“She said—” Hayes glanced at Logan again, weighing what to share. “She said it didn’t look like a boy who needed rescuing.”
Logan’s face was carefully blank, but Bear could see the muscle jumping in his jaw.
“The judge still wants to hear from you,” Hayes continued. “Even with the petition withdrawn, the placement needs to be confirmed. He’ll want to be satisfied that Logan is in a stable home before he closes the file.”
Bear nodded. His throat had stopped working.
“Just be honest. Answer his questions. Don’t oversell anything. Judge Marston has been on the family bench for fifteen years. He’s heard every speech a parent can give. He responds to plain talk.”
The courtroom door opened, and a bailiff stepped out. “McKenna matter?”
Bear raised his hand.
“Come on in.”
Greta squeezed his hand once before he stepped through the door. Logan followed close behind him.
The courtroom was smaller than Bear had expected. Maybe twenty seats in the gallery. A raised bench for the judge. Two tables in front. Pale wood paneling that had probably been there since the building went up.
Hayes guided him to the right-hand table and took the seat beside him. Greta and Logan settled into the front row of the gallery, close enough that Bear could feel them at his back.
Judge Marston came in through a door behind the bench. Sixties. Gray hair cut close. Wire-rimmed glasses. He sat down, adjusted his robe, and flipped open the file in front of him without looking up.
“Mr. McKenna.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I have a notice of voluntary withdrawal from petitioner’s counsel, dated two days ago.” He turned a page. “I also have a home study filed by Ms. Hayes, the recommendations from Logan’s school in Solace, and a report from his caseworker. Have you seen these documents?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Anything you’d like to add to the record before I confirm placement?”
Bear had rehearsed an answer to this question for three weeks. Income figures. The job Walker had given him running ranch security. The school district. Logan’s grades, which had come up a full letter in two months. He had the whole speech ready.
He opened his mouth and what came out was:
“He’s my son.”
Judge Marston looked up over the rim of his glasses.
“Go on.”
“He’s fifteen.” Bear’s voice came out rougher than he meant it to. “He’s smart. Reads constantly. He knows more about engines than anyone I’ve met, and I worked in a Ranger battalion full of guys who could rebuild a Humvee in a sandstorm. He’s stubborn. The kind of stubborn that makes him put his head down and justgo, whether the road’s there or not.”
The judge’s pen was moving across the paper now, but his eyes hadn’t left Bear’s face.
“He’s angry. He’s got a right to be. His mother died and he got handed to a father he barely remembered, with a record and a temper and not much to recommend him. He ran away after three weeks. Packed a bag at four in the morning and walked out.”
Behind him, Logan shifted in the gallery.
“I found him at the bus station in Hamilton with a ticket to Denver in his hand. He didn’t get on the bus. He came home with me.” Bear had to stop and breathe. “He came back on his own. Nobody made him.”
The courtroom was quiet.
“I served four years in Deer Lodge for aggravated assault,” Bear said. “That’s in the file. I’m not going to dress it up. I hurt a man who deserved hurting and I hurt him too much. I’ve spent every year since I got out trying to be a man my son could live with. I’m still trying. I’m going to keep trying.”
He stopped. Looked at his hands flat on the table.
