, but nothing likethis.It's eating me alive.I watch her warily as we dress forcourt, terrified that she's going to panic again.
She rolls her eyes.Shethinks I'm treating her like glass, like I'moverreacting.
But she didn't have to seewhat I did.She lived it, yes, but she didn't have to watch it.The girl I love fighting for breath on the balcony, her eyesrolling back, unseeing, unable to hear a word I said.
And she doesn't have tostomach the guilt of blame.Of lies.
I hate myself.I fuckingdespise myself.
But there's no otherchoice.Not right now.
I try calling her motheragain, but again, it goes straight to voicemail.I leave her athird message, asking her why court was delayed, why she isn'triding with us to court, and to please call me back.
I wipe my sweaty palm onmy suit pants before I take Rory's hand.Her brows pinch together.My nerves are out of character and for the first time I wish shedidn't know me as well as she does.
Her friend Chip is waitinginside the courthouse just past security.He asks about the delay,and neither of us can offer more than a shrug.
No one is in the hall whenwe arrive, and we're only two minutes early, so we head rightinside.
I freeze at the scene thatgreets us.
I don't understandit.
Rory's mother stands withthe prosecutor, huddled over some papers, marking thingsurgently.Thatmotherfucking bastardsitsdejectedly at the defense's table, and his father sits beside him,his own expression reflecting that of his son, but with an addedveil of anger.Their lawyers talk to them, oratthem as they don't seemespecially responsive, and then one walks over to the prosecutor tomurmur something.
But the strangest thing isRory's father.He's sitting behind the prosecution's table.On thewrong side of the room.
Something's happened.Butwhat?We haven't talked to anyone yet, haven't reported theFacebook message.I look down at Rory who obviously has no cluewhat's going on either, but she's so confused by the scene that Iworry she might panic again.I squeeze her hand in a reassurance Idon't actually feel, and lead her to the bench behind theprosecutor, as far away from her father as possible.
Her mother sees us andmotions for us to sit, too preoccupied to even tell us what thehell is going on, and it pisses me off.
"What the hell is goin'on?"Rory voices my very thoughts, her accent betraying hernerves.
"Seriously," Chipadds.
He's a nice kid and heseems to really care about my girl, and fortunately not in a waythat makes me want to kick his ass, but right now I wish he wasn'there.I don't know what's going on and it all feels toopersonal.
I slide my arm aroundRory's shoulders, no longer giving a shit what the judge—who isn'teven here yet—will think."I don't know, baby girl, but it's goingto be okay, I promise."I hope to fucking God I didn't just tellher another lie.
The bailiff comes in toannounce the judge's arrival and silence falls over the room.Weall stand automatically, but fuck, now we can't even talk to theprosecutor, or Rory's mom, who's now standing beside her as ifshe's her second chair.
Rory and I exchange aworried glance.The judge tells us to be seated.Rory's grip on myhand tightens almost painfully and I rub little circles on hershoulder with my thumb.
It's going to be okay,baby girl.It has to be.
"So I hear you've all hada busy morning," the judge says.
