Baden (Pittsburgh Titans 1)

His eyes are a bit dead, now that I think about it, and it’s probably because he knows at the conclusion of today, his life is pretty much over. Angela DuBose told us the minimum sentence for all the charges he’s pleading to is thirty-two years. He could potentially get life with the possibility of parole given the heinous nature of what they did to me—a Good Samaritan—trying to rescue someone else.

I take the stand, and there’s no swearing me in, unnecessary as this is an informal statement to the court. Judge Dobrovsky gives me a kind smile and nods, a silent indication she’s ready to listen.

I glance out at Sophie. She’s leaning forward, her face soft with care and support. I look to Camarino who is still doing as requested and giving me his attention.

Then to the old woman at the back whose head is bowed as she dabs at her eyes.

Turning my regard back to Camarino, I don’t look anywhere else the entire time I tell my story.

I don’t dramatize what happened to me. I give it to the judge straight, because my injuries were so horrific, they don’t need beefing up. My struggle to overcome them has been traumatic enough. The fact I lost my hockey career as a player might even be seen by some as a death sentence. They could never know that it led me to Sophie, and I don’t tell them that. I don’t want the beauty of what we have to be theirs in any way, and I don’t want to give Camarino a moment of solace to think something good might have come from this.

When I’m done, the judge thanks me, and I step down from the witness stand. The district attorney looks to Sophie who gives a small nod that she’s on board. Her name is announced, and she and I meet at the swinging gate.

Decorum probably dictates we pass each other silently, but I can’t help myself. I put my hand to the back of her neck, lean in, and press my lips to her forehead.

“You got this,” I say.

She smiles and nods, then moves past me to take the stand.

Sophie doesn’t spare Camarino a glance. I wonder if she recognizes him now, although she couldn’t pick him out of a photo lineup. We’ve talked about it multiple times, why I can remember and she can’t, and I think the only answer is sometimes we block things to dull the pain. It could be their faces were just too much for her to keep as a memory.

The judge lets Sophie settle and then says, “You may begin, Ms. Winters.”

I watch Camarino. As the old woman requested, he’s staring at Sophie, but I can tell he’s not really attentive. Perhaps he’s on some medication, but he looks a little zombie-like. Does he have remorse for what they wanted to do to her?

Or what if he’s fucking thinking about the things he wanted to do but didn’t get the chance?

There’s the anger I was expecting. Blazing white and molten, and it takes everything I have not to leap from my seat, vault the gate, and attack that motherfucker for what he did.

Not to me, but to Sophie. For the months he and those other douchebags took away from her.

For making her afraid of her own shadow.

For the guilt she’s suffered because of what they did to me.

For some of her spirit they destroyed.

“I forgive you for what you did to me,” Sophie says quietly, and my eyes snap to her.

Her first words seem to suck all the air out of the courtroom. In the back, the old woman starts to weep audibly.

“I’m sorry,” she continues on, her eyes pinned on Camarino, “but I can’t forgive you for what you did to Baden.”

Sophie shifts in her seat and looks at me for a very long moment before giving her eyes back to Camarino. “You did the unimaginable to a good man, and for that, I hope the judge sees fit to punish you as harshly as possible within the bounds of the law. My only hope is that you feel true regret for what you did.” Sophie pauses, looks to the back of the courtroom. I look back too. The old woman is watching Sophie with watery eyes, and for a minute, they seem to share some unspoken communication.

Then Sophie once again addresses Camarino. “It seems you have someone here who cares about you, so if you care about her, I hope you can measure up to what she wants you to be one day. Granted, it will be in prison, but there will be opportunity for you to do good there. You still have a chance to make her proud.”

Holy fuck. My eyes fucking sting with tears, and I blink furiously to make them go away. I glance around—the judge is crying, Angela DuBose is crying, and the woman in the back is sobbing.