Chapter 21 The Deep End and the Doorway
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE DEEP END AND THE DOORWAY
The file in front of him read like a bad sitcom script.
“Suspect removed a Bluetooth speaker from its packaging and shoved it into her tote bag while loudly arguing with her boyfriend on speakerphone.”
Colin leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He could almost hear the tinny echo of the boyfriend’s voice across the Walmart electronics aisle. A Bluetooth speaker and a shoplifting rap. Misdemeanor, second offense. Small case. Big mess. Like most of them lately.
He closed the folder with a sigh and stared out the window. Across the office, voices buzzed—phones ringing, heels clicking on tile, papers shuffling with purpose. It was the same chaos he’d once thrived in, but now it just felt… shallow. Distant.
He’d learned a hell of a lot from these kinds of cases.
Quick objections. Cross-exams that turned on a dime.
Juries won over with ten-minute openings.
Misdemeanor court had been a proving ground, and he’d fought his way through hundreds of cases—each one sharpening his instincts, his timing, his voice.
It taught him how to read people, how to pivot when things fell apart, how to win on the fly.
It made him fast. It made him dangerous.
But it didn’t make him feel whole anymore.
He was still serving justice—he knew that. But the pride he used to feel after a hard-won felony conviction didn’t come. Not with these cases. Not today. And he couldn’t help but wonder what that said about him… or about what he needed now to feel that same sense of fulfillment.
He flipped open the next folder. Public intoxication. The accused had tried to pee on a statue downtown and mumbled to the arresting officers that he was “marking his territory.”
Colin snorted out a soft laugh despite himself. “I’ve wanted to do the same thing myself a time or two.”
The knock on his door was light but firm, and Norm stuck his head in. “You look like a man dying of intellectual malnutrition.”
Colin smirked. “I’m thinking about sitting in with the campus cops and busting a few frat boys just to break the monotony.”
Norm stepped inside and closed the door. “We’ve been easing you back in. Letting you catch your breath.”
“I appreciate it. And I know it’s the right call. But honestly, Norm?” He gestured toward the stack of misdemeanor files. “These cases don’t need me. Not really.”
Colin let out a slow breath. “They matter—I know that. They deserve time and care. But, Norm…” He looked up, brow raised.
“This is work one of our interns could handle without breaking a sweat. I’m not learning.
I’m not challenged. And I’m starting to feel like I’m going soft around the edges.
” He tapped the folder once, then leaned back in his chair.
“I need more than this. Something with weight. Something that stretches me, makes me grow as an attorney!”
Norm dropped a manila folder onto the desk, the weight of it landing with a quiet thump. “Then let’s test your mettle a little.”
Colin raised an eyebrow and opened the file. Two felony assault charges. Both nasty. Both winnable. His pulse quickened.
Norm sank into the chair across from him, one brow arched as he watched Colin’s eyes light up. “God, I’ve missed that look.”
Colin didn’t answer. He was already reading, but more… he was savoring. The folder still smelled faintly of printer toner and recycled air, but to Colin, it might as well have been adrenaline in paper form. Two felony assault cases. Unrelated but equally ugly.
The first was a bar brawl gone surgical—one man with a beer bottle, another with a shattered jaw and a fractured orbital socket. Witness statements conflicted, body cam footage was grainy, but there were angles. Threads to pull. A narrative to build.
The second involved a woman who’d stabbed her boyfriend in the shoulder with a kitchen knife. Domestic dispute, but she’d called 911 herself. Said she was defending her child. He claimed she snapped over a text message.
He looked up to see that Norm had tiptoed out of his office without a word.
His eyes moved faster now, flipping through police reports, photos, preliminary interviews. His pen scratched quick notes in the margins—questions, tactics, possibilities. Muscle memory took over, and the buzz hit him low in the gut. Not panic. Not dread.
Focus.
This—this was where he lived. In the layered mess of human failure and motive. In the puzzle of seeking truth and the heat of courtroom performance. His hands stilled over a page, then tapped out a pattern on the file like a drummer finding his rhythm again.
He hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed this. Not the trauma. Not the pain. But the clarity. The sense of purpose that drove him.
A slow grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, and let himself feel it without apology.
Eager. Alive.
He reached for a legal pad and began to outline questions for the detectives. Then paused. He pulled out his phone and sent Joshua a text:
Two felonies dropped on my desk. Real ones. Might be a bit late tonight. I’m grinning like a lunatic.
