27. Chapter 27
Chapter 27
Abby
T he courthouse is busy today. People wander the halls in every direction. I’m thankful that Trisha is letting us hide in her office for a while. We met with her a week ago, and then yesterday to prepare for today. All of the information is overwhelming. It’s too much for me to keep up with. We went over the questions she’s prepared to ask me, but the more daunting part is that there’s no way to prepare for the defendant’s questions. I just have to be honest. Sam opted for a bench trial instead of a jury. Trisha said that should help our case. Fewer people to convince he’s guilty, and a judge is far better at only looking at the evidence and not letting their bias get in the way. That helped ease my nerves, even if only a little.
I’d asked why he opted out of a jury trial. Trisha said he likely wanted fewer eyes on him, fewer people to know who he was and what he’d done. She did warn me that, based on everything she knows about Sam, this could be an acrimonious case, so I should prepare myself. I agree with her, but I’m not sure how much more I can prepare for this.
Even knowing we have a good chance at winning, knowing it’s mostly an open-shut case … I still can’t get over my nerves. It’s all collecting in my gut, and I’m trying really hard not to empty the contents of my stomach into the trash can next to her desk.
She left us here for a while to get our bearings. If everything starts on time, it shouldn’t be more than another thirty minutes. And that’s terrifying. I don’t want to go into that courtroom. I don’t want to have to tell a judge about everything I’ve been through. I don’t want to answer any questions I may not know the answers to. And I certainly don’t want to see Sam again.
But I don’t have a choice in the matter. Just like I didn’t have a choice while I was in a relationship with Sam. That’s what this feels like. Similar fear. Similar pain. Similar torture.
Even through all of this, I feel bad for Dallas, who can’t do anything but stand by and watch. He’ll be questioned today, too, but he’s mentioned more than once that he wishes he could do more. I keep telling him he’s done more than enough, more than I ever could have asked for.
But he’s stubborn.
Just like me, I suppose.
The thought causes a breathy laugh to leave my lungs, and Dallas gives me a weird look from his seat next to me. Hearing me laugh is certainly not on his list of occurrences he ever thought he’d see today. “I’m not saying you can’t laugh. In fact, I’d rather hear you laugh, but is everything okay?”
Just as he answered me last week, I say, “Yes and no.” He leans back in his chair and waits for me to continue. “Yes, because I was just thinking about how stubborn we both are. It made me laugh.” I look over at him to see a smirk playing on his lips. And then I take a deep breath and say, “And no, because of what’s about to happen.”
“Both are fair statements.” He turns his chair toward me, the legs scraping against the floor beneath us in an unpleasant screech. He cringes at the sound, adjusting the collar of his navy button-up. “Sorry.” I laugh at the face he makes, and he continues, his smile faltering a bit. “Just remember, you’re not going through this alone. You obviously have my mom and me, but Meredith, Rose, and Logan all took the day off to support you and already said they’d be in the gallery the whole time.”
I take a deep breath, forcing his words to stick in my head, forcing them into my lungs, into my bloodstream, and willing them to calm me from the inside out. “I know. It all just feels a bit surreal.”
“I hear you,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “Do you feel prepared?”
I look down at the papers in my hand, mostly just personal notes for myself. Trisha has everything else. “Nope, but I’m not sure there’s much more we can do. It’s a little late to do anything further.”
“True.” He looks like he’s been beaten down, maybe as much as I feel. It’s been a long few months. I feel like I’ve both just met Dallas and have known him for years. When you click with someone, I think that’s how it’s supposed to feel. All of it all at once, yet so slowly at the same time. It’s a weird sensation.
A knock sounds on the door and Trisha pokes her head in. She smiles and presses the door open all the way. Fuck. Has it been half an hour already? I’m not ready for this, not that I have a choice. That damn subpoena.
“They’re getting ready. We should head down. Sam is being kept in a side room. You won’t see him until we go in.”
I clench my jaw to keep a string of curses from leaving my mouth. Dallas reaches over, takes both of my hands in his, and squeezes. “You’ll be good. He can’t hurt you.”
“Physically maybe.”
Trisha folds her hands in front of her and takes a step back, a sympathetic smile on her face. Or pity, maybe. God, I’m so tired of the pity.
Dallas hangs his head. “I wish I had some magical word that could make whatever he says roll off your back, but I don’t. It’s all you. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“I don’t feel strong. All this pain, mentally and physically, makes me feel so weak like I might fall apart with even a simple hello from him.”
Dallas looks up and nods at his mom. I hear her shuffle behind me, and then the door closes, leaving us alone again. “Look at me.” He tips my chin up with a knuckle until our eyes meet. “Pain, be it physical or mental, isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength. It means you care about something so deeply that you’re willing to hurt for it. You cared about that relationship, at least for a little while. Don’t disregard that. It’s a part of you, even if you may not want it to be. And as cheesy as this may sound, it made you who you are. And now, you care about this relationship and getting yourself back to some sort of a new normal. That’s strength, Abby. Not weakness.”
