His tone was harsh, terse and brusque, but Drew could still hear real caring in it. It strengthened her, made her stiffen her spine and hold her shoulders back. She pulled gently out of his grasp and lifted her chin of her own accord. She looked him in the eye and nodded.
He returned her nod and reached out to pull the door open for her. He looked at her expectantly, and Drew refused to let him down twice, so she entered the room again. The bailiff nodded at her and hovered a hand over the small of her back, gently guiding her toward the witness stand. Drew glanced back at Heath as the door began to shut. He didn't nod, smile, or otherwise change his stoic expression, but everything she needed to hear or feel, she saw within his eyes. She turned away as the door closed and stepped onto the stand.
***
The bailiff opened the door for her and Drew headed for it, her knees wobbling. Her testimony had easily been the most difficult thing she'd done. It was even worse, in some weird way, than the actual attack itself. She had been required to relive the ordeal in detail to a crowd of strangers and in front of her attacker. Jackson James had remained expressionless and motionless during her testimony and it had unnerved her completely. There were a few times she faltered, unable to go on, but she thought of Heath, heard his words, believed the truth in them, and made herself carry on.
But she was immensely proud of herself. For the most part, she remained stoic and calm, answering all the questions asked following her testimony. The cross-examination by the defense attorney had been difficult at best, absolutely appalling at worst. Jackson James' defense was that he was criminally insane and therefore had no real knowledge or idea of what it was that he was doing. The defense attorney used Drew's testimony to try to further his point that some of those actions—forcing Drew to hold him after she'd been raped and beaten—showed how unstable and out of touch with reality he was. Drew wondered what his sentence would be. While she didn't contest that any rapist was a madman and a sociopath, she felt that her attacker knew precisely what he was doing, and said so. The prosecution supported her claims by pointing to Jackson James' original statement to the police—that he'd been following her for several weeks before going through with the attack. It was pre-meditated, they said, and could therefore not be the random act of a man insane.
Drew hoped he would receive the harshest penalty possible. For now, though, she just wanted to get the hell out of there before she had a real breakdown.
She walked straight out of the courtroom into Heath's arms, being careful of his injured side, and hugged his good one. She felt him press his lips against the top of her head as he held her firmly to his side.
"You good?" he asked softly. She didn't look up at him, but nodded against his chest. He kissed the top of her head again. "Let's go see your family," he said lightly. "They're waitin' for you."
Now she did look up at him. "You—you want to come?" she asked hesitantly.
He glanced down at her. "Yes. Come on."
They walked down the hall toward the waiting room where her family was and knocked on the door. After a moment, her mother pulled the door open, a look of concerned expectancy on her face that changed to surprise when she saw Heath.
"Heath!" she exclaimed, and glanced over her shoulder at her husband meaningfully. She turned back around to face Drew and Heath and reached out to squeeze his hand. "Look, everyone. Heath's here."
Heath nodded at the chorus of greetings, and Drew tensed up when she saw her father get to her feet. She knew that he knew he had been wrong for his treatment of Heath based on their talk, but she was still nervous about seeing the two of them come together.
"Heath," he said calmly by way of greeting. He glanced at Drew. "Can we, uh, step outside into the hallway for a chat? Drew, why don't you go on in and get a cup of coffee and hug your mother or something."
"No," she said stubbornly, tightening her arms around Heath's waist. He hissed in pain accordingly and she loosened her hold. "Shit. I'm sorry."
"What's the matter?" Mr. Carnevale asked, lifting his eyebrows in mild surprise.
"Just a little injury from the tournament, sir," Heath managed, his voice roughened slightly from pain. "I'll be all right."
"Three cracked ribs," Drew informed her father.
Mr. Carnevale sighed and reached behind him to shut the door to the waiting room. "You need anything, kid? You been to the doctor yet?"
"I saw the medic at the tournament. He taped my ribs for me. I'll be fine, sir." Heath straightened up and looked her father in the eye. "You wanted to talk, sir?"