Chapter 23 The Start of Something Real
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE START OF SOMETHING REAL
Colin stood just outside the door, one hand resting on the knob.
The placard beside it read:
Criminal Procedure – Professor C. Campbell-Abrams.
He exhaled slowly. Steady. Focused.
This wasn’t court. It wasn’t home. But it mattered—more than he had ever expected.
He stepped inside. The classroom was already half full. Conversations stopped. Heads turned.
And then came the whispers. Hushed, fast, unmistakable.
That’s him! The prosecutor!
He’s the campus cop who got shot—remember that?
Did you know he’s married to that trauma psychologist at the Rainier Clinic?
The cute Jewish one who lectures here on forensic law?
Yeah!
He felt the shift in air pressure—recognition settling over the room like a weighted blanket. Some of them knew exactly who he was. Maybe all of them.
He crossed to the podium, moving through the hush with practiced ease. Years in a courtroom had taught him how to read a crowd. This wasn’t fear. It wasn’t resistance. It was a mix of expectation and a tiny bit of awe.
Then he saw the box. Wrapped in plain brown paper. No bow. No card. Just a sticky note in Joshua’s handwriting: You already survived the hard part. Now, light them up!
Colin stared at it for a beat too long.
His hand brushed the corner of the note, lips quirking into a quiet, private smile.
He didn’t open it. Not yet. He slipped the note into his folder, adjusted the box slightly out of the way, and then looked out at the sea of faces—some curious, some terrified, one already Googling his name.
He rested both hands on the podium. His voice, when it came, was calm. Confident.
“Good morning. I’m Professor Colin Campbell-Abrams. Welcome to Criminal Procedure.”
And the legend continued.
Colin’s office was barely bigger than a broom closet, but it had a desk, a chair, and a door that closed, which made it perfect. He stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and set the small brown box on the desk, handling it gently as though it were fragile. He sat down slowly.
The office smelled like old books and old wood.
From his chair, he could hear the sounds of the university all around him—the low hum of voices and the occasional shout of students.
Through the small window, he could see the green of the commons and spruce trees that had probably been there for two hundred years.
He stared at the box for a moment longer. Then, he peeled back the tape.
Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a framed photograph.
A candid shot of the two of them sitting on Aunt Aileen’s porch swing—Colin in a faded T-shirt, leaning back, Joshua barefoot, both of them laughing at something long since forgotten.
The Irish countryside stretched behind them, soft green and gold.
The note was tucked behind the photo. Colin unfolded it carefully.
You look happiest here. So do I.
Ireland’s still there, you know. Waiting for us. And we’ll be there one day soon.
But today… this classroom is where you shine. I love you. Go be brilliant.
—J.
Colin exhaled with a shaky smile. He set the photo on the desk, then leaned back in the chair, staring at it like it might speak.
“We will be there again soon. I promise.”
Before leaving, he opened the folder where he kept his lecture notes. Tomorrow’s topic was “Miranda and the myth of the voluntary confession.” He smiled to himself. He had stories for that one.
He had texted Joshua moments after class ended, calm pride in every word.
Now, he navigated the corridors of Slaughter Hall, striding down the long passage connecting it to Clay Hall and the main exit. For a moment, he stopped and looked around him, taking it in—this place that had once been his crucible.
He saw himself as he was, years ago, dashing from room to room, bent over under the weight of an overstuffed backpack, praying his study group would finish in time for him to get home and have dinner with Joshua.
I was in such a rush then.
Always afraid there wouldn’t be enough hours in the day to do everything I needed to do in order to succeed, be in the top percentage, score above the curve.
He huffed out a soft, self-deprecating laugh.
Now? All I care about is that he’s happy.
And I’ve finally figured it out: I don’t have to do anything to make that happen except be there and love him.
And, man—that’s the easiest job on earth.
He opened the door to the crisp Virginia afternoon, the sun low in the sky and casting long shadows across the campus green. The breeze smelled faintly of cut grass and coffee.
He strolled to his car and drove home with the windows down, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, easy and unhurried. For once, there was no rush. No case to prep. No ghost to chase.
When he pulled into the driveway, the house—their house—looked almost exactly as it had before the fire.
But not quite. Everything was bigger. The porch had been rebuilt, and the siding was new.
But Joshua’s wind chimes, bought in Killarney, still hung beside the door, their music soft and familiar.
He stepped inside.
Joshua was in the kitchen, still wearing his dress slacks and white shirt from work, sleeves rolled up, shoes tossed casually to the corner. He was stirring something that smelled like heaven.
He looked up, eyes lighting when he saw Colin. “Hey, Professor.”
Colin dropped his bag by the door. “Hey, husband.”
Joshua crossed the space and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in without hesitation, without words. Just breath and heartbeat and home. They stood like that for a long moment, the kind you don’t measure in seconds.
“I love the photo,” Colin murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Joshua smiled, his voice soft. “It’s waiting for us. Whenever we need it.”
Colin kissed his temple. “Not tonight.”
“No?”
“No. Tonight, I’m right where I want to be. I’m right where I need to be.”
“Weird being back at Slaughter Hall?”
“Familiar. Like I never left.”
“You think you’ll take on a student mentee this semester?” Joshua asked.
Colin shrugged. “If they ask.” He paused. “I wouldn’t mind it. I had people who helped me along the way. Feels right to pass it on.” He drew Joshua closer, inhaling deeply, face buried against his neck. “How long ’til we can retire?”
“You bored already?” Joshua leaned back and ruffled Colin’s hair—but his eyes had narrowed, a sure sign of worry.
“Nope, darling boy. Not even a little. It’d be hard to be bored standing at that podium. I remember myself sitting where they sit now. How much I wanted that knowledge. How hungry I was just to… learn. To take it all in. All of it.”
He nuzzled Joshua’s cheek. “But… the thought of us, retired in Ireland…” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s the pot of gold.” He wandered to the dining room.
Joshua turned back to the stove, calling over his shoulder, “Alex stopped by after his therapy session today, so I invited him over on Saturday. Thought we might have a ‘movie night’ if Trent, Jeff, and Sophie are up for it.”
“That sounds like heaven, my love. Let’s ask David and Nate too. Make a big shebang out of it!”
“I’ll set it up.”
Colin stared down at the dining room table.
Two plates. Cloth napkins folded with care.
A single candle, unlit, stood in a ceramic holder shaped like a tree trunk—one of David’s housewarming gifts if he remembered right.
He picked up the matchbox and struck a match, letting the small flame glow for a moment before lighting the wick.
Joshua brought over two steaming bowls and set them down, then returned to the counter for bread, butter, and a bottle of wine.
Colin arched an eyebrow. “Wine on a Tuesday?”
Joshua shrugged, pouring each of them a modest glass. “You survived your first class. I survived a new patient. We deserve it.”
They clinked glasses and dug in, the food warm and simple and familiar. Garlic, yes—but also rosemary, lemon, and something sweet he couldn’t quite place. Nutmeg, maybe? Didn’t matter. Joshua could throw spices into a pan blindfolded and make it taste like a five-star meal.
They ate slowly, unhurried. Occasionally, one of them would speak—something about Colin’s students, or which movie to watch on Saturday, or the new, fancy mailbox David had installed over the weekend—but for the most part, they sat in companionable silence, letting the day fall away in quiet layers.
After dinner, Colin filled the dishwasher while Joshua put on soft music—something low and jazzy, background warmth. Colin dried his hands, came around behind Joshua, and wrapped both arms around him. Joshua leaned back into him without a word.
They stood like that for a while, swaying. Eventually, they made their way to the couch. Colin stretched out, his head in Joshua’s lap. Joshua carded his fingers through Colin’s hair, slow and steady.
Colin let his eyes drift shut.
“You OK?” Joshua asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Mm.” A pause. “Tired. In a good way.”
Joshua smiled down at him, then leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You did good today, love.”
Colin cracked one eye open. “I liked it more than I thought I would. Teaching.”
“I figured you would.”
“I kept waiting for someone to stand up and say, ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’” He snorted softly. “Imposter syndrome is a bitch.”
“My darling, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
Colin reached up, found his hand, and laced their fingers together. “We made it, huh?”
“We did. And believe me, we’re just getting started.”
Outside, the wind picked up, setting the porch chimes singing. Inside, the house was warm and still.
Colin let out a long breath, eyes closing again. “Tomorrow, I grade papers.”
Joshua squeezed his hand. “But tonight, you’re here with me.”
Colin pressed Joshua’s hand to his lips, and his eyes drifted shut. “Perfect.”
The End