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I'm vaguely aware of a cough, but I don't care. I've missed this too much. It sounds again, and Sam finally pries his mouth away, holding his forehead against mine as we catch our breath.

"Yes, perhaps you should prioritize breathing over sucking her face off."

I startle, accidentally banging my head back against the locker.
Ow
. Sam threads his fingers through my hair, rubbing the spot for me and starts laughing. It's then that I realize the cough was Mr. Frank clearing his throat and I blush scarlet as he chuckles with amusement. Well, at least we're not in trouble.

"Maybe I should consider turning my student tutoring program into a matchmaking service. It would be a great way to supplement my meager teaching income," Mr. Frank jokes.

I stare at my sneakers, but I hear the smirk in Sam's words. "I think you'd be pretty successful."

"Not so disgruntled over my homework policy now, are you, Caplan?"

"No, sir. I'd have to say I support it wholeheartedly," he murmurs as he leads me into the classroom.

I keep my eyes trained on the floor, suddenly aware that several of my classmates must have witnessed our public display of affection, and those that hadn't either heard about it or saw Mr. Frank go out to get us. Not that it matters, since I'm displaying my commitment to Sam on my back with his varsity shirt just as surely as Carl is for Tucker.

I take my seat in the back of the room next to Carl and prepare for the interrogation. "Um, something you want to tell me?"

I blush all over again. "I think Sam and I are back together."

"You
think?"

Well, yeah. We didn't really talk about it, did we?

"On Friday I told him that I wanted to, you know, try again with us. But he said he wanted me to think about it, to be sure. So I thought…" I gesture to the giant tee shirt dwarfing my frame.

"You thought you'd make some insanely romantic declaration of love?! And you didn't tell me?!" Carl is excited for me and it makes me smile.

"Well, I thought he should be the first person I told…"

"Uh, wrong. Your best friend is the first person you tell.
Then
the boyfriend."

I don't bother correcting her, because even though Sam really is my best friend, Carl is my best girl-friend, and she's been there for me through it all, unconditionally, and I love her for it. But I'm more focused on having her refer to Sam as my boyfriend.
God
, that sounds so damn good.

My eyes inexorably flit over to where he's sitting sideways in his seat, listening to Dave tease him, but he's staring at me. I blush an even deeper shade of red and his lips slide up into a contented half smile.

Dave punches him in the arm. "
Hello?
I'm talking, lover boy, pay attention."

Several people start laughing and my gaze darts away in embarrassment.

But I don't dwell on it. I'm too busy being happy.

****

S
am and I are the talk of the school and I hear whisper after whisper as I sit through the hours of our senior assembly. Speeches and awards, slideshows and videos. Memories that belong to other people. Sam gets several awards, unsurprisingly, but as the new girl who just started here in February, I'm practically invisible. Well, that's if you don't account for the gossiping eyes floating my way time and time again.

When I come around to the student lot for lunch, I see Sam having a heated conversation with Chelsea, who looks as if she's about to cry. I have no sympathy for her. She made her bed, and now she can go and screw Lacey Forbes in it for all I care.

Eventually Sam turns his back on her and walks over to Tuck's car, and I hear Chelsea call after him, but he ignores her. She drives off alone minutes later, and I approach him cautiously.

Sam is telling his boys that Chelsea betrayed him and that they're no longer friends. No details. Though by the way Tucker and Dave hold their eyes, I suspect they both know the whole story. I don't even mind. But even without all the information, Sam's vague edict is enough for his friends, and I hear them call her a bitch and something about how she's out of their limo for Prom.

It's there then, the whisper of guilt, but I force it away. She doesn't deserve it.

It's then that Dave notices me, hanging back behind Sam, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

"Well if it isn't Cap's girlfriend," Dave teases.

Sam spins around, and I watch the frustration drain from his tense limbs. His smile is back, complete with the dimple I love, and I can't help my own.

"Rory and I are gonna go get lunch alone," he tells his friends, but his eyes ask me a question.

I nod. Hell yes, I want to be alone with him.

He opens the passenger door for me like a perfect gentleman and we pull out of the lot while our friends all stare after us with wide eyes.

