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“It depends.”
“Even if he’s tried as a minor, won’t he go to juvenile detention? That’s like jail.”
He bristled. “It’s not supposed to be. Juvenile detention is rehabilitative in nature.”
I scoffed. “You know it’s not. It’s a locked facility.”
“Inside, they have access to services and help.”
I placed my hands on my hips. “Do they get it?”
“Why are you so worried about this kid’s fate? He did the crime. He needs to face the consequences.”
“We don’t know what his home life is like.”
“That doesn’t make a difference.”
“Doesn’t it? Maybe he was acting out for a reason. He needs attention.”
“That doesn’t give him an excuse to break the law.”
“I get that, but I just—” I chewed my lip, not able to explain all the thoughts and emotions rolling through me.
“You just what?”
This was our great divide. The reason why we didn’t make any sense. “I’d like to think he’d get help. That we could help him.”
“My job is to figure out who did it and give the evidence to the state’s attorney in order to charge him.”
“That’s all very clinical, but don’t you want to know why he did it? What was going through his head? What if he needs help?” It felt important to find out why.
“He’ll get it in juvenile detention.”
“What if he’s charged as an adult?” I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in my stomach that this kid wasn’t going to get the help he needed through the court system.
“It’s his first offense. And it isn’t as serious as the ones that are usually waived up. It’s not likely.”
I identified with this kid. I could have been in his position had my adoptive parents not come into my life when they did. Would things have been different if my bio parents had gotten help when they were younger? Before they had kids?
Colton sighed, his shoulders lowering. He stepped forward, erasing the distance between us to rest his hands on my shoulders. He was more approachable. Less cop and more my boyfriend. The guy I could count on. Not a police officer reciting the law to me.
“We’re not going to see eye to eye on this.”
“I could have been—he could have been me.” I felt vulnerable admitting that out loud.
Colton shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. You could never be him.”
“How can you say that? I came from an unstable situation, too.”
He shifted closer, brushing a stray hair out of my face. “You’re wrong. You never tagged a store or broke in and trashed it.”
“No, but I could have.”
“But you didn’t.”
I knew I was being stubborn, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “I was lucky. I had my adoptive parents.”
“You made your choice. He made his, and he’s going to have to deal with it.”