A corner of my mouth ticks up involuntarily at his words and my eyes drop to my lap where Dallas still holds one of my hands. “I’ll try to remember that.” I take a deep breath and give him a short kiss before standing. He stands, too, and I smooth invisible wrinkles on his shirt.
He runs his hands up and down my arms and asks, “Ready?”
We make our way to the elevator and listen to the hum of the engine and gears bringing us down to the first floor. Trisha doesn’t say anything until we sit down on a bench outside the main doors of the courtroom. The black dress I’m wearing feels too constricting. It’s a halter top. Probably not my best choice when I’m trying to be comfortable, but I didn’t know when else I would wear this dress. It’s the one I had originally picked out for the awards ceremony until Dallas bought me the other one.
Dallas had said he’d take me out on a date that required a black-tie dress code so I had an opportunity to wear it, but why wouldn’t I wear the other one again? He certainly seemed to enjoy it. Or maybe it was simply the fact that I was in it.
“Okay, so here’s how things will go. We’ll make our way in, pass through the partition, and sit at the desk to the right just like last time. Family and friends will be in the gallery behind us. Sam isn’t in there yet, but he will be seated on the left.”
I nod once. It’s all I can do to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest and my feet from gluing themselves to the floor. Someone pops their head out of the double doors of the courtroom and lets Trisha know they’re ready for everyone. It sends my heart pounding even harder. I don’t know when it happened, but I’m standing now, clinging to Dallas’s hand like it's the only thing keeping me above water. He encourages me forward and I follow, as unwilling as my mind might be.
Trisha tugs one of the doors open and motions for Dallas and me to go in first. So, he does. And I do.
I keep my eyes on the floor just like the last time I was here, not wanting to pay attention to anything more than I have to. Dallas takes his seat in the front row of the gallery directly behind my chair as Trisha and I make our way through the partition and sit down behind the large wooden desk. I let myself look over at the desk where Sam will be sitting, almost like a preparatory glance, though I’m not sure it does anything and then turn away.
I turn around to where Dallas sits with Logan, Meredith, and Rose. My mouth drops open when I see who sits two rows behind them. Cameron and Will. Cameron smiles at me, and I almost let a whimper escape my chest as my eyes fill with tears. I hadn’t expected them to show up. After having dinner with them, Cameron and I have been texting more, still very minimally. Small updates on things. But she’s here, and so is Will. And I couldn’t ask for anything more from them right now. Dallas follows my eyes and realizes they’re here, too, before turning and shaking both their hands.
A thought crosses my mind that makes me check the rest of the seats for Mom, but she’s not there. I shouldn’t be upset. I haven’t talked to her since the day we had lunch at Landry’s when I finally told her about Sam. She’s called and texted, but I’ve guiltily ignored all her attempts at reaching out.
There’s some more shuffling of people at the front before the side door of the courtroom opens and Sam walks in, not in a jumpsuit and handcuffs, but freely and in a gray suit. Our eyes lock as he sits down, and I see the slightest grin on his face. I certainly hope he’s not still grinning by the end of this. I force myself to look forward until everyone is told to rise and the judge walks in. He sifts through some paperwork before proceeding.
“Good morning. You may be seated. This is the case of Cooper vs. Johnson.” Everyone sits, and the creaky benches and chairs echo through the small space. He starts through all the beginning proceedings just like he did last time, and I mostly tune it out, including the opening statements, until the questioning starts, and I have no choice but to listen.
The judge asks Sam and his attorney, Mr. Grant, to stand. Once he does, the judge asks, “Mr. Johnson, in the case of Cooper vs Johnson, with the charge of criminal domestic violence in the second degree, how do you plead?”
I swallow, waiting to hear his answer. Trisha had said this could go either way. A lot of times they’ll plead not guilty at the hearing and then guilty on the date of the actual case as a way to diminish the sentence because that can sometimes show the judge that they understand what they’ve done. But, as much as my body wants a longer sentence for him, I almost want him to plead guilty.
Sam meets the eyes of the judge and says, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
Well, so much for learning from his mistakes. But I suppose I’m not surprised. Sam will do anything to avoid facing the consequences of his actions. He returns to his seat, and the case continues even though I’m internally screaming at those four simple words.
Trisha introduces a few pieces of evidence like Sam’s text messages and calls from him stalking me, the pictures he gave me the day he sent me to the hospital, and a bat they found in his car. There was so much evidence that it looked more like a book being passed to the judge than anything else.
Trisha whispers in my ear right before I’m called to the stand and says, “Don’t look at him. Keep your eyes on me. Or Dallas. Whoever keeps you calmest.” I make my way to the stand, and the plaintiff swears me in before I sit down in front of the microphone. Why do we need a microphone? This room is small. Too small. And suddenly, I’m far too aware of how close I’m sitting to Sam now. And I make the mistake of looking up at him.
He's leaned back in his chair so casually that my blood instantly turns hot, boiling, like I need somewhere to dump it before it burns me. So, I force my eyes back to Dallas whose mouth is set in a flat line. But he smiles, even through what looks like frustration and anxiety.
Trisha stands from the desk and approaches me. “Ms. Cooper, can you start by telling me when you and Mr. Johnson started seeing each other?”
