Chapter 15 #2
“Hands behind your back,” the officer repeated, voice sharp.
Earl looked from the officer to Colin, then to the others—searching for an angle that wasn’t there.
“This is bullshit,” he muttered—but his hands moved.
The click of the cuffs was sharp in the narrow hallway.
“You’re under arrest for violation of a protective order,” the officer said. “You’ll have a chance to explain everything downtown.”
Earl twisted slightly. “She’s my kid—”
“Not right now, she isn’t,” the officer cut in, turning Earl toward the exit. “Let’s go.”
The other officer turned to Colin. “We were alerted to this situation by Ms. Hendricks, the librarian. I’d like to get a statement from her, and also from the mom.”
Colin opened the door and beckoned to Patricia, who moved to join them. After speaking with the officer, Patricia signaled to Maren, who nodded and bent to speak to Hannah. “If you’ll come with me,” Patricia said to the officer, “we can use my office to give our statements.”
Colin stood still for a moment after they were gone, the adrenaline still humming under his skin—quiet now, but not gone.
The click of the door echoed louder than it should have.
Hannah flinched.
Joshua was already crouching in front of her, one hand steady at her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
Her eyes lifted—wide, wet, torn in two directions.
“He’s not hurt,” Joshua said gently. “Colin stopped him from grabbing you. That’s all.”
Hannah swallowed hard. “Is he… in trouble?”
Maren stepped in close, her hand firm and warm against Hannah’s back.
“He made a choice he shouldn’t have made,” Maren said, her voice steady but not unkind. “The police are talking to him about it now.”
Hannah’s face crumpled slightly. “I didn’t want—”
“I know,” Maren said immediately, kneeling beside her. “I know, sweetheart.”
Joshua kept his voice low. “You can love someone and still be scared of them,” he said quietly. “Both can be true.” He nodded toward the hallway. “No one is going to hurt your father. I promise.”
Hannah’s breath hitched.
Maren drew her gently in, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You stay with Josh for a few minutes while Patricia and I talk to the policemen.”
Hannah nodded, small and fragile, her fingers still clutching the journal.
Joshua remained at Hannah’s side, giving the room time to find its footing again. He didn’t rush to fill the silence. Then, finally, he turned and moved to the center of the room.
“What just happened,” he said calmly, “was not part of our plan.”
A few kids laughed nervously. Someone nodded too fast.
“But it was real,” Joshua continued. “It makes sense if your body feels different right now. Shaky. Tight. Angry. Confused. Even scared.” He paused, letting the words land. “All of that is allowed. Expected even. But I want to assure you that we are all safe.”
He looked around the room—not scanning for danger now, but for faces.
Patricia reentered the room and lifted her eyes to the group. “Just so you know,” she said quietly, “the police are here. They’re taking care of it. Maren and I are going to speak with them for a minute or two.”
Joshua nodded. “Thanks, Patricia.” He turned back to the youngsters. “Understand this: no one is in trouble for how you’re feeling right now. And no one has to talk about what just happened. We’re not going to make this a story anyone has to tell.”
The room seemed to breathe out a collective sigh of relief.
“What we are going to do,” Joshua said gently, “is take care of each other for the rest of today.”
He gestured toward the chairs. “If you want to stay, please reform our circle and take your seats. If you need to step out, that’s okay too.”
Slowly, the teens began to move. Chairs were pulled back into place one by one, the loose cluster easing into the familiar circle. No one rushed. Some sat immediately; others waited a moment longer before taking their seats.
Joshua nodded once. “OK.”
He glanced toward Nate. “We’re going to let Nate take the lead for a few minutes,” Joshua said. “You can listen. You can write. You can just be here. Or if any of you feel the need to talk, you can grab me, or any of the other adults in the room. We’re all here for you.”
Nate didn’t stand. He angled himself into the circle, positioning his chair close to Hannah’s.
“I had something planned for today,” he said easily. “But at times like this, plans are allowed to change.”
A couple of kids smiled.
“So instead,” he continued, “I’m going to offer you three options. You don’t have to tell anyone which one you choose.”
He held up a finger. “You can write about what just happened—not the details, but how it landed in your body. How it felt.”
A second finger. “You can write about a time when things got scary for you.”
A third. “Or you can write about anything that has nothing to do with today. Something steady. Something safe.”
Pens moved again.
Slower this time. But steadier.
Hannah stared at her journal, her fingers trembling.