Joshua’s reply came almost instantly:
You’re grinning? Lord god, we’re all in deep shit. Babe… not too late… please?
Colin laughed. A real one this time and texted back:
Never fear. I’ll be home for supper.
He turned back to his desk. Let the games begin.
Colin was still riding the high when he strode back into the office—tie loosened, file in hand, grin refusing to die. The arraignment had gone exactly as planned. The defense had postured; he’d parried. The judge hadn’t even bothered to conceal her smirk when she ruled in his favor.
He passed Esther’s office on the way to his own and gave the doorframe a casual knock. “Guess who just tap-danced through a probable cause hearing?”
She didn’t look up from her keyboard. “If you say Gregory from Juvenile, I’ll be impressed.”
Colin chuckled and stepped inside. “Me. Two for two. I could’ve kissed Judge Bontiville.”
“Let’s save that for closing arguments,” she said dryly, finally meeting his eyes. “You may need it.” She looked him up and down. “You look wired.”
“I feel wired. I feel…” He paused, searching for the word. “Like I belong again.”
Esther leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “Good. Just don’t confuse the fire with the furnace.”
Colin blinked. “Meaning?”
She gestured to a chair, and Colin sat.
“Meaning you’re a man, not a machine. I’ll keep feeding you raw meat if that’s what you need—but I expect you to chew it, not choke on it. You’re still healing, Colin. Your injuries may not be apparent on the surface, but they’re there.”
He tilted his head, the grin dimming just slightly.
“Balance!” she demanded, then leaned toward him, pointing a finger. “Do you hear me, Counselor?”
“I’ve worked here long enough to recognize an order when I hear it.”
“Good! Prosecute the hell out of your felonies—but if I see you in this office at midnight running on rage and Red Bull, I’ll bench you myself, and I won’t bother saying why.”
He didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Not with her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Esther nodded, satisfied. “Now get out of here before I hug you and ruin both our reputations.”
At the dinner table that night, he reported his victories to Joshua. His voice was still edgy with excitement but just slightly less so, and at the end of his last sentence, he frowned down at the new dining room table and fell silent.
“Colin? What is it? God, you know how proud I am of you, how happy I am for you… but something’s… off. I can feel it. See it.”
Colin nodded, lips pressed together. “After court, Esther talked to me about”––his eyes met Joshua’s––“about balance. About not—not going overboard.”
“About not becoming an adrenaline junkie?”
Colin’s eyes snapped to his. “She didn’t call it that, but…” He released a breath.
“Because we’ve been through this before.
Law school had that same… allure. The thrill of victory.
So does prosecuting high-profile cases.” He laid a hand on Colin’s arm.
“You’re a highly motivated competitor with a very low tolerance for boredom.
You’re wired to win, Colin. It’s fuel for you—but it can also be a drug. A dangerous one.”
“Esther said she’d bench me if she saw me living in the fire.”
Joshua didn’t say anything for a beat. His thumb moved in an aimless pattern over Colin’s wrist, skin warm against skin. “She’s not wrong,” he said quietly.
“I know,” Colin admitted. “But that courtroom––it felt like oxygen again. Like I’d been breathing underwater and didn’t know it.”
Joshua nodded, gaze soft but steady. “I want you to have that. God, Colin, I love watching you come back to life. But I need you to know something.”
Colin looked at him.
“You don’t have to earn your worth by winning.
Not with me. Not with anyone. Not ever. Just sitting here.
Just being… Colin Campbell. Not winning a case, not being brilliant, not catching bad guys, not needing to prove a thing.
Just you. Just sitting here breathing.” He gestured toward the window and the night sky beyond.
“You’re worth more than every star that ever burned. ”
He drew in a breath—one that shuddered in his chest—and Colin bit his lip, sensing the fear behind it.
“I told you—and I mean it: the only thing I want is for you to be happy and at peace. Whatever leads you there… I’m for it.” He leaned closer, hand firm on Colin’s wrist. “But whatever threatens that… I’ll fight, Colin. With everything that I am. Everything I’ve got. Fight it to the death.”
He hesitated, thumb still moving, but slower now. “Because we’ve seen the pattern. You start out fed by the fire—and then, somewhere along the way, you start being consumed by it.”
The words struck low and true, and Colin’s eyes dropped again to the table. He traced the grain with his finger. “I know.”