“Withdrawn.” Milton immediately put out his hand to Simon, like he was the one who needed to calm down. “Art, can you tell me what you had for breakfast this morning?”
“What?”
My heart fell to the floor.
“Breakfast? Or dinner last night? Or maybe what you watched on TV? Can you tell me any of that?” Milton asked softly, like he actually cared.
“I’m… Eggs?” he guessed.
“It was French toast, according to your home nursing staff. Can you tell me the date?”
Dad swayed. “It’s June. I know it’s June.”
“June what? Fifteenth? Seventh? Twenty-eighth?”
“It’s June!” Dad shouted.
My eyes pricked, and I blinked back the moisture that welled, watching my father dissolve.
“But what day in June?”
“I don’t know!”
“I understand, Art. Can you tell me the names of your home-nursing staff?” Milton didn’t even give Dad a chance to recover.
“There are a few,” Dad replied, looking so lost that my instincts screamed to get him down from the stand.
“But who are they?”
“I don’t…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know the people who are currently responsible for your around-the-clock care?” Milton questioned.
“No! I don’t! They’re people in my house. They’re always there. They never leave me alone anymore!” His voice broke and took my spirit with it.
“That’s okay, Art. Let’s try one last thing. Camden says that he was brought home by a voicemail you left. Do you remember that?”
Dad’s eyes brightened. “Yes. I remember the voicemail. I asked him to come home and help me. Xander wouldn’t let me have a DNR.”
“That’s right. Do you know when you left the voicemail?”
Shit. I felt the blood drain from my face.
“I…” Dad looked at me helplessly.
I wanted the last twenty minutes back. I wanted to tell Simon, No, don’t put him on the stand. Not because he didn’t deserve to say his piece but because he didn’t deserve what Milton was doing to him right now.
“Look at me, Mr. Daniels,” Milton ordered softly, like he was talking to a child and not a grown-ass man who had raised three sons and buried one of them, plus his wife and brother. “Do you remember when you left the message?”
“It was this year. I know that.” Dad nodded. “I know it. I know it. This year. This year. I know it.”
“Mr. Daniels, do you remember leaving that message at all?”
“This year. Had to be.”
“Mr. Daniels?”
“Objection. Your Honor, this is…” Simon just shook his head. Cruel. It was cruel.
“This is your last question, Mr. Sanders. We’re not here to torture those who need our protection,” Judge Wilson warned.
“Yes, Your Honor. Art?”
“What?” Dad whispered.
“Do you remember leaving Cam that voicemail?”
“No.”
“So everything we’ve done here, from Cam giving up his career to this very hearing, was all started over something you can’t even remember?”
“Mr. Sanders, that’s enough,” Judge Wilson ordered.
“I’m finished,” Milton promised and took his seat.
Dad’s gaze darted around the room to the ceiling and the floor, never settling on any one person or thing.
“Your Honor, may I help my dad down?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t my place to speak and risking it anyway.
“Yes, Mr. Daniels,” she agreed, her voice softer than before.
The court was silent until my chair shrieked across the polished floor as I pushed back from the table. I approached Dad with shaky knees, my eyes filling with tears I couldn’t shed. Not here. Not like this.
“Dad, let me help you,” I said as I stood next to the witness stand.
“I don’t… Why…?” He finally looked at me. “Why am I here? I want to go home.”
“Yeah, Dad, we’ll get you there, I promise. Come on down.” I held out my hand, but he refused to take it and instead stumbled from the stand.
“No. I’m okay. Don’t touch me. I’m fine!” He walked past me, gaining his balance as he went.
“Walt?” I called out as Simon opened the gate that separated the spectators from this hellhole.
“I got him,” Walt promised as Nikki walked with him to help.
“You,” Dad whispered, turning to me at the threshold.
“It’s me, Dad. Cam. I’m right here.”
His eyes turned cold. “You killed my Sullivan.” The whisper was barely loud enough for me to hear, but I did, and it cut me to the fucking core.
“Come on, Art. Let’s get you home.” Walt put his arm around his best friend and walked him from the courtroom. I stumbled into my seat as the volume of the crowd reached new heights.
Logic told me otherwise, but the rending in my chest overpowered it. I’d lost every member of my family. Sullivan and Mom to death. Dad to Alzheimer’s. Alexander to his own warped sense of good and evil.
The judge called for order as I felt hands on my shoulders. I turned and found Willow leaning over the railing.
“I love you,” she promised, her hazel eyes red and her cheeks blotchy. “I love you.” Her thumbs swiped at my face. “Do you understand me, Camden Daniels? I know your truth. I love you, and I have always loved you. First and always. You.”
“Order!” the judge demanded again, and the noise started to die down.
I kept my focus on Willow, anchoring myself in her eyes and slowly settling my boiling emotions into a soft simmer.
“Willow,” I whispered.
She let go of my face only to push something into my hand. “I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Then she sat back in her seat, where her father put his arm around her. Her father, who had recused himself because I was hers. He looked at me with pursed lips and sorrowful eyes.
The crowd quieted, and I opened my palm to see what she’d given me.
It was the white onyx queen. The most versatile piece on the board. The protector of the king. I forced deep and even breaths through my lungs.