Chapter 42 Choice

Chapter 42 Choice
Patrick tells me after dinner.
Not during. Not in front of everyone. Not in the kitchen while Darren moves between counters and the guys argue about whether takeout counts as a balanced meal.
He waits.
Until the house settles.
Until Mike and Jake disappear into the media room with a controller and too much confidence. Until Drew finishes the dishwasher because he doesn’t trust anyone else to do it right. Until Josh comes back from checking the locks and drops onto the couch beside me, quiet in a way that means he already knows.
Patrick stands in the doorway.
One hand in his pocket. The other loose at his side.
“Em.”
Just that.
I look up from the book I haven’t been reading.
Something in my chest tightens. Small. Sharp.
His expression isn’t closed. Just careful.
I set the book aside. “Okay.”
Josh’s hand settles on my knee.
Warm. Steady.
Not a warning.
Just there.
Patrick crosses the room and lowers into the armchair across from us, leaning forward, forearms braced on his thighs, his gaze fixed on me.
“The parole hearing was moved up.”
There it is.
The thing we’ve all been circling without saying.
I nod once. “When?”
“Next Thursday.”
A week.
Just over a week.
The air feels thinner. Like the room shifted, and no one else noticed.
I keep my breathing even anyway.
Josh doesn’t move his hand.
Patrick watches me.
Waiting.
Waiting for it to crack.
It doesn’t.
“Okay,” I say.
His brow pulls slightly. “Okay?”
“Well, it’s not okay,” I say. “But I heard you.”
Josh shifts beside me. “Em.”
I look at him.
His voice stays soft. “You don’t have to go.”
There it is.
The first line.
I turn back to Patrick. “You were going to say the same thing.”
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t need to.
I lean back into the couch, folding my arms. Not defensive.
Grounding.
“No.”
Josh’s fingers tighten slightly against my knee. “Hear us out.”
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“Then let us say it anyway,” Patrick says, calm. Firm.
I hold his gaze.
A beat.
Then I nod. “Fine.”
He exhales, quietly like he expected the fight sooner.
“It’s a hearing, not a release,” he says. “There will be lawyers. Security. A lot of moving parts. If you want distance from it, we can handle everything.”
“Handle everything,” I repeat.
His jaw tightens. Just a fraction.
Josh leans in slightly. “You don’t owe him your presence.”
Mike and Jake walk in halfway through that, both stopping when they take in the room.
“What happened?” Mike asks.
“The hearing’s next week,” Josh says.
Jake stills.
Not panic. Not anger.
Something quieter. Sharper.
Mike moves behind the couch, folding his arms. “And?”
“And they’re trying to talk me out of going,” I say.
Mike looks at Patrick. “You started that without me?”
“We’re discussing options,” Patrick says.
“I’m going.”
The words land clean.
The room stills.
Jake drops down in front of me, forearms on his knees, looking up at me. “Because you want to?”
A beat.
“Or because you think you have to prove something?”
It’s a fair question.
Which makes it worse.
“Because I want to,” I say. “Because I’m done letting him take up space in my life that I can’t look at directly.”
Drew walks in, drying his hands, his gaze moving over all of us once before settling on me.
He reads the room instantly.
“What did I miss?”
“Parole hearing,” Mike says.
Drew nods once. “And?”
“And Emmy wants to go,” Josh says.
Drew looks at me. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
“Then that’s the answer.”
Josh turns. “That’s not the only factor.”
“No,” Drew says. Calm. Steady. “But it’s the deciding one.”
Mike pushes off the couch and paces once toward the window, then back again. “I get it. I do. But if he sees her—if he thinks he can get in her head again—if he tries something—”
“He won’t,” I say.
Mike looks at me, sharp. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” I say.
A breath.
“But I know me.”
That stops him.
I stand.
The movement is small, but it changes the shape of the room.
Sitting feels like letting them talk over me.
“I know what he is,” I say. “I know what he sounds like when he wants something. I know how he looks when he thinks he still has power. I know the tricks. The guilt. The way he rewrites everything until you’re apologizing for something you didn’t do.”
No one interrupts.
The house goes quiet.
Too quiet.
“I’m not twelve,” I say. “I’m not trapped in that house. I’m not in a hospital bed. And I’m not going to let him be this thing everyone handles around me while I pretend it isn’t happening.”
Patrick stands.
“Em—”
“No.” Softer this time. But it holds.
“You said I wasn’t leverage. So stop treating me like something too fragile to bring into the room.”
The words land.
Heavy.
I see it in him. The shift in his shoulders.
Jake looks down.
Mike drags a hand over his jaw.
Josh stands too—but he doesn’t come closer.
He gives me space.
Drew stays still.
Not because he doesn’t care.
Because he does.
Because he understands.
Patrick crosses the room slowly.
Deliberately.
Like he wants me to see the choice in it.
He stops in front of me.
Close.
“I’m not trying to take this from you,” he says.
“I know.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I know that too.”
His eyes search mine.
I don’t look away.
My chest is tight. My pulse is loud. But I hold steady anyway.
Not this time.