Lucy stands up and greets me at the coffee shop entrance. She holds me in a tight, close hug, her purple hair tickling my cheek. She smells like incense and coffee. “Oh, Lissy! I’ve been worried about you. How’s the case going?”

We go to the table Lucy was sitting at before I arrived and sit down. I hang my purse over the back of my chair and take a moment to gather my thoughts.

Lucy sits patiently opposite me. She leans in intently, desperate to know what’s new.

“I got you a latte and a chocolate-chip muffin,” she says. “I know they’re your favorite.”

“That’s sweet. Thank you.”

“So? What’s going on with Connor?”

It’s been a week. I’d confided my situation to Lucy when I asked her to cover a few shifts the week before so I could get involved with helping Connor in any way I could. As soon as she knew things were tough, she was desperate to know what she could do and suggested meeting for coffee so she could at least offer a shoulder to cry on.

Not that I’m crying. Since Connor was charged with manslaughter and incarcerated, I’ve been too busy to focus on my own emotions. I’ve spent hours doing all I can to help his cause, including tracking down a private defense attorney with a strong track record, who might just be able to do my brother justice.

“It’s still early,” I tell her. “We’re still gathering evidence and all that stuff. Connor’s given his official statement to the police and gone through everything with the attorney a thousand times. So have I.”

“What is his defense?”

I pick at my muffin, reducing it quickly to a wrapper and a pile of chocolate crumbs. “Connor’s crime falls into voluntary manslaughter. The attorney thinks the best angle to go with is self-defense, as both of them threw punches.”

“What about his mental health issues? Could he go for a plea based on that? You know, his addiction, his depression?”

I shake my head. “He’s been analyzed by a psychologist. She diagnosed him with Borderline Personality Disorder and depression.”

Lucy’s eyes light up. “That’s good, right? That’s a defense he can use?”

“No,” I tell her. “Even though he has that diagnosis, it doesn’t mean that he didn’t know what he was doing when he punched that guy.”

His name was Anthony Briggs. It pains me to think the victim had a name, a family, a life.

“Plus, he was under the influence of alcohol and drugs, so even if you could prove he didn’t know what he was doing, you couldn’t prove it was due to the personality disorder or depression. The fact is, although he was drunk and high, Connor knew that throwing punches would result in someone getting injured or dying.

“Connor’s best defense is to prove he didn’t mean to kill, and to highlight to the jury that it wasn’t an unprovoked attack, but a fight between two grown men.”

“Jesus,” Lucy says. “What are the chances he’s going to get off without a sentence?”

My heart pangs as I answer. “Almost zero. Not with Connor’s track record—arrested multiple times for being drunk, resisting arrest. He was convicted of assault in the past, although he got away with community service, paying compensation, and taking an anger management course. As far as the judge and jury will be concerned, Connor’s got a history and a violent streak.”

Lucy bites down on her lip. “I’m sorry.”

I hold up my hand. “The attorney is preparing us for the worst-case scenario. I’m thankful he's honest with me. He’s told me Connor will have to serve time, but we can fight to make his sentence as short as possible. There are witnesses who say Connor was provoked, even if he did throw the first punch. I also thank God he didn’t have a weapon.”

“What kind of time is he looking at?”

“Worst case scenario—up to ten years. If he gets away with the minimum, we’d be looking at ten to twelve months.” I let out a long sigh and shake my head sadly. “One year or ten, one thing’s for sure—Connor’s ruined his life. Nobody will hire someone convicted of manslaughter.”

Lucy lays her hand comfortingly on top of mine. “You don’t know that. People make comebacks all the time. Besides, for some people, jail does them good. They have study programs in there and counseling and all sorts. For some people, it really does lead to rehabilitation.”

“And for some, it introduces them to harder, tougher criminals, and makes them come out worse than they ever went in.”

She frowns. “You always told me that deep down, Connor’s a good kid. Let’s hope if he has to be in there for any time, he’s one of the ones who keeps his head down and takes advantage of the opportunities he’s given. Some places even have programs especially to hire ex-convicts.” Finishing the last of her mocha, she nods confidently. “At least he’s got a private defender. Thank God you had Henry.”

At the mention of his name, my muscles relax a little. Throughout the whole ordeal, Henry has been my rock. Not only did he lend me the money for Connor’s defense, but he’s held me up emotionally, too. He’s been there by my side through it all, even though I’m nothing more than a girl he met at the start of the semester. He’s so kind to me.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay him for all he’s done.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” Lucy nods. “I don’t know many guys who’d go to the lengths he went to take care of his girl. Falling out with his father like that.”

My ears prick up. “What do you mean?”

Lucy frowns. “Didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what?”

She bites down on her lip. “Forget it. I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

Lucy leans forward, letting out a dramatic sigh. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

“Fine.”

She lowers her voice and looks around conspiratorially before she tells me what she knows. “I overheard a group of students talking in the diner the other day. They were from the same apartment block as Henry. Apparently, everyone’s talking about the huge fight he had with his father.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody really knows, but I was able to put the pieces together. The group was saying the father was losing his shit about some money Henry gave to some girl. Apparently, his father was demanding to know where he got it, and he said he sold his watch, his car, his stocks.”

I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand. I’m immediately struck with a deep, intense guilt. My eyes brim with tears. “What happened?”

“Henry’s Dad told him not to bother coming home. Said he was cut off.”

I choke back a sob. “No.”

“Apparently, Henry gave as good as he got—told his father he’d never had any real expectations for him, and he’d prove him wrong, or something like that. People have been talking about it for days. They said the walls were so thin, you could hear every word.”

“That’s awful. Poor Henry.”

Lucy places her hand on my forearm. “I just assumed you knew.”

“Henry said the money was his own but didn’t explain. I assumed he had a trust fund or some inheritance or something. I didn’t know he had to sell his things to make that money. I never would have let him.”

With a dreamy smile, Lucy sits back and sighs. “It’s so much more romantic this way. He knew you’d never take it if he told you where it came from. That man really loves you, Melissa.”