Okay. I can do this. I knew these questions were coming. Just answer the same way I did when we went over them in her office.
“We started dating at the end of my freshman year of college. We met in a shared class.”
I grip the wooden chair beneath me to ground myself as I answer all her questions. They’re all the same as what she prepared me for. She starts with what the relationship was like before, then slowly morphs her questions into what it was like before we broke up. The knot in my throat makes it difficult to answer, but I force the words past it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my sister wipe her eyes on her sleeve, and Will places an arm around her shoulders. I’m not sure why I didn’t expect this to hit the people I know so hard, but laying it out like this is almost just as shocking to my own ears. I’ve restated parts of the relationship with different people, but not all at once, and in front of a crowd no less.
It helps that Meredith, Rose, and Logan barely react to any of this, which is a sad thought, too. Dallas must have told Rose and Logan enough that the information isn’t shocking, and I’ve told Meredith enough that I know she isn’t surprised either.
I finish answering a question about how things used to be when we first moved in together and then she asks the one question that I’ve yet to fully remember.
“Ms. Cooper, can you tell me about the first incident of physical violence you remember between you and Mr. Johnson?”
Something in me snaps and the memory comes flooding back. It’s an effort to fight past tears. I blink them away and start to speak, the words flowing oddly quickly despite the horrid memory. I look at Trisha and then at Dallas, who holds my gaze. He’s a steady wave in this sea of unknown.
“It was a few days after I moved in. We’d finished getting some stuff from my mom’s house and as we were carrying things through the apartment, I accidentally knocked into one of his career awards, and it fell and broke. He started yelling and claimed that I’d broken it intentionally. When I denied it and tried to reason with him, he latched onto my wrist so hard that bruises showed up a few hours later.”
I don’t realize how quickly I’m breathing until Dallas motions for me to take a deep breath. I nod and do as he says, the air feeling far better than it did a few seconds ago.
“Thank you,” Trisha says. She checks her notes before approaching me again. We continue through a few more questions until we start getting into more recent instances. “Has Mr. Johnson ever cheated on you before?”
Sam’s attorney stands up. “Objection. Relevance?”
The judge doesn’t hesitate with his response. “I’ll allow it. Continue, please.”
Trisha nods to me to respond to her question.
“Yes. Twice.”
With my eyes still on Dallas, I notice something there. It’s a pained expression. There’s something deeper there, but I can’t tell what. And for the first time, he averts his eyes. It makes my stomach twist. Why won’t he look at me?
Trisha continues her questioning, running through some of the evidence with me, until she finishes with her final question. “Ms. Cooper, what were the last words Mr. Johnson said to you before he was hauled out of Landry’s last week?”
Not this. I forgot she added this question. I haven’t even told Dallas.
Dallas straightens up, like he knows the answer could be bad, but before I can answer, Sam’s attorney says, rather annoyed, “Objection. Relevance? This was after the incident in question. It has nothing to do with the case at hand.”
The judge takes a few seconds to think before saying, “Sustained. Keep your questions to the date of the event, please.”
What? Are you kidding me? How does this not have anything to do with it? It has everything to do with it.
The judge adds, “Make note that Mr. Johnson’s order violations are being taken into account for the final verdict and sentencing.”
Fine. That I can accept.
Trisha pauses for only a few seconds to check her paperwork. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.” She moves back to her seat, and I almost do the same until I remember that Sam’s attorney gets to question me, too. This is something I couldn’t prepare for, and I can feel it heavy in my chest.
His attorney stands, hands braced on the desk in front of him, but he doesn’t move from behind it. “Ms. Cooper, I would like to bring your attention to evidence number four, the bat. Did Mr. Johnson ever use the bat on you that day?”
I take a short, deep breath. “No.”
“Did you ever see the bat on the date in question?”
Another one. “No.”
“Thank you for confirming.” Now he moves out from behind the desk. “How many times have you called the police on Mr. Johnson before the incident?”
Fuck, I don’t know. “Um, maybe four or five?”
“And did anything ever come of those calls?”
I swallow hard as I realize where this is headed. “Well, no. They didn’t believe anything bad enough had happened to warrant a charge.”
“And don’t you think that’s because they are the police and know what they’re talking about? They do this for a living, you know.”
My mouth drops open at this, but Trisha stands from her chair and says, “Objection. Leading and asked and answered.”
“Sustained. Remove the question from the record.”
I catch Mr. Grant smiling a little before he turns around. “Ms. Cooper, do you have any residual physical effects from the attack?”
“No.”
“Thank you. No further questions.” He returns to his seat like that was a drop-the-mic moment, and all I can do is sit here, pretending like I’m not breaking all over again. I won’t give Sam the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart again.
Trisha stands again and slowly wanders toward me as she addresses the judge and the gallery. “I want to bring attention to the fact that there was a total of seven calls to the Oxly Police Department all within a year of each other from Ms. Cooper. Five out of the seven involved physical harm from Mr. Johnson. Each time, she was not provided with the help she should have received.” She pauses and turns to me. “Ms. Cooper. I have one more question. Were you in fear for your life on the date in question?”
I nod vigorously, but remember I need to actually speak for the record. “Yes.”