We end up going to his house to have some of his mother's leftovers. He doesn't make a move other than to kiss me. A lot.  

We talk about nothing. About everything. And magically it feels as if there was no break in our relationship. Nothing has ever felt more natural.

But then he brings up the hearing.

"I talked to your mom, you know. I'm flying out with you guys tomorrow. I booked rooms for two nights. For all of us," he tells me. The hearing begins Wednesday, and as it's something of a mini-trial, the prosecutor suspects it will last either two or three days. "But I can extend it if we need to."

"I don't want to share a room with my mom." The last thing I want is for my nightmares to keep her up all night.

Sam smiles wistfully. "I know, Ror. I got three rooms. The prosecutor called Tucker and told him to be on stand-by. That they'll call him on the first day if they need him to fly down for the second day, in which case he'll just stay in my room."

I stare at the kitchen table, nodding absently. It doesn't feel real. I'm going to have to see Robin again. I hate that I have to see him. And as much as I want Sam with me for support, I don't want him there just the same. I don't want him to have to be a part of this. It feels like deja vu, and I feel like the pain of my past is about to swallow up the happiness of my present.

"Ror..."

"Hmm."

Sam takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze back to his. "I'll be with you the whole time," he promises. But that's just it. As much as I want that, it's also what's bothering me. "Baby, it's going to suck. I know it is. But it's going to be okay. I told you, he's not going to get away with it."

And that's where he loses me. Because he can stay by my side as much as he wants, but he has no control over what's about to happen. He holds my face but my eyes still escape, staring out the window over his shoulder at the beautiful late-spring day. The afternoon sunlight glitters over the surface of his lagoon-shaped pool. It's a beautiful place—the home where he grew up. But life wasn't always beautiful inside this house, I know that. Things are rarely as they seem, rarely as they should be, and it makes me wonder how long this happy state between Sam and I can really last.

"Do you trust me?" Sam asks suddenly. This catches my attention. It's a strange question at the moment.

I nod through my confusion.

"Then trust me," he says intently.

Chapter Sixteen

T
he
plane ride is quiet and wistful. I sit between Sam and my mother, trying not to think about the upcoming days. The prosecutor, Lauren Counter wants to put Sam on the stand first, then me. Depending on how our testimonies go, particularly Sam's cross-examination, she may ask Tucker to fly down for Thursday. She also told me that Robin plans to testify. And that terrifies me. Because I can only imagine the lies he will tell, and who might believe them.

It all comes down to the judge. He will either believe Sam and me, or he will believe Robin, and I have no way of knowing how much of the Forbes' influence has reached his jurisdiction. I suspect it's just enough to get Robin a slap on the wrist and not much more. Particularly if his motion is successful and the violation of my restraining order is dismissed.

Sam holds my hand, but he doesn't say much. I'm sure he knows every thought in my head. My mother reads through files she's long memorized, barely stifling a smile as she notices Sam's and my threaded fingers.

We check into the hotel around nine. Sam got us the same rooms as our last trip and my mother's room is next to mine, but not connecting. Which means Sam and I can access each other's rooms easily. Under any other circumstances I would be excited about it, but right now, it barely even registers.

We haven't had a chance to do anything more than kiss since we got back together only yesterday, and the upcoming court dates have clouded any real celebration of our reunion. I try desperately to break out of my melancholic state, particularly since I know there isn't much I can do—that there's no worse outcome than the one I'm already prepared for, but I can't help but feel completely hopeless.

We have a quick, equally quiet dinner in the hotel restaurant and each head back to our respective rooms to shower and get ready for bed. We don't discuss sleeping arrangements, but I make my way to Sam's room after my shower and climb wordlessly into bed with him. His arms open automatically, and though I don't have nightmares, I don't really sleep either.

I don't really wake up the next morning so much as I'm still awake. Sam is too, looking tired, but still handsome beyond reason.

I return to my room to dress for court and Sam finds me after he's ready. He looks gorgeous in his suit, and I can't help but think of how ironic it is—the reason for my first time seeing him in one. My charcoal-grey jersey shift dress is demure and professional, and I pull my hair into a loose braid to keep it out of my face. I take a pill to calm my nerves, tucking the bottle into my purse along with my cell phone and lip-gloss.

