Chapter 16 Watching Him Break #2
A beat. The room fell silent. Too silent. Even the court clerk sat frozen. Then the judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Campbell-Abrams, I’ll remind you to keep your tone appropriate for a courtroom.”
Colin didn’t blink. Didn’t nod. Didn’t speak.
He turned, walked to the prosecution table, and gathered his papers with surgical precision, barely acknowledging the gavel as Judge Thornton adjourned for the day.
He hadn’t argued that case. He’d performed it—like a man trying to shout loud enough to drown out the scream inside his own head.
And the worst part? He had almost convinced himself that he’d succeeded.
Later that afternoon, he moved through the concrete stillness of the parking garage like a ghost. The courtroom adrenaline had faded, leaving behind nothing but bone-deep weariness—and a sadness that seeped into every crack and crevice of his being.
His briefcase hung limp at his side, papers untouched within.
He reached his car, unlocked it, but didn’t get in.
Instead, he leaned against the driver’s side door and let his head fall back.
He stared up at the ceiling. Pipes. Shadows.
A flickering fluorescent bulb that buzzed like an angry memory.
He’d won the argument. Shut the defense down. Made the jury see the truth—or what passed for truth now.
And yet…
He felt nothing. Not vindication. Not satisfaction. Only the faintest flicker of regret, like a whisper at the edge of his mind.
He used to feel something. Conviction. Belief, even righteous pride, when he stood before a jury. Now, it was just performance. Blunt-force rhetoric dressed in rage.
He tried to summon the man he used to be—but he was gone. Burned out. Buried. His fist still throbbed from where it had slammed the railing, bone against wood.
He looked down at his hand. The burns had healed, sure—scars now, pale and tight.
But they mocked him. Proof he’d survived when she hadn’t.
He turned it over, jaw tight. The skin was whole.
But he wasn’t. Underneath, he was still smoldering—still scorched in places no one else could reach.
Rage covered the rest. It was easier. Safer.
Grief was a trap. Anger kept him moving; kept him upright when all he wanted was to fall to his knees.
He saw Joshua’s face—helpless, terrified—as their home burned.
Saw Sarah’s body, still and broken. His legs worked.
His heart beat. But everything inside him was on fire.
And the pain? Still there. Still with him. Maybe the only thing that was—other than the anger. Sometimes he felt like he was made of it. Like fury had replaced blood in his veins. He used to believe in justice. Now he just raised his voice and hoped it landed hard on something—on someone.
He exhaled, the breath catching in his chest, and whispered into the quiet:
“Josh… god, Josh, what’s happening to me?”
He wished it were a scream.
Inside the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office, Esther sat behind her desk, arms folded. Norman Clayton stood near the window, looking out. “Thornton called me,” she told Clayton. “Said Colin nearly crossed the line.”
Clayton shook his head and sighed. “I was there. He didn’t nearly cross it. He pole-vaulted over it, planted a flag on the other side, and defied anyone to challenge him.”
Esther pressed her fingers to her forehead. “It’s not just about tone. It’s that he doesn’t seem to care. And that scares me.”
“He’s on the verge of a breakdown,” Clayton muttered. “Lost. Overwhelmed by equal parts grief and anger.”
He met Esther’s eyes. Steady. Certain.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Be careful. He listens to you. That’s rare currency right now.”
At David’s home, Colin burst through the door and bolted up the stairs without a word.
Joshua had turned at the sound, the beginning of a smile on his lips—but before he could take a step, Colin was gone.
He stood frozen in the dining room with David and Nate, staring after his husband, the ache in his chest expanding until it felt like it might tear him apart.
“Is he seeing Deena?” David asked quietly, referring to their therapist.
“He is,” Joshua whispered, eyes locked on the now-empty stairs. “But I don’t know… I mean, she won’t tell me anything, and I’m—” his voice faltered. “I’m not sure how much good it’s doing.”
“Has he talked to you?” Nate asked.
Joshua nodded. “Mostly, he says he’s not ready.
Asks for time.” He lifted his head and met Nate’s eyes.
“Damn near begs for it.” He reached for the back of a dining chair, fingers curling around the wood as he bowed forward, shoulders slumping.
“But he has told me some of what he’s going through.
” He looked up at Nate, tears streaming down his face.
“Though saying it damn near killed him.”
Nate was beside him in a heartbeat, guiding him down. “Sit, Josh.” Then he turned toward the stairs, jaw tight. “Dammit, he can’t keep doing this—to you, to all of us!”
Joshua caught his arm, pulling him down beside him. “Nate, don’t. Please don’t be angry at him. You don’t understand.”
“I do,” Nate said, his voice softening as he met Joshua’s eyes. “And I’m not angry. I’m heartbroken.”
Joshua swallowed hard. “He’s suffering, Nate. More than he lets on. Our home… Sarah… Hannibal…” His voice faltered. “It’s eating him alive.”
He gripped Nate’s hands. “Every time he tries to cross the yard, the flashbacks and panic attacks nearly break him.” His voice cracked.
“He shakes so hard he can barely stand. Barely move. Sometimes he hears the blast again. Hears Sarah scream. Sometimes he sees her—Sarah—lying there. Bleeding. Still. He can’t make it stop. ”
Nate’s anger drained away. “Oh God, Josh,” he moaned.
“He thinks it’s all his fault,” Joshua said quietly. “Says he brought this down on us. That even giving everything—his strength, his body, his soul—still wasn’t enough.” His voice cracked. “And now he wears that failure like a second skin.”
Joshua blinked hard, his breath trembling. “For someone like Colin, that kind of loss isn’t just painful. It’s… catastrophic.”
“Not for nothing, Josh,” David said gently. “You’re alive. He’s alive. That has to mean something. Why can’t he see that?”
“He does,” Joshua said softly. “But the PTSD and guilt have him blind. He’s lost in what was taken, not what survived.
Not yet. There are days he can’t even make it into the house.
I find him in your backyard, curled in on himself, like he’s trying to fight his way through a warzone. I have to talk him down.”
Nate reached for his hand. “It breaks my heart to see you two hurt like this.”
Joshua gave a small, sad smile, even as tears welled in his eyes. “He thinks his pain is the price he has to pay for keeping me alive… and for Sarah and Hannibal’s death. He thinks he deserves to suffer.”
Nate’s voice was thick. “Then what can we do, Josh? Please—how do we help him?”
Joshua held his gaze. “Do what I’m doing,” he said. “Just… keep loving him.”
Behind him, he heard David’s breathing falter. “You’re the one light he still believes in, Josh. I don’t think he can reach for it yet. But, god love him, he’s still trying to find his way back to it.”
Joshua let the tears fall freely now, his voice grating with emotion. “I just want him to come home.”
“I know,” David murmured. “And when he’s ready… he will.”
He sat in the dark, in the guest room at David’s house. The lamp was off. His phone glowed in his hand.
He opened the message thread with Joshua. Dozens of unread texts. Most short. All kind. Some just emojis.
He tapped to reply and typed:
I can’t sleep. I miss you. God, Josh, I hurt so much.
His thumb hovered over ‘Send’. He stared at the screen. Then erased it.
Instead, he just sent a heart emoji. No words.
He set the phone down like it weighed a hundred pounds and leaned his head against the windowpane, watching the shadows shift across the lawn.
Joshua stared at the message.
Just one heart emoji.
Wordless—but it said everything.
It held the weight of Colin’s guilt. The depth of his love. And the desperate hope that somehow, they would find their way back to each other.
Joshua sank into the nearest chair, buried his face in his hands, and wept.
For the ache of loneliness. For the life they’d lost. For the love that still held him together.
And for the flicker of a future he would never, ever stop believing in.
He swiped his arm across his face, then lifted his phone and typed his response.
Colin stared at the screen.
The heart he’d just sent glowed back at him—so small. So stupid. So inadequate.
He had almost deleted it. Had almost thrown the phone across the room.
But instead, he’d hit ‘Send’. And now it was out there. To him.
He set the phone down on the nightstand like it might detonate and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. His breath came shallow, uneven.
Why was this so hard? It was just a heart. Just a shape.
But to him, it was everything. The only way he could say what his own heart screamed with every beat:
I still love you.
I’m still here.
Please, Josh. God, please don’t give up on me.
Joshua’s ringtone sounded. The screen lit up.
I’m yours, my yedid. Always yours. Forever yours.
Colin stared at the words, and for a moment, he didn’t move.
Then he lowered the phone slowly, as if the weight of it had doubled in his hand.
He sat down—hard—on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the floor, phone still glowing in his hand.
He hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t realized how much he needed it.
Not reassurance. Not permission.
But to be someone’s forever. To be his forever.
His shoulders curled forward, arms wrapped tight around his middle like he was trying to keep something inside from breaking loose.
His breath hitched. And then the tears came—shaking sobs, soft and silent, tears sliding soundlessly to the floor.
He didn’t wipe them away.
Didn’t need to.
They weren’t embarrassing.
They were… release.