Eventually, the right turners turned and I made it through the light. I was on the 5 heading south a few minutes later.

Nothing could stop me now.

Except a traffic jam.

As I crested the hill at Del Mar Heights Road, I nearly crashed into a blanket of brake lights. The cars had all slowed from 65 to 35 in less than a quarter mile. A few minutes later, my VW crept along at 10 mph.

Had I jinxed myself by hoping things would turn out for the best?

CHRISTOS

Russell led Brianna and me to the defense table inside the courtroom.

The judge’s bench was still empty. Only a few random heads populated the seating in the spectator gallery.

I noticed that George Schlosser and his assistant hangmen, Stanley Whitehead and Natalia Valenzuela, were already set up at the prosecutor’s table with three laptops open and humming, and file folders neatly arranged between them.

George Schlosser looked calm and sure of himself. Whitehead looked like a smug fuck who I’d very much like to bump into in some dark alley when no one was looking. Natalia was a bright eyed and bushy tailed vampire jackrabbit.

Whatever.

I knew that me, Russell, and Brianna looked like three gladiators stepping into the Coliseum in Ancient Rome as we walked up to the defense table. We were going to slice some heads off. I could feel it.

I sat down while Russell and Brianna arranged their laptops and files on the defense table. It was a quiet moment for me to settle into my seat. I was going to be doing a lot of sitting for the next few hours. At least it was peaceful in the courtroom prior to trial. Almost like enforced meditation. I could roll with that. Then my stomach dropped through a hole in the floor and plummeted to the center of the earth.

“Paidi mou,” my father said from somewhere behind me.

I recognized his voice instantly.

Holy fuck. How the hell did he get here?

My stomach bounced back from the earth’s core and flew through the ceiling to shoot into the stratosphere. This was not going to be my day, was it?

I hadn’t told my dad about the trial. I’d considered it after discussing the topic with my grandfather, but at the last minute decided not to. Maybe if my dad actually came by my grandfather’s place now and then or showed some interest in something other than drinking, I would’ve told him.

I glanced back as he squeezed my shoulder.

He was leaning over the thigh high partition between the court floor and the gallery, wearing a sharp dark suit. He looked like a slightly older version of me, but with a hint of gray at the temples. To my surprise, he looked healthier than when I’d last seen him almost a year ago.

Ever since my mom had run out on us, my dad had stayed locked up in his house where he drank away his days. His split with my mom had turned him into an absentee human being. I couldn’t stand watching him throw away his life and tremendous talent, so I rarely visited him, and we never talked on the phone. He was always too damn drunk to hold a conversation.

Russell and Brianna both turned to look at my dad. Russell knew him on sight. He’d met my dad many times in my youth, but I don’t think Brianna knew him.

“Mr. Manos,” Russell nodded, standing to shake my father’s hand.

Brianna stood as well and introduced herself. “Brianna Johnson.”

“Nikolos Manos,” my father said.

Reluctantly, I stood and turned to face him. My grandfather, wearing a light gray suit, walked up behind my dad, looking nervous and apologetic. Yeah, he knew why I might possibly be irritated that he’d brought my dad. Fuck.

“Pappoús,” I said as I leaned over to hug my grandfather.

He whispered in my ear, “I thought your father should be here. For you. For his son.”

That explained where my grandfather had been last night. Probably sobering up my dad so he wouldn’t be sloppy drunk in court. I ground my teeth together.

Still whispering, my grandfather continued, “Your father was worried you wouldn’t want him to be here but I told him it would be all right with you.”

Yeah, right.

I pulled away from my grandfather but dropped my eyes to my hands. My hands were already clenched into fists. My fucking dad was the last person I wanted sitting behind me during my trial.

“I can see where Christos gets his good looks,” Brianna said warmly. “You three could be brothers.”

My grandad smiled proudly and nodded. “That’s my boys.”

“Say hello to your father,” Russell said softly, nudging my elbow.

I glared at Russell but saw compassion in his eyes. He’d been encouraging me to forgive my dad for years.

Without looking at my dad, I leaned toward him. He threw his arms around me and squeezed, stifling me. I expected to smell booze, but I did not. That was a surprise.

I pulled away and glanced at him briefly. “Hey,” I mumbled.

“Paidi mou, it’s so good to see you,” he said earnestly.

As I was about to take a step back, my dad threw his arms around me again and crushed me to his chest. He’d let his body go to shit years ago. But now, he was much stronger than I remembered. Had he been working out again? That seemed impossible. I sighed as he patted my back repeatedly. “Okay, dad. That’s enough.”

He