Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Twenty-Six Colt

A sharp rap on my door has me answering draped in a towel, toothbrush jabbed into my check. Sharron stands on the other side, clothing sleeve slung across her shoulder.

She gives me a once-over. "God, I wish you swung for my team."

I ignore it. "Come in."

She does, relinquishing the bag. Burberry suit, tie, and shirt greet me, pressed and exquisitely tailored. Even years in prison ain't made me blind to that.

"How did you get this?" I inquire, knowing it's Dad's.

An arched brow. "Do you really want to know?"

Nope.

I hang the suit, finish brushing my teeth. Sharron reminds me on our strategy as I move around the apartment. I towel off and dress in front of her, heedless of any decency. If she wants to look away, she will.

"You ready for this?" She presses.

I tie a double-Windsor knot. "Of course not."

I don't know why she keeps asking. Nobody's ever prepared for a murder trial. Alex has been through it once. I can't imagine his headspace doing it again.

Sharron shares the mirror as I gel my hair, fussing over her lip liner. I scowl, hating how well my father's suit drapes, how much I look like him. I'm right back where I started, a boy standing in Daddy's long shadow.

I haven't seen the kid in the reflection for years. The cocky smirk and laughing eyes are gone. Now his nose is crooked, traumatic alopecia shows even clean-shaven, brow split, eyes dim.

They only shine for a dimpled, green-eyed boy.

We drive together to the courthouse Predictably, Finch meets us in the lot. Her smile is tight as she takes me in.

"Colt."

"Finch." I return.

My sister pushes her glasses up her nose, leering at Sharron. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Sharron purrs. "Oh honey. Watch a queen work."

A mob of reporters flock toward us as we approach the courthouse, asking for statements. I place my hand on the small of the ladies' backs. Both take my elbow. Together, we push through inquires and demands.

"Ms. Obioken, how will you present the prosecution?"

"Ms. Cross, how are you handling the news of the prodigal son returned?"

"Ms. Obioken, thoughts on your first murder trial?"

I wear the ambivalent façade that was my second skin at Lebanon. No comment. No fear. I'm here for a bigger cause.

He's pacing in the defense chamber, an absolute mess. His collar is undone and kerfuffled, tie thrown haphazardly on the oak table. He's got his fist over the gold cross, muttering in Spanish, shaking his head.

"Mr. Rios," Finch greets in an overly saccharine tone. "Finch Cross. Pleasure. I'll be working as Ms. Obioken's second."

The smile he attempts breaks my heart. He shakes my sister's hand. "Thank you."

My gaze locks with Alex's. Those tears he cried into my chest are just under the surface. I let the mask slip, let him truly see me and not the stoicism presented.

You can do this.

Crossing in three long strides, he crushes me in a heated embrace. I don't even care that my ribs shriek under his iron strength. His cologne, how his forehead rests on the hollow of my throat, I'm utterly smitten.

I can feel his heart thundering where our chests press together. Tremors invisible on the surface echo through him. He's breaking again, trying to pull himself together for his brother. I feel his splinters digging into my skin.

"You're here," he gapes. "How? I didn't tell – "

I bring his eyes to mine, beg he borrow my resolve. "You didn't need to. I'm not letting you walk this alone again."

Thought has fallen by the wayside. I don't care that Finch's gaze bores into my shoulders. I thumb the crisp lines of his dark beard, savor the feel of his hair in my fingers once more.

He ain't able to bottle emotion. It's what I love about him. "What are you afraid of?"

"I can't do this." His voice cracks.

Lips on his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "You can."

"How?" Eyes grow glassy and distant. "How do I not scream, cry, throw things when he takes the stand?"

I calmly redo the buttons on his shirt. "You bury it. Don't let him know he broke you."

Alex peers up, expression vivid. I implore him to see what I see, understand what I do. He's strong and resourceful. His brother would be proud.

I'm here.

"How do you do that?"

I straighten his lapels. "Do what?"

"Suffer in silence?" He shakily tries to redo his tie. "Everything you've been through..."

"Give me that," I slide it under his collar. "Who the hell taught you how to tie a tie?"

A watery smile. "Internet."

Right. He never knew his father.

Grimacing, I line up the silk, answer his question. "Practice. A lifetime's worth. Chin up." I knot, straighten, tighten. "Don't ever become like that."

"What?" He smooths down his jacket. "Fearless?"

"Numb." I correct, lip curled in a jeer. "You're better than me. You don't need it."

Sharron clears her throat, gestures for us to move into the courtroom. Alex gives a terse, hardened nod to signal he's ready.

The doors open to a gauntlet of reporters, flashing cameras, and shouts. Sharron takes point, striding past in what might have been a war march if not for the sky-high heels. Alex trails in her wake while Finch and I bring up the rear.

I offer her my elbow. She takes it, smiling in the face of the cameras. Like this is some goddamn runway and not Alex's heartstrings. It doesn't matter our personal feelings, so long as we present a united front.

Alex and I take our seats on the right side of the courtroom behind Finch and Sharron in the prosecution. It feels like a lifetime ago I was on the left, justifying why I killed the man who stole my humanity.

Back in this place, it's like I never left. The oak paneling, the high judge's bench. I'd lost so much weight, shivering at Finch's side. The grisly scene, the victim's family glowering at me across the courtroom. I couldn't be defiant. I was ashamed; of what he took from me, of how I handled it.

Years of therapy and here I am again, cold sweat prickling on my neck. I work through the exercises, focus on my breathing, my heartbeat. Eventually, I get a grip; clamp that dark ball of energy and shackle it deep down.

This is bigger than me. This is Alex.

Ramilla enters. Calm, unconcerned. Almost bored as he sits with the defense. Even though Alex joked about assaulting the person on the other side of the courtroom, I'm the one gripping my seat, trying not to do just that.

"All rise," the bailiff announces, "For the Honorable Judge Edward Ballard."

And so it begins.

AN://

Hello! Thanks for reading and your continued attention to this story :D. I appreciate everything you say, positive or negative.

Thoughts on Alex's almost-breakdown? How he's handling going back on the stand?

Thoughts on how Colt is handling stuff?

Finch and Sharron's interaction? That media circus?

Stay safe out there!

~ T