Even now. Even as he was.Still loved.By him.
No lectures. No pressure. No demands.
Just…loved.
He turned off the light. Lay back on the bed. Eyes open in the dark.
And for the first time in weeks, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe he wasn’t beyond saving.
Later that night,Joshua slipped into the guest room.
The floor creaked beneath his bare feet. Colin lay on his side, facing the wall. Still. Awake.
Joshua didn’t speak. He eased beneath the covers, careful and slow.
For a while, they lay in silence. Not touching. The space between them heavy with everything unsaid.
Then—wordlessly—Joshua reached out, sliding his fingers across the mattress until they found Colin’s.
At first, Colin didn’t move. But after a long moment, his fingers closed around Joshua’s.
A sigh—soft, shaky—escaped him.
No words. No apologies. No declarations.
Only the quiet weight of presence. Only hands clasped in the dark.
And the fragile beginnings of hope.
For now, that was enough.
When Colin enteredthe CAO the next morning, Norman Clayton was waiting outside Colin’s office. Arms folded. Eyes dark.
“Got a minute?” Norm asked, voice carefully neutral.
Colin hesitated, then nodded. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. Norm followed.
The door clicked shut.
“You want coffee?” Colin asked, moving toward the door.
“Oh, cut the crap, Colin!” Norm snapped.
Colin froze. Then turned.
“Kid, I love you and I’m tremendously proud of you,” Norm said—his voice low and firm. “But what I saw in that courtroom yesterday? That wasn’t you. That was a broken man burning alive from the inside out, trying to pass it off as justice.”
Colin’s jaw tightened. “Don’t?—”
“I’m not judging,” Norm cut in. “I’m here because I care about you. And I’m not the only one. You’ve got a husband who is falling apart, waiting for you to come home. Friends walking on eggshells. And you? You’re standing in front of a jury, performing rage like it’s theater. That’s not justice, Colin. That’s pain. Who the hell do you think you’re fooling?”
Colin looked away. “You don’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Silence.
Then, barely audible: “I failed, Norm.”