Sam's behind me in the mirror as I put in my pearl earrings. I try to offer him a smile, but fail. His arms come around my waist and he plants a soft kiss on the crown of my head.

"You look beautiful, you know. I know it's probably not the right thing to say right now, but it's true," he murmurs.

I do smile then, and turn in his arms, pressing my face to the lapels of his blazer. "You're not so bad yourself."

"You know, one day, you'll be getting dressed like this every day, going to court, getting justice for people. Helping girls just like you."

I pull away and meet his eyes. His words strike me. They give me hope.

"Do you really think that?" My voice comes out weak, nothing like the powerful woman he described.

"I know it, Rory," he says intently. "First, we have to get through today. And then tomorrow. And then one day, this whole experience will help other girls. And they'll be better off for it."

I hug him again. I don't know how he always knows the perfect thing to say to me, but he does.

We walk out of my hotel room hand in hand. My mother is outside her room waiting for us and it vaguely occurs to me that I should have had him walk out of his own door. At least put on a show for her. But she doesn't seem to care.

"Ready?" she asks.

We both nod. I'm not, of course. But Sam's words stay with me, and I think to myself that whatever happens, whatever the injustice, one day I will make it all worth it.

****

W
e
meet with the prosecutor briefly before the hearing and then she and my mother continue in private while Sam and I wait outside the courtroom. The prosecutor told us the Forbeses and their two lawyers, not including my father and Robin's, are already inside, so Sam and I will wait until the last minute to go in ourselves.

I hoped to avoid any kind of confrontation, but I should have known better than to think my luck ran that way.

My father exits the courtroom while my mother is still busy with the prosecutor. Sam steps in front of me and I squeeze his hand, not sure if I'm seeking comfort or if I mean to call him off. My father barely glances at Sam, but the brief look he does spare him makes it clear that he see's him as little more than scum.

"Aurora," he greets me.

I study my shoes.

"I hope you're happy," he accuses. That gets my attention, and I meet his accusing gaze.

Sam steps forward and opens his mouth, but I pull him back, this time clearly calling him off.

"Do I look happy?" I retort.

"You are destroying a family, does that mean nothing to you?"

"You destroyed ours," I remind him, but he ignores me.

"What did you say to Lacey in New York? How did you even know she would be there?"

"That—" Sam begins but I squeeze his hand again.

"Don't you think you're putting Robbie through enough? Now his own kid sister won't speak to him! How do you think Bobby and Cindy feel—their own daughter refusing to support her brother!"

This stuns me into silence.
Did Sam actually get through to Lacey?

I look up at him, but he's still glaring at my father murderously. But he squeezes my hand again to let me know he knows what I'm thinking.

"What do you think you're doing?" My mother's furious voice calls from down the hall.

My father startles, turning toward my mother and Prosecutor Counter.

"Amy—" my father sounds almost remorseful, but anything he feels is lingering emotions for my mother, not me. He just hates me.

"Mr. Reed you are a potential witness in this case, I'll ask that you refrain from communicating with Miss Reed for the duration of the motion hearing," Prosecutor Counter says pointedly. He isn’t really, but he technically could be called to the witness stand, so I suppose that's enough.

My father says nothing more, he simply walks away and heads to the men's room without even looking at me again.

****

I
sit stoically through the defense's opening statement while Sam cringes and nearly growls at every other word. Every other lie. It's nothing new. Just Robin's statement retold in dramatic fashion, describing the crazy ex-girlfriend he ran into on spring break, our hooking up in an alley outside a bar, and my turning on him when I supposedly questioned him about his love life since our breakup. Apparently I was jealous and I attacked him. Then come the details of Sam and Tucker's beat-down. I can't help but wonder how much of them are true. They don't even make Sam sound like a bad guy. They make him sound like another one of my victims. Like I'm some manipulative, sociopathic witch who tricked him into believing my stories about Robin just like I'm trying to trick the court.

Outside, I'm an ice queen, but inside, I'm hyperventilating. I feel the shape of my pill bottle through the soft leather of my purse, trying to count the hours since I took the last one, and wondering how soon I should take another.

Sam doesn't hold my hand. The prosecutor told him not to. That he should do his best to appear unbiased or it may affect the judge's perception of his testimony.

His testimony comes next. It sounds much like his statement, just longer, and he shows less emotion than that night in Miami. His cross-examination runs significantly longer than his initial testimony. The defense tries to paint him as my puppet. They try to get him to admit that he couldn't possibly have known for sure if it was Robin or me who started the altercation, and that when he came upon us in the alley it was possible Robin was holding me against the wall to keep me from assaulting him more.

He doesn't.

Sam just keeps saying that it was clear what was going on and that the defense's story isn't remotely plausible. But they keep at it.

Eventually Sam loses his patience. Despite his best performance, his detailing of the exact sight he first saw in that alley gets to him. It gets to me, too. I hate seeing him so affected by it. But he's effective. After all, it's hard to defend holding a girl by her throat, cutting off her air, and shoving your hand under her skirt as self-defense. But it will only be effective if they believe Sam, because that's about the time the defense changes tact and starts questioning Sam about our relationship and his devotion to me—specifically how far he would go to back me up.

They question him over and over about the supposed beating he delivered to Robin after I was safely removed from the alley—after Robin was already subdued. Sam denies it. He swears he did what he had to do to keep Robin down, to keep him from coming after me, nothing more, nothing less.

Photos of Robin from the hospital are entered into evidence. They're pretty damning. Photos of Sam also taken that night show some bruising and swelling, but there's no comparison. It doesn't prove anything, but it doesn't support the story of a fair fight either.

The questioning continues, now asking details about Sam's and my relationship. He's truthful but evasive at the same time. I haven't looked at Robin since I walked into the courtroom, trying to pretend he isn't even here, but I glance at him now. He holds his face carefully without expression, but his hands are curled into fists, so tight his knuckles begin to turn white. My pulse races, beads of sweat breaking out on my nose and forehead. I swallow anxiously. His anger elicits terror in me, and I can't help my fear, even if rationally I know I'm not currently in danger.

The defense attorney takes things too far, asking incredibly personal questions, and though our side objects, the judge allows the defense a "short leash". Apparently nuances of our relationship speak to whether or not Sam would beat someone up for me, if he would lie for me.

"Mr. Caplan, is your relationship with Miss Pine sexual?" the defense attorney, Walter Serpo, asks for the third time and this time the judge directs Sam to give a clear answer.

Sam allows a small half-smirk to play on his lips. "Sometimes," he replies. He's playing the room, being his charming self, but I hate that he has to answer such a personal question in front of an audience. In front of
this
audience.

There is a small spattering of chuckles from the strangers in the room, but I see Robin's fists tighten even more. For the first time, he turns my way, and though he keeps his glare inscrutable, I can feel his rage, his contempt. He wants to kill me. He wants to kill Sam. He very well may.

The attorney seated next to him elbows him subtly and he returns his gaze straightforward.  Everyone is focused on Sam and I doubt anyone noticed Robin's brief hostile glare but me.

I swallow my second pill of the day dry.

Finally Sam is excused and we break for lunch. I barely pick at my sandwich as Counter goes over my testimony with me for the third time, the first two times having been over Skype before we flew down.

I don't want to do this. I'm terrified. But I know I have to find some courage, because this is my chance to stand up for myself—to be my own hero—and I have to come through for myself.

We re-enter the courtroom and get settled, but before we begin, the doors fly open and a new face steps inside.

Well, not a new face. An old face.

Chip is here.

He looks around the room until he finds me, offering me an unsure smile. He's grown taller, his hair longer, almost shaggy, and he pushes it behind his ears. He looks good in his khakis and blazer—handsome, and more mature than I ever expected him to look. He walks over to the bench behind me, this one act demonstrating the reason for his presence—to support me.

My mother elbows me, as if I hadn't noticed him, and I nod at her. I smile at Chip, my friend who I honestly never thought I would see again. He must have driven six hours to be here for me.