In the end, Teague asked Deanna to do it. As he and the White House planned the press conference at which he would reveal his brother’s existence, he knew that they needed to give Roland advance notice. They were about to change his life enormously, even on the inside, and he needed to be warned that it was coming.

But when Teague thought about speaking to Roland over the phone, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t have that be the first time he heard his brother’s voice in all those years. No, Teague wanted to stand and look his brother in the eye when he told him how terribly sorry he was. When he begged Roland for forgiveness.

So he asked Deanna to go to California ahead of him to tell Roland about the press conference, and that Teague would be coming as soon as it was over.

Luckily, his girl was brave in addition to being beautiful, and she agreed.

Now as he waited in the wings of the briefing room while the president’s press secretary warmed up the press corps, he reminded himself that if Roland could bear fifteen years in maximum security and Deanna could bear living without her family, he could bear admitting to the American people and Congress that he wasn’t the man they all believed him to be.

“Now, if you’ll all bear with us, Mr. Roberts, the president’s nominee for the Supreme Court, has a few words he’d like to share with you.” The press secretary stepped aside, and Teague walked to the lectern. It was a very different walk from the last time he’d stood here. But surprisingly, it felt more genuine than anything he’d ever done in his life. And for the first time in his memory, he didn’t worry about what they would think of him. He knew what they would think, and somehow he didn’t mind. Because at least he wasn’t lying. For once, he was showing them every part of him, and admitting to being imperfect was a fucking relief.

“Good morning,” he began. Then he went on to tell a story that had weighed on his soul for years. He’d argued the details of the story for hours with Kamal, and in the end, they’d constructed a very carefully worded statement that didn’t try to dissemble the fact that Teague knew his brother was, in fact, alive, but also focused on his mother’s exact words to him, which had been “From now on, everyone needs to know that your brother is dead. He died in prison, and we are sad, but our lives will go on.”

When Teague had finally spoken to his mother about it all, she had cried, apologizing to him for burdening him with such a terrible secret—for keeping him and Roland from each other. But he knew she’d only done what she thought best. And now he was more interested in fixing the mistakes than in punishing anyone for them.

“Yes, Marcus Ambrose, WNN,” Teague called, pointing to Derek’s younger brother.

“Thank you. Have you seen your brother where he’s being held in solitary confinement at San Quentin, and how do you think this will impact your ability to hear cases pertaining to criminal law if you are appointed to the court?”

Teague couldn’t help but smile at the young man Derek was so ridiculously proud of. Marcus was one of the top political correspondents in the country, married to a charming young woman, and a damn good boxer to boot, frequently working out at Spar with the Powerplay members.

“I have not seen Roland at San Quentin,” Teague answered. “But I’m going there to meet with him very soon. As to my ability to hear cases dealing with things like death penalty issues—the president and I discussed this issue in great depth before she chose to continue pursuing my nomination. The Supreme Court hears cases based on the issues of constitutional law. They do not rule on whether a person is guilty or not, they do not look at the death penalty and similar cases as they relate to a particular conviction, but rather whether the rulings are in alignment with the Constitution.

“Because of this very important distinction, the president and I feel that my ability to apply the Constitution to criminal issues like the death penalty is not compromised by my brother’s situation. And I’m sure I’ll be expanding on that explanation for the Senate Judiciary Committee a lot over the coming days.”

The press corps laughed, and Teague moved on to the next question. A few minutes later, the press secretary called time, and Teague left the lectern, making his way to the West Wing to debrief with Kamal and the president.

He was greeted by applause when he entered the Oval Office. The president, Kamal, and Vanessa, the president’s chief of staff, all stood to congratulate him.

“Well done,” Kamal said, shaking his hand and thumping him on the back.

“Thanks. So you think it went well?”

“I couldn’t have asked for a better unveiling,” the president said. “You were poised and honest, and the press didn’t go rabid, which is a sign that they’re going to give you a chance.”

“This definitely helps with the Senate,” Vanessa added. “They’re very sensitive to the press’s reactions to things.”

“I can’t promise anything, but we’re going to fight hard for you, Teague,” the president said.

Teague smiled and thanked everyone as they filed out of the president’s office. The president herself had a meeting in the situation room, so he followed Kamal back to his East Wing office.

“So, you’re off to California?” Kamal asked.

“Yes, I have a flight first thing in the morning. I haven’t heard from Dee yet, so I don’t know how Roland’s taken it, but hopefully I can talk to her tonight so I know what I’m walking into.”

Kamal nodded sympathetically. “You’re doing the honorable thing, no matter what his response is. And if he rejects you, you just keep trying.”

“I will. I hope that he’ll let me get involved in his case unofficially—look over the specifics, hire a top-notch attorney, and file an appeal. But no matter what…” Teague had to swallow back the emotion that clogged his throat when he thought about his brother spending the remainder of his life in prison, “I will be there for him in whatever capacity he’ll allow it.”

He and Kamal shook hands, and he left the White House. In less than twenty-four hours, he hoped to be facing his brother for the first time in seventeen years, and it couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

Her phone hadn’t stopped ringing since she’d left Washington, and as she glanced down at the screen while she maneuvered through the bumper-to-bumper traffic out of Oakland International Airport, she knew she was going to have to face the firing squad whether she wanted to or not.

“Hi, Brice,” she said as she pressed the hands-free button on the rental car’s steering wheel.

“Did you know?” he asked without preamble. “Did you know what the press conference yesterday was going to be about? Because the coincidence of you leaving town and dumping it on our junior political correspondent seems more than coincidence.”

She sighed, fully aware that her job was balancing precariously right now.

“I’m wondering if you knew,” she shot back. Teague had discussed her options now that he was going to go public, and they’d agreed that she needed to take the offensive rather than defensive path. “I mean, you’ve been having Roberts tailed since he was first nominated. I figured you might have known what he was going to hold a press conference about.”

Silence greeted her accusation, and she wondered for a moment if the connection had been dropped.

“You don’t have any proof,” Brice gritted out.

“But Teague Roberts does,” she answered.

“So you do know him.

“I do. And I know that you’ve had a hard-on for him all this time. Is it because he’s black that you want to annihilate him in the press? Or you really believe that a bunch of sensationalist crap about a SCOTUS nominee will move enough papers for you to keep your little dictatorship?”

“You’re fired,” he growled.

“That’s fine. I already packed up my things, but I’ve also left a letter for the editorial board telling them about what you’ve been up to the last few weeks. If you haven’t yet crossed an ethical line you’re well on the way to doing it. They have a right to know just how far you’d go to sell a few more papers.”

She pressed End, then before she could lose the nerve, she clicked on her contacts and hit the fifth one on the list.

“Hey,” Marcus’s friendly voice came through the speakers. “You missed a hell of a press conference at the White House today. Where were you?”

“You know how you’re always saying I should move to cable?” she asked. “I think I’m ready.”

Marcus chuckled. “Good, because I think we might be looking for a new investigative reporter.”

* * *

Deanna sat in the chair, watching the monitors blinking above Roland’s head. The rasping sound of his labored breaths sent a chill through her. Dammit. She’d been waiting for his attorney for seven hours now. The woman was on her way from Los Angeles, a six-hour drive at best, and with California traffic, it could easily become much longer. The problem being that Deanna was genuinely afraid Roland wouldn’t survive that long.

She’d been shocked to find that he was in the prison infirmary when she arrived to see him. Neither he nor his attorney had contacted her to let her know that he’d contracted pneumonia and had been in the infirmary for close to ten days. He was being given the standard course of antibiotics, nebulizer treatments, and oxygen, but it was clear to Deanna that something else needed to be done. The prison doctor, however, refused to admit what he was doing wasn’t working. There wasn’t money or staff for any “alternative” treatments. The prisons followed standard treatment plans according to diagnosis, and that was all they would do.

And then there was Teague. His flight was arriving in about twelve hours, and he was expecting to see his brother, pour out his soul, and hopefully start the process of being forgiven. She couldn’t tell him that Roland might not be here when he arrived, on top of everything he’d just been through, she couldn’t bear to give him this kind of news over the phone. No matter how strong he was, no man should have to go through what he had in the last few days. Because of that, she’d been avoiding his calls all day. If she could just get him to California, stand and face him, touch him, hold him. Then she could break the news. Then she could make sure the news didn’t break him.

Finally, she shot off a quick text indicating that she was caught in traffic and would talk to him later. She felt sick with guilt.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she looked down at it, hoping that it wasn’t Teague yet again. But it was Roland’s attorney, and she breathed a sigh of relief that she must finally be here, coming in through security, which could take up to thirty minutes.

“Hello?” she said softly, watching Roland for any signs that she was disturbing him. But he was still unconscious as he had been the entire time she’d been there.

“Ms. Forbes?” The attorney’s voice was weak on the other end of the call.

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I’ve been in an auto accident.”

Deanna’s heart sank to her stomach. “Oh my goodness. Are you okay?”

The attorney assured her that she would be fine, although she was in the hospital for twenty-four hours of observation due to a concussion. She had called a colleague at her firm to come in her place, but he couldn’t leave LA until the morning, meaning he wouldn’t be there until late the next afternoon at best.

Deanna ended the call and slumped in the chair, watching those blasted lights on the monitors. She’d watched Roland’s pulse ox levels diminish over the course of the day, and his pulse had slowed as well. He wasn’t getting better.

“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the glass-walled office where the prison physician sat doing paperwork.

“Yes, Ms. Forbes,” the doctor said wearily.

“I’m very concerned about Mr. Smith’s condition. He’s not improving. His pulse ox is continuing to decrease, and his pulse has slowed over the last two hours.”

The doctor looked up from his desk and raised one eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you had a medical degree as well.”

She sighed. “You know that I don’t, but I know the basics, and anyone with eyes can see that Roland isn’t improving.”

The doctor’s stony countenance finally cracked a touch. “Ms. Forbes, I’m very sorry, I really am. This isn’t a hospital, though. I don’t have access to anything but the standard medications and treatments. We have routine treatments that we give so that we’re humane in our treatment of the prisoners, but we can’t do the things for them that a hospital on the outside could.”

She nodded. “I understand that, and I realize it’s not your fault, but his attorney can’t be here for another twenty-four hours at least, and the warden won’t send him to a hospital without his attorney filing the request. Roland might not be alive by this time tomorrow.”

The doctor looked at her, his face carefully neutral. Finally, he said softly, “I’m permitted to have outside physicians come to see the inmates if an inmate’s family can pay for it.” He looked at her with a weighted stare.

“Okay, yes, I can work with that,” she said, hope rearing its pretty little head for the first time all day. “Do you know of a good doctor in the area?”

He sighed. “I’m afraid that part’s up to you, Ms. Forbes. Once you’ve found someone, just give me their name, and I’ll have it sent to the gates so they can be processed. But I’d suggest you hurry. It’s nearly five o’clock. Most medical offices will be closing soon.”

Deanna gritted her teeth and went back to Roland’s bed, pulling out her iPad and connecting to the prison’s Wi-Fi in order to look for local doctors. It was 4:50 p.m., and her nerves were frayed as she searched. But she didn’t know the area, she didn’t know the doctors, and without reading through ratings and descriptions of their practices, it was impossible to tell who was a good candidate. It was now 4:55. She was never going to be able to find someone. Tears threatened as Roland took a particularly rattling breath.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Roland. I promised I’d always take care of you, and look at this.”

Then it came to her, like a bolt of lightning. She knew one of the foremost pulmonologists on the East Coast, and if he got into his private plane in an hour, he could be there before midnight. And he would know exactly what the most current treatments for pneumonia were. He could bring medication with him. Hell, he could bring an entire medical team with him if he needed it.

She took a deep breath, looked at Roland, then at her phone, Teague’s latest text still filling the screen. Dammit, she hadn’t spent the last ten years watching out for Roland and missing Teague to fuck this up now.

She swiped the phone screen and tapped in the number she still knew by heart. “Dad?” she said, “It’s Deanna. I need you.”