Drew pulled away from the bailiff. "I got it," she squeaked. She pressed her lips together firmly and rushed out of the courtroom. Her family must already have moved to the waiting room down the hall. Drew hurried down the corridor to the women's restroom and burst into a stall, dropping to her knees as she gagged violently again. Nothing came up, not even bile, and tears streamed down her face as she gagged again.
"Goddammit," she mumbled, cupping her face in her hands as she struggled to catch her breath. She leaned her head against the cold tile wall of the stall and gradually the urge to vomit passed. She got shakily to her feet and left the stall, moving to the counter. She winced at her reflection—all of the color had drained from her olive complexion, even from her lips, and she looked as waxy and pale as a corpse. She leaned over to splash water on her face and then took a long drink. When she felt her pulse calming down, and her breathing regulating, she took a deep breath and straightened her clothing. She left the bathroom and walked back up the hallway to the side door of the courtroom she'd entered into earlier. For a moment, she paused with her hand on the door, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath as her pulse threatened to start racing again.
"Drew."
She whirled at the sound of her name spoken by a familiar and missed voice, and her jaw dropped.
Heath stood awkwardly down the hallway, dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a navy blue button-down shirt. His face held a few cuts and bruises from the fight, but his recently cut hair was tamed, his clothes were pressed and he was wearing dull black leather shoes. He looked at her for a long time before he offered her a slight smile.
She flew toward him.
He let out a soft grunt as she threw herself into his arms and winced, holding her back from him slightly as her arms started to squeeze around him. She looked up at him in confusion as he hissed softly, his face contorted in pain.
"What?" she whispered.
"Sorry," he murmured back, giving her a small half-smile. "Three cracked ribs."
Drew gasped, her hands going lightly to his side. "Jesus, Heath, are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm good," he said softly. He reached up to rest a hand on the back of her neck. "You all right?"
She looked up into his eyes. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. She shook her head, suddenly feeling the need to explain. "Listen, I'm sorry I ran out on you yesterday. I heard about what happened. The news says there's a major fan backlash against the judges—that they cheated, that someone—Heath, I'm so sorry I wasn't there –"
"Stop it," Heath said. "I don't give a shit about that tournament right now. I'm here for you."
Drew bit her lip to stop it from shaking, fisting her hands unconsciously into the material of his shirt at his sides. "Thanks," she said tremulously.
"Ow," Heath grunted softly, catching her hand that was twisting into his bad side. She dropped it immediately.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped. "How did—how did you get here? You didn't drive all this way like this, did you?"
"Connor," Heath replied, half-smiling again. "I tried to get him to fuck off and go home with his wife but he refused. He sent John home with Lana and drove me out here in my car. He dropped me off. He would have come in, but I told him I didn't know if that would be too overwhelming for you. So he said he's got a few business calls to make in the meantime."
"Tell him thanks for me," Drew said. She shook her head mournfully at Heath. "You should be resting."
He shrugged. "Told you I'd be here for you," he said simply. He smirked a little. "Even risk your pops beatin' my ass if he sees me here." He looked around. "Where's your family, anyway?"
Drew pointed over her shoulder down the hall. "They're in a waiting room down that way."
The door opened behind her and the bailiff poked her head out. "Miss Carnevale, are you ready now?" Her eyes glanced over Heath questioningly. "This is a closed court. Your friend may wait out here or with your family down the hall."
"I'll be right there," Heath said, nodding toward the bench just to the left of the door. He took her hand. "Come on."
They walked the dozen or so steps toward the courtroom. The bailiff averted her eyes and ducked back into the courtroom to give them some privacy. She used her foot to keep the door slightly ajar for Drew.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered as she caught sight of her attacker's profile in the room. Her stomach immediately seized up again.
Heath tugged on her hand and made her look at him. "You have to do this," he said softly. "You have to do it for you and for the women he killed, and for the women he might kill if you don't do this. Drew, don't let this guy have a hold on your life for one more day. Put this shit to bed, now. He couldn't kill you, couldn't destroy you, and he never will." Heath grabbed her chin and made her look up at him when she tried to look away. "He doesn't define you. What he did to you doesn't define you. You told me yourself—you're no victim. Now show me." His pewter eyes bored into hers intensely. "Show me. You copy?"