“Some little rug rat who loved action figures and He-Man and all that stuff. I was full of hope for the world. For my family. For myself too, despite living in some…difficult circumstances. We don’t have to get into all that, but let’s just say everybody looked away. Ignored my mom’s cries for help. Ignored mine. Ignored my sister’s.” His eyes stayed fixed on the trees. “Your grandma—she didn’t look away. She saved us. She was the only one who didn’t pretend that nothing was wrong.” His jaw tightened. “She even lied for us. To the police. She put herself on the line, risked everything, just to help.”
Silence settled between us.
“When your grandma was attacked and almost killed”—he shook his head slowly, like the memory was replaying right in front of him—“I let her down completely. I failed the woman who saved my life. Failed her family after she rescued mine.”
His hands clenched in his lap.
“I could have stopped it. I know that now. If I’d listened to her. Followed the evidence. Done my job.” His jaw tightened.“Instead, I buried my head. I was afraid of the AG like everyone else. And when I finally did the right thing, it felt too late, too little.”
His eyes met mine.
“It haunts me,” he said. “It really does. So if you want to sue the State, please do. I won’t stop you. Actually, I’ll help you however I can.” His eyes darkened. “But please, I beg you, don’t do anything until after I get my hands on John Myers.”
He leaned closer.
“I know it’s a lot to ask. But I need you to trust me. I need to be the one who arrests him and interrogates him. I need to be the first law enforcement his worthless ass sees. That’s the only way I can make sure your grandma stays safe this time. That I don’t put her through hell again. God knows she doesn’t need that.”
His mouth tightened.
“None of you do,” he said. “Not her. Not the kids. Not Amanda, after losing her first husband like that. And Jesus, Dylan, you don’t need this either. You don’t need news crews camped outside your hospital, following your patients around, asking for interviews.”
He was right. About all of it.
If Harlow still had support for his nonsense after all these years, more people would follow.
My head dropped into my hands. Fingers pressed against my face, rubbing hard, like I needed to feel something solid. To make sure this wasn’t another nightmare. Another round of the same fucking hell.
Nolan’s hand landed on my shoulder. Warm and firm, like it came from the dad I never had.
I looked up and met his eyes. There was compassion there. Sadness too. And guilt. The weight of failure.
In some twisted way, he was just another victim. Like my family.
It wasn’t his fault that the system was the way it was. That Thomas Harlow had crossed paths with Grandma a long time ago. That he’d decided to destroy us for his rotten son’s mistakes.
“That’s not quite true,” I said.
He shook his head, confused.
“I mean, that you completely failed my grandma and my family.”
Something shifted in his face, and hope flickered to life in his eyes.
“You did help my grandma,” I went on. “The gas station video. Remember? You got it even though you knew it could get you in trouble. And Mrs. Dustin—you helped her get away from her husband. She later gave testimony. Dead women can’t do that.” My voice steadied as the memories lined up. “It was also you who insisted the neighbor’s statement be recorded that night when Myers attacked my grandma. The cops were told not to take it. Remember? You made them take it anyway. Even though it could’ve cost you your job.” I paused. “You had a family to feed too, and you did it anyway. In the end, all of that became major evidence in court. Evidence we wouldn’t have had without you. It helped get the charges dropped. And now here you are again, fighting for my family, making sure Thomas doesn’t get the last word.”
I held his gaze.
“So, yeah,” I said. “You did more than you think.”
He looked at me for a long moment. Then his shoulders eased a little. Like some weight had finally shifted.
“Will you call me,” he asked, “if you hear from Harlow or Myers?”
“Even before 911?” I asked.
“Yes. Unless it’s an emergency.” He reached into his jacket. “We can’t allow Harlow to make a deal for Myers. Or reopen the case on his terms. I’ve got my phone on me twenty-four seven.”
He handed me a card.