Nate held a glitter pen toward her, offering it gently, the way one approaches a shy, frightened animal.
“It’s purple,” he murmured, as if it were a secret gift, meant only for her.
Hannah’s gaze flicked to it.
Purple.
Her hand hovered… then reached out and took it.
A tiny motion.
But it felt like a door opening.
She turned to her journal.
The page was blank—and to her eyes, the blankness looked like a cliff.
Her breath shuddered.
Nate gave her a quiet nod, then looked down at his own page as if writing were an ordinary, safe thing.
Joshua saw Hannah lower the purple pen.
She wrote one small sentence—not loud enough to be brave, not big enough to be a speech. Just the truth.
I am here.
She stared at it for a long moment, then added another: I am still here. And I am safe.
Her throat tightened. Her eyes burned. Her shoulders dropped an inch.
Then, hand trembling, she began to draw.
Slowly, a shape emerged—a bird, outlined in hesitant, clumsy strokes, but its wings spread wide as it climbed into the clouds.
When she finished, she held the page up for Nate to see, her hand steady.
He read the words. His eyes lingered on each one, then traced the bird’s small, brave wings.
For a long moment, he couldn’t speak; his eyes slowly filled.
Then—unable to trust his voice—he reached across and covered her hand with his, then squeezed: steady, warm, unmistakably proud.
When his voice finally emerged, it was soft and ragged.
“I’m so proud of you, Hannah. So proud.”
As the group wrote and drew in their journals, Joshua took a seat near the wall, close enough to be present without hovering. He watched shoulders ease. Watched breathing normalize. Watched one kid tear a page out and fold it into quarters instead of writing—and let it be enough.
David reentered the room and shifted closer to Nate, quiet as a shadow. Trent followed behind him and stood near the door.
Colin remained in the hallway waiting until the police officers finished their investigation, but turned to the doorway and looked in.
Joshua caught his eye, and his brows arched—not a question, just a check-in.
Colin gave him a reassuring smile and a nod.
Inside, Nate was reading quietly now, a passage from his own notebook—not about fear, not about anger. About a river that didn’t care who watched it, that kept moving whether anyone noticed or not.
The room listened.
The day had ended the way most of them expected.
But it hadn’t ended in harm.
And that mattered. To everyone.
Several minutes later, one of the officers returned with Maren and Patricia at his side, and Colin stepped forward to speak to him.
“We’ve taken statements from Patricia and Maren. Earl’s in custody. We’ll file the violation and forward it to the court.”
Colin inclined his head. “Thank you.”
“He’ll be processed and likely released,” the officer continued. “If he comes back or contacts her again, you don’t engage. You call us. We’ll be on alert.”
Colin gave a slow nod. “We’ll call. But if anyone here is in immediate danger, I’m not standing by.”
The officer held his gaze a beat, then nodded once. “Fair enough. You were a big help today.”
Colin nodded, but the truth lingered beneath it—how quickly his body had already been preparing for something worse. How close restraint had come to slipping.
He drew in a slow breath. “Thanks. I was a cop for a decade. I get how important it is to keep the situation under control.”
When the officer turned to go, Patricia waited a step behind them, hands clasped tightly around her clipboard. Colin waited until they were out of earshot, then turned to her.
“I doubt he’ll be back tonight,” Colin said quietly. “And you handled everything perfectly.”
Patricia let out a breath she’d clearly been holding for too long. “I hate that it happened at all.”
“So do I,” Colin said. “But we had a plan in place, and it worked. That matters.”
Her mouth trembled, just slightly. “Thank you for being here.”
Colin gave a small, steady smile. “Of course.”
Inside, the remainder of the session wound down naturally. No formal ending. Just a gradual easing—journals closing, chairs shifting, soft good-byes offered without urgency.
A few kids stopped on the way out to speak quietly with Joshua or Patricia. Nothing dramatic. Just brief confessions, a nod of understanding, a promise to keep coming back to the group. By the time the last kid left, the space felt quiet again—not untouched, but intact.
Colin moved to Maren’s side as she gathered Hannah’s things.
“Before you go,” he said quietly, “are you both safe for tonight?”
Maren met his gaze without hesitation. “Yes,” she said. “We’re staying with my sister. He won’t come there.”
Colin nodded once. “Good.”
He glanced briefly at Hannah. “If anything changes—even if it just feels off—you reach out. The order holds, and there’s a record of today.”
Hannah gazed up at him, pain still lingering in her eyes.