CHAPTER 21 JORGE—NOT MUCH WARNING
The visit comes without warning, same as everything else that's about to happen today.
"Delgado. Attorney visit."
Jorge doesn't have one scheduled. Goes anyway, cuffed and walked down to a room he's sat in maybe four times total since he got picked up, and finds his public defender already seated, folder open, something in her face that doesn't match her usual tired neutrality.
"What's going on?"
"Sit down, Jorge."
He sits. Doesn't like how she says his first name instead of his last.
"The kid you assaulted," she says, no preamble, "isn't cooperating with the prosecution anymore."
Jorge's stomach does something complicated. "What's that mean?"
"Means he's not showing up to testify. Means he's told the DA's office, through his own attorney, that he doesn't want to pursue this further.
" She flips a page, doesn't quite meet his eyes.
"Could mean a lot of things. Family pressure, a payoff nobody's saying out loud, genuine change of heart.
Doesn't matter which. Without a cooperating victim and weak physical evidence tying it directly to intent, the DA's case gets thin fast."
"So what happens next?"
"So the DA's likely dropping it. Could take a few days to finalize, could happen today. I've seen it go both ways." She closes the folder. "I need you to understand this isn't a sure thing until it's a sure thing. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't optimistic."
Jorge sits with that a long moment, something loosening and tightening in his chest at the same time, relief and disbelief tangled together too tight to separate.
"If it drops," he says slowly, "what's that mean for the timeline? When would I—"
"Could be today. Could be tomorrow. These things move fast once the DA decides they're moving." She stands, gathers her folder. "I wanted you to hear it from me before it just happens to you. Figured you'd want the warning."
"Appreciate it."
"Don't celebrate yet. But don't stop hoping either."
She's gone within the minute, and Jorge's walked back to his cell with his head somewhere five feet in front of his body, replaying every word, trying to find the trap in it and not quite finding one.
Shawn reads it off his face the second he's back inside the bars.
"What happened?"
"Might be getting out." Jorge says it like it's somebody else's sentence, testing the shape of it out loud. "Kid's not testifying. DA might drop it."
Shawn's face does something complicated, happiness and something else warring for space. "Jorge, that's—that's good. That's really good."
"Yeah."
"You don't sound like it's good."
"Don't know how it's supposed to sound." Jorge sits heavy on the bunk, hands hanging between his knees. "Been building my whole head around six more weeks in here. Now maybe it's none. Maybe it's today."
Shawn doesn't say anything for a second, and Jorge can see him doing the math too, same math Jorge's been avoiding since the words left his lawyer's mouth. If Jorge goes, he goes. No countdown, no goodbye scheduled around either of their convenience.
"When would they actually—"
"Don't know. Could be tonight. Could be tomorrow." Jorge looks at him, something raw moving across his face. "Could be before we're ready for it."
"Nothing about this was ever gonna make either of us ready."
They don't say much else for the rest of the day. Sit close, don't touch much, both of them too aware of what the clock might be doing that neither can see.
It happens at count, two days later, no ceremony to it at all.
"Delgado. Pack it up."
Jorge's on his feet before his brain fully processes the words, heart slamming, eyes going straight to Shawn on the top bunk, already sitting up, already understanding exactly what those four words mean.
"Now?" Jorge asks the guard, voice cracking on it.
"Now. DA dropped it this morning. Paperwork's ready. Let's go."
"I need a minute—"
"You get what you get. Let's go, Delgado."
Jorge grabs what little he owns, hands not quite steady, eyes locked on Shawn the whole time like looking away might make this less real or somehow worse.
"Shawn—"
"Go." Shawn's voice comes out rough, forced steady. "Go, before they change their mind."
"I'm not just gonna walk out without—"
"Delgado. Now."
The guard's hand closes on his arm, and Jorge's moving before he's decided to, dragged toward the door with a hundred things he needs to say still sitting unsaid in his throat.
"The shop," Jorge manages, turning back at the last possible second. "I'll be there. When you're out. I'll be there."
"I know."
"Shawn—"
"Go, Jorge."
The door shuts between them before Jorge can say anything else, the sound of it final in a way every other door in this place has never quite managed to be.
Jorge stands in the hallway a second too long, staring at a door that isn't opening again, and doesn't move until the guard says his name a second time, sharper.
He walks out of county three hours later with a bag of his own belongings and a hole in his chest the exact size and shape of a cell he's never going to see again.