Eight years.
My baby brother has landed himself in prison foreight years.
“He’ll be eligible for parole in only two,”Russell said at least a dozen times.“The prosecutor wanted to lock him up for way longer. This is a good deal. All he has to do is behave, and he’ll be out in only two years.”
Archer hasn’t been able tobehaveever. He can’tbehaveto save his life. Hence why he’s going to prison foreight years.
I’ve been failing him for his entire life, andnow…
I. Have.Failed. Him.
He’s a felon. That doesn’t go away. Even if he does manage to get out on parole in two years, he’s still a fuckingfelon. Society isnotkind to felons. Felons are second class citizens. Even if he manages to parole early, and goes to college, and does everything right, he is forever marked by a scarlet letterF.
ForFelon.
ForFailure.
Myfailure.
After the judge hands down the sentence we agreed to with the prosecutor two weeks ago, I leap from the bench where I’ve been sitting, sick with nerves for an hour.
“Russell.” Miraculously, my voice doesn’t falter as I gesture at him to remind him that I need two seconds to say something to Archer before he goes away. But that steadiness is as fragile as spiderwebbing glass, and I’m going to lose it andsoon.
The bailiff is clearly a compassionate man and leads Archer to me, and I grip the back of my baby brother’s neck.
“Just hang in there,” I whisper. “This isn’t the end of your life. We’ll figure something out. I’m here for you. I willalwaysbe here for you.”
“It’s okay, Colin,” he mumbles back.“Love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I don’t have time to say anything else, so I hug him quickly, scrub his hair, kiss his head, and let him go.
Everything I love in this world is, in some way or another, something I have to let go.
Russell and I exchange words that don’t register in my mind because I’m too focused on the necessity to get out of this courtroom and go hide in the men’s room until I can collect myself. And I’m almost there when the sound of my own name shocks the ever-loving shit out of me.
“Colin.”
I know the sound of her voice so well at this point that it might as well be an extension of my own internal monologue. What Idon’tknow is what the hell she’s doing here. This is no longer her job. It stopped being her job weeks ago. And yet, here she is, about to see my tear-stained face and runny nose, but I am way too defeated right now to care.
Pausing in the aisle of the courtroom, I look up at Elle. There’s a sheen on her eyes, and her sable brows are knitted. She’s wearing a simple, navy blue dress that’s well-fitted and classy, and it doesn’t attempt to conceal the now-significant size of the baby bump, rather puts it on display in a way that’s proud, but simultaneously humble. Her blonde hair looks thicker, softer, shinier, and it falls in a cascade of honey-hued waves over her shoulder. She is, once again, the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and that’s a hell of a contrast to what I’m walking away from.
I clear my throat and wipe my face on my sleeve in a very juvenile manner. “Hey.” I pause. “You know, I cancelled his program. You didn’t really need to drag yourself over here like this.”
Elle’s eyes don’t stray from mine. “I’m not here for him. I knew this was going to be hard for you, so I came.” She holds out her hand and takes a step toward me, placing her palm on my back. “Let’s go sit down for a minute.”
The intensity with which I love this woman is already enough to ruin me for life. Her showing up like this, totally unassuming and unrequired and unannounced, is only going to make that worse. There’s nothing I can do about any of that, and I’m too exhausted to stress over the fact that I’ve been sentenced to a life of unrequited love, so I merely comply.
Elle guides me with a hand on my back out of the courtroom and into the hall. We find a bench at the far end, away from all the various courtroom entrances and people waiting to enter them, and sit down. She sets her purse on the bench on the opposite side of her and sits close enough to me that the sides of our legs are pressed together. Reaching inside, she pulls out a small packet of tissues, opens it, and rather than just handing them to me, she wraps her arm around my hunched shoulders and cleans up my face for me. She dabs below my eyes and nose, all the while avoiding eye contact as if she understands and empathizes with the fact that my current wildly emotional state is beyond humbling and is attempting to help me maintain my scant dignity.
“Colin,” Elle says in a voice as gentle as the touch of her wiping my tears. “I know this is a real kick in the teeth.”
I huff, staring at the floor between my shoes. “And then some.”
“Yeah, I know.” She lowers the tissue from my face, tucks it inside her closed palm, and wraps her arm around my bicep, her opposite hand rubbing slow circles between my shoulders. “So I’m going to remind you of something.” Leaning closer against my side, she lifts her chin toward my ear and whispers, “Fat guy in a little coat.”
I can’tnotlaugh, but the laugh is simultaneously a trigger for more restrained tears because the last time she saidthat, I took a headlong leap off a cliff and fell in love with her.
