Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

43. broken inside

[ 43 ]

brOKEN INSIDE

LENNON

“THEY’LL NEVER KNOW (ACOUSTIC)” BY ROSS COPPERMAN

“ M iss Thorne,” the prosecutor begins as he approaches me at the witness stand.

Today is the day we’ve been waiting for since January—the official trial for the man who killed my parents. “First, I would like to offer my sincerest condolences for the loss of your parents. The world is not the same without Thorned Roses.”

I send him a sad smile. “Thank you,” comes out quietly.

“Do you mind taking us through your version of the events that took place on Thursday, October nineteenth, two-thousand-twenty-three?”

I nod slightly, fidgeting with the hem of my dress. “Okay.”

“What was your family doing out that night?”

I clear my throat. “We went to dinner, just like we’d done every year on that day for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it was a long time between visits with each other, so we agreed that on one day a year we would all get together, regardless of where we were at the time. My siblings, Paige and Dylan, and their spouses had been there, too, but they drove separately.”

“Right. And where were you coming from?”

“Three-sixty. The restaurant in the CN Tower.”

The prosecutor nods, pacing back and forth in front of the stand. “You were heading east on Front Street West when you approached the intersection. Is that correct?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Walk me through what happened as you approached the lights.”

“Okay,” I start. “I was merging into the left-turn lane on Front Street when the light turned yellow. I came to a stop at the front of the line of cars to turn left onto Bay Street. That light has an advanced green on both sides, and since there were cars waiting opposite me to turn left, too, we both got it. The straight-through light was still red, but no cars were waiting. Just as I started to turn, a car came out of nowhere, gunning it through the red light and into the side of mine.”

I pause for a moment to catch my breath. I haven’t had to fully relive that day since it happened, and doing it now, while it may be for the purpose of putting that asshole away for good, is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

“I don’t remember much after he hit us. I know my car rolled, but I had a concussion, so it took me a minute to wake back up. All I saw after that was my mom with a piece of glass in her chest, and my dad was unconscious in the back, bleeding from his head.”

My voice cracks as I say the last bit, and tears burn the back of my eyes.

The prosecutor gives me a sad look. “Do you remember seeing the other driver?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, pinching the skin between my thumb and forefinger before exhaling deeply. “Yes. I watched firefighters pull him from his car, which had caught on fire. He was able to stand on his own and looked relatively unscathed from a distance. It wasn’t until I was in the back of the ambulance that I saw an officer approach and hold something up to his mouth, which I’d assumed then was a breathalyzer. I know now that I was right.”

The prosecutor’s jaw clenches as he says, “Thank you, Miss Thorne.” Looking to the judge, he adds, “No further questions, Your Honour.”

I flinch as the judge bangs her gavel on the desk, my gaze frozen to the man responsible for killing my parents. Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let him see me cry. He’s already taken enough from me.

I swallow the tears down, continuing to pinch the skin on my hand to focus on something other than the man currently smirking at me. I wait until I hear the judge say, “This session is adjourned. The jury has what they need to make their decision. We will readjourn tomorrow,” to leave the witness stand. I immediately rush down the aisle, past all the faces in the gallery, past my siblings and Baxter, and make my way into the warm August air.

It’s a stark contrast to the temperatures the last time I was here, but the way I feel right now is eerily similar to the emotions that were coursing through my bloodstream then.

Anger.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Sadness.

I rush down the steps and make my way to the side of the building, trying to catch my breath as the tears that threatened to fall the entire time I was up there finally do. A sob racks through me, and I bury my head in my hands, leaning back against the wall of the building.

“Lennon!” I hear a familiar voice say, and the next minute strong, firm arms are wrapped tight around me. It’s much too hot out for this right now, but that doesn’t stop me from burrowing my head in his chest as he strokes a hand down the back of my head. “Shh, baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe. ”

My fingers tangle in Baxter’s black button-down as I cry into his shoulder. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, which I know is meant to comfort me but only ends up making me cry harder.

I knew when I was asked to testify that I’d have to relive that day. I just didn’t think it’d be so painful.

The amount of times I’ve been bombarded with the memory unwillingly—I thought, or I guess hoped , recalling the events of that night of my own free will would hurt less. But I was fooling myself thinking that.

There’s nothing— no one —that would dull the ache in my chest when it comes to remembering the events that killed my parents.

“You did so good, Lenny girl. It’s over now,” Baxter hums into my hair as I continue to cry. My breathing has settled and the tears have slowed, but I continue to hold onto him like he’s my lifeline, keeping my head above water.

“Wh-what if they let him go?” I stammer, pulling my face back to look up at him. His dark-blue gaze peers deep into my soul as he looks down at me, nothing but concern written on his face.

“They won’t.” He combs a piece of hair behind my ear before cupping my face and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. I grip his wrists and squeeze my eyes shut. “They won’t,” he repeats, this time firmer, like by saying the words with such assurance, he’s manifesting that the jury will find Logan Jameson guilty.

Because he is.

All I can do is hope everyone else thinks so, too.