He’d barely taken his seat when the bailiff said, “All rise,” the judge and jury filing into the now unnervingly quiet courtroom. He’d been charged with one count of involuntary manslaughter, one count of reckless endangerment, one count of driving under the influence, and one count of assault with a deadly weapon. When the jury found him guilty on all but the last charge, his and Amanda’s families clapped and shouted, “Praise the Lord!” Chris was quite certain this was a time for anything but praise.
“Does the jury have a recommendation for sentencing at this time?” Judge Conroy asked.
A lovely older woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a bun stood. “We do, Your Honor.”
“And does counsel have any objection to ending these proceedings today with my final judgment?” The Judge addressed Chris’s attorney.
“We do not, Your Honor.” His attorney agreed quickly, which was no surprise. They’d discussed this as a possible outcome, so Chris was prepared.
“All right, then. Madam Foreperson, what is the jury’s recommendation for sentencing?”
Chris suddenly felt as if he were twelve years old again, running through his grandparents’ living room and knocking over an ugly monstrosity disguised as a vase, the glass shattering and his grandmother glaring at him sternly. Madam Foreperson met his eyes as she spoke. “Time served with ten years of probation and two hundred hours of community service. Those two hundred hours are to be completed in relation to his conviction, either in an AA rehabilitation program, a halfway house, or somewhere similar.”
When the judge sentenced him to ten years of probation, one hundred hours of community service, loss of his license for an indeterminate amount of time and mandatory alcohol awareness classes, Chris could only nod and agree that he understood.
“You’re young, smart, and capable, Mr. Roberts. Your judgment on the night of the accident was, at the very least, reckless stupidity, and I sincerely hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson from this tragedy. Furthermore, I will be keeping an eye on you, and if I ever see you in any courtroom again, I will make it my mission to ensure you receive the highest penalty allowable. Do I make myself clear?” The elderly man with gray hair, glasses, and a scowl that would probably make a gangster tremble stared down at him.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Chris responded quickly.
“Good.” The judge sighed, his face a mask of stoic resignation. “I’m waiving incarceration at this time, Mr. Roberts, because I truly believe that you are not a violent person, that you are not a criminal but a young man that made a singular mistake that will likely haunt you for the rest of your life. And that, Mr. Roberts, is far greater than any time in prison I can impose upon your person.”
Amanda’s mother cried out, sobbing, and Chris’s mother wrapped her arms around the despondent woman. Several people hurled angry words at Chris, but the judge wasn’t having any of it, banging his gavel on the desk loudly. “Order! I will have order in my courtroom.” The judge waited until silence bathed the room before he finished. “If you ever show up in my courtroom again, or any other, for that matter that I’m made aware of, I can and will impose the maximum penalty for that offense. Are we clear, Mr. Roberts?”
Chris nodded. “Yes sir, I mean, Your Honor. Yes, I understand.”
“This court is adjourned.” The sharp, angry bang of the gavel resonated in Chris’s bones, making him weak in the knees. He’d surely have collapsed were it not for Michael and Max rushing over to him. Michael wrapped his arms around Chris’s waist, tight, the hug almost painful, but Chris accepted it happily.
When they filed out of the courtroom ten minutes later, a throng of reporters circling the four parents caught sight of Chris and stampeded his way. Always thinking on his feet, Max shoved him into the elevator, pounding on the button to close the door. As the elevator descended, the cacophony of questions and people chanting, “Murderer!” penetrated his ears through the steel doors. Those words wouldn’t leave him for a long time—if ever, and neither would his guilt.
Chapter Two
Life as He Knows It
January 2015
It was an unusually cold winter in New York, one for the record books. Blizzardlike storms had closed roads, airports, and schools. Chris wove his way through the crowded sidewalks that were busting at the seams with tourists, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, fingers numb. He didn’t want to spend another night flipping through channels, listless, tossing and turning on Michael’s couch. Braving the arctic temperatures and the crowded city streets had seemed like a far better option when he’d left the apartment, offering Michael and his boyfriend a night alone without him, the constant third wheel.
Chris kept his head down, his eyes only scanning his surroundings, making sure he didn’t bump into anyone—or worse, walk into a street sign. He chuckled at the thought; he’d seen the video on TV awhile ago of a famous rapper walking right into one of those while trying to avoid paparazzi. Chris didn’t much care for the guy anyway. He was always rude to his fans and generally everyone around him. He thought it was karma and was certain even the street sign had laughed that day.
“Karma.” He snorted. That bitch had been like a monkey on his back for the past five years. There was no escaping his past; even moving hundreds of miles away offered little reprieve. It did make life somewhat easier, he had to admit, not being followed by judgmental, condemning eyes everywhere he went. Whispers of how worthless he was buzzing in his ears like a swarm of angry bees, strangers questioning why that lovely, beautiful girl with her whole life ahead of her had to be the one to die. Why couldn’t the monster that had the audacity to show his face in the dairy aisle at the Piggly Wiggly be the one that was killed? It was a question he’d asked himself every goddamn day since that fateful night.
The therapist he’d seen in Alabama was no better, her barely restrained contempt always simmering just beneath the surface. But that was the way things went in small towns like the one he and Michael grew up in. There weren’t many options, especially when the judge that presided over his case made the bitchy woman his court-appointed therapist. It wasn’t until he moved to New York and found a business card pinned to a corkboard at a small coffee shop he frequented that Chris began to entertain the idea that he wasn’t completely worthless.
Fifteen minutes into his second session with Dr. Shwarma, Chris was forced to examine the moral and motives of the people in his hometown. “Tell me something, Chris. What about what you lost that day?”
“I’m sorry, I…I don’t follow?”
Sighing, the ethereal woman with honest hazel eyes stared at him for a few moments, a sad smile on her face. “You lost your girlfriend, your family, and most of your friends. You didn’t get to graduate with your class, and your scholarship was rescinded. One bad decision cost you everything except for your life, Chris. That is what I am saying. Has anyone, especially you, ever considered that?” And there it was. All his pain, depression, and sadness rolled into a misshapen ball with a tattered and torn bow wrapped around it.