Page 157 of Edge of Unbroken

“See you soon, bud,” my dad calls after me. I look around at him, wishing someone could make all of this stop.

The room Rachel leads me into is small and illuminated by unnatural fluorescent lights. There are no windows, only a large wooden table and some chairs around it.

“Is this usually where you lock up your witnesses?” I ask Rachel when I take a seat.

She laughs. “Only in special situations. Attorneys also use this room when awaiting a verdict or to meet with their clients outside the jury’s earshot, or to confer on strategy during hearings. It’s an all-purpose room, but today we’re using it to shield you.”

“So youarehere to babysit me. I figured as much,” I say with a shake of my head.

“That obvious, huh?”

I nod.

“I’ll hang out with you until Darren calls you. He’ll send me a quick text when the bailiff is on his way to get you, and I’ll walk in with you and the bailiff, who will then lead you to the stand and you testify. I’ll take a seat in the audience behind Darren.”

“Sounds like a walk in the park.” I’m nauseated again.

“Ronan, I know you’re scared. I’d be worried if you weren’t. But you’re going to do great. Just focus on Darren. Nobody else. Pretend it’s just you and him in there. Answer his questions the best you can, and before you know it, it’ll be over,” Rachel tells me in a warm, soothing tone.

“Just like that, huh?”

She nods. “Just like that.”

Rachel tries to engage me in small talk, probably to distract me, asking me all kinds of random questions until her phone buzzes and my stomach is instantly in knots.

“Okay,” she says, raising her eyes to me. “Darren just texted; the bailiff is coming to get you right now. Remember, Ronan, deep breaths. Just focus on Darren; don’t worry about anything or anyone else.”

My heart is frantic in my chest as I stand. I keep clenching my hands into fists, then unclenching them to stop them from shaking, but it doesn’t work. They feel cold and numb.

The door to the small room opens and a police officer in full uniform enters the room.

“Hey Rach,” he says with a smile, and she raises her hand in a greeting. “You ready, Ronan?” he asks me as if we’ve met before. He turns, and I follow him with Rachel walking behind me. I keep willing my feet forward, but my entire being screams at me to turn around and get as far away from this place as quickly as possible. I feel like I’m walking into a lion’s den, my muscles coiling like tight springs, making my neck and shoulders ache.

Too soon, we arrive at the heavy wooden double doors, and I step into the courtroom, sheer adrenaline moving me forward. To my absolute dismay, the courtroom is full of people. Everyone’s eyes are on me, though I don’t dare lift my mine to look around and find the people who are here to support me, trying instead to stay in the zone and focus on what I must do. I can’t tell if the courtroom is dead silent or if the sound of my heartbeat drowns out any noise around me.

I follow the bailiff down the narrow walkway between rows of benches to my left and right and to a wood barrier. The hairs on my neck stand. I can sense my mother’s presence even before I see her. It’s like my body is finely tuned to know when she’s around, to anticipate danger. Right on cue, my senses go into overdrive, that well-trained fight-or-flight response activated and putting me on high alert. I can hear people shuffle behind and next to me, someone is whispering quietly, and cars are going by the building outside; the courtroom smells like cleaner and mahogany, and it’s really fucking bright in here, but cold, the A/C set too low for the mild spring temperatures outside.

I look up and lock eyes with her—my mother, my tormentor. I want to hold her gaze, to let her know I’m not afraid of her anymore, but the truth is, I am. I’m fucking terrified; I’m scared to talk about everything she’s done to me, to recall the memories, even those I’ve buried deep within me. Walking up to the witness stand, I feel like a child again, helpless and at my mother’s mercy.

The moment I get to my seat and turn to face the audience, however, Darren Cooley positions himself directly in line of my mother’s view of me, blocking us. I give him a grateful look as he nods almost imperceptibly at me. The bailiff makes me raise my right hand and takes my oath to tell the truth. Then I sit, and Darren begins my direct examination about seventeen years, two months, and twenty-six days of fear, pain, and violence.

Cat

“The people of the State of New York call Ronan Soult,” Darren Cooley begins at shortly after eight-thirty this morning, and I swear one could hear a pin drop.

I’m wired, my nerves frayed. And I’m not the only one. Today, we’re all here—even Shane, Zack, and Steve—my closest friends, my mom, and of course Penny and Frank. We’re all occupying the entire second row behind the prosecutor’s desk with a perfect view of the witness stand.

We’re all equally as fidgety, yet none of us are in the mood to talk. I mean, what is there to say, really? We’re all just waiting for the gut-wrenching testimony Ronan is about to give. Today is the day when everyone will finally learn what Ronan has had to endure. We’ll find out the details, and we’ll hear them directly from Ronan. Ugh, I might be sick.

It takes a good minute before I hear the courtroom doors open. The bailiff walks in with Ronan right behind him followed by a young woman. If what’s coming wasn’t so agonizing, I’d just sit here and act like a swoony little fangirl at the sight of my boyfriend. Ronan looks incredibly handsome in black pants and a heather-blue crewneck sweater, the collar of his white undershirt peeking through the slightest bit. His dark-blond hair, tightly cropped on the sides and back of his head, is perfectly tousled on top.

He’s gorgeous as always, but it’s immediately obvious how anxious he is. His head is lowered, his shoulders and jaw are tense, and it seems to take all his willpower to just keep walking. I so badly want him to look up and make eye contact with me so he knows I’m here, remembers he’s not alone, but he doesn’t. Not until he gets to the back of the courtroom well. His eyes find his mother and he tenses.

It must be absolute terror to be in the same room as the person who hurt you for so long. When Ronan finally makes it to the stand, Mr. Cooley positions himself to block Ronan’s mother’s view of him. I thank the universe for this insightful lawyer.

If I didn’t know how experienced Darren Cooley was after witnessing his expertise these past few days, I’d certainly begin to understand it now as he gently yet skillfully gets Ronan to begin talking.

Ronan visibly relaxes while Mr. Cooley offers glimpses to the jury of just how incredible Ronan is. Mr. Cooley asks Ronan about hockey, his work at Murphy’s, and school, extracting appreciativeoohs andaahs from the jury members when they hear about Ronan’s accolades. Even his mother looks up when Ronan’s early admission into Columbia comes to light. I bet she didn’t expect her son to get into an Ivy League school after everything she put him through.

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