Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Over the few days, Dylan and I made the trip back and forth to the courthouse. Every day, like clockwork. We both testified, along with doctors, nurses, police officers. They even called in my apartment manager and to my surprise, Regan had character witnesses defend his behavior.
I actually had to excuse myself to get sick.
Every piece of evidence was brought forward and presented, every text message read aloud, and I couldn’t take it.
Panic swept over me. I couldn’t breathe.
Though to my relief, no one said a word—except for the judge calling for a recess.
Dylan swept me outside, through the halls, and out of the courthouse.
It wasn’t until I took a deep inhale of the fresh air that things began to pass.
I was told later that Regan made his disdain known, and his prissy lawyer was less than impressed with his behavior.
They showed the pictures from the hospital and as each one was presented, the corresponding part of my body began to ache. At some point, I closed my eyes, wishing I was anywhere else.
More specifically, one place in particular.
While I was assured that things were working in my favor, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
Every minute I had to spend in that room with Regan drained more and more life out of me.
I stopped sleeping, eating was scarce, and he was still allowed to go home every day.
I’d lost my job early on in the process, so I didn’t have work to keep me busy.
Everything was supposed to make me feel safe, but it only made me feel worse.
I didn’t feel like I deserved it. I just wanted Regan to leave me alone.
On the final day of the trial, the closing arguments were read, and the jury was dismissed to deliberate. Dylan and I were allowed to leave, but advised to stay close. We went to a nearby mall to eat and kill some time until a decision was made, or the day ended—whichever came first.
I operated in a haze. Details blurred together in my brain. André and I texted back and forth a bit, but it was sparse. Besides, I didn’t want to seem like the clingy type, even if that was exactly what I was.
Dylan parked me in a private corner of the food court, not too far from the sandwich place where he wanted to eat. I pulled out my phone and turned it on, smiling to see a new text from André. It was as if he knew.
Miss you baby.
I typed back a quick response before Dylan returned with two baskets in hand.
He sat one in front of me, and my stomach gave a brave attempt to rumble.
I picked around at the fries, only eating a select few I deemed worthy.
I pulled apart the sandwich and ate the meat and cheese in it, leaving the bread and vegetables behind.
It was then that I noticed Dylan watching me.
“You’re getting so skinny,” he said before I could open my mouth.
My lip quirked into a weak grin. “If Regan gets what he deserves, I’ll eat the biggest steak you can buy me.”
“Deal.” Like the classy person he is, he garbled his response through a mouthful of his meatball sub. I cringed as a glob of marinara sauce dropped from his mouth and landed on the table, somehow missing his shirt.
My phone rang, and I didn’t need to think too hard about who it could be. With a shaky hand, I brought it to my ear. It was Nicholas. “They’re ready.”
My stomach roiled—maybe those scraps of sandwich were a bad idea.
“Already?” Dylan asked. My heart thundered in my chest. “It’s barely been two hours.”
A half-hearted shrug. “I guess they had their minds made up.”
We raced back over to the courthouse, taking the millionth trip through those metal detectors and down the long hallway. I sat with my hands in my lap as everyone took their seats. My palms grew clammy. My leg bounced a mile a minute.
The lead juror was young, likely not much older than me. His hands shook as he picked up the card that had their decision on it.
After days in the courtroom, you could see the physical exhaustion on everyone's faces.
I was more than glad to be sitting down when the juror read that guilty verdict.
I could do nothing more than exhale a long breath, one that I felt like I’d been holding for weeks—months.
Whether it was from relief or exhaustion, I didn’t know.
A hand on my shoulder, then Dylan was talking in my ear. “We did it. We got him.”
On our way out, I didn’t look at anyone. Not Nicholas, not the judge, and definitely not Regan. I didn’t look back.
Regan was now a convicted felon. He was ordered to surrender his passport. He couldn’t leave the county, or the state. He would be under house arrest until the sentencing. If he stepped more than six feet from his house, he would be arrested.
The sentencing happened two weeks later. I didn’t have to be there, but I wanted to.
Five years. Regan could have gotten away with half that but in his true fashion, he couldn’t do anything the easy way. This time, he would pay for it. Assuming he could make it through his sentence without getting into trouble, he would be released in three, but that was unlikely.
Regardless, I’d be able to breathe for five years. The only surprise was that he wasn’t taken away immediately. He was given twenty-four hours to surrender himself.
I was the first one out of my seat, beelining down the hall and into the men’s room. I didn’t make it into a stall before I broke. Bracing myself on the sink, tears fell hot down my cheeks, but Dylan was right behind me, soothing me.
“Is it really over or is this just a dream?” I sobbed.
“It’s over,” he said with soft strokes over my back. “I promise you it’s over.”
It felt like forever before I could collect myself and I felt comfortable walking to the car.
I rested my head against the window and slept the entire drive home.
It was the first decent sleep I’d had in weeks.
I didn’t even remember pulling out of the parking lot.
Dylan hesitantly woke me from my nap once he’d parked.
“I’m sorry, I’d let you sleep here but you’d freeze to death.”
We were silent as we trudged up to our apartment. But as we approached, I panicked: there was a man standing in front of our door. I slowed my steps, but Dylan encouraged me to keep going.
“W-who is that?” I asked, frozen to my spot.
“I don’t know,” Dylan said. “He’s looking at his phone—he’s probably lost. You know how visitors get in this complex.”
Dylan got about six feet ahead of me before he realized I wasn’t moving. He looked between me and the man at the door.
“David, look at that hair, it’s not Regan.”
With his arm around my shoulders, Dylan guided me toward the door.
Panic cleared, and the image in front of me formed.
No, those dark curls definitely didn’t belong to Regan.
Damn, he was tall—I’d only ever met one person that I needed to crane my neck to see.
His body was hidden under a thick winter coat, an expensive winter coat.
Once we got within three feet of him and he raised his head to look at me, I combusted.
“Hey there, darlin’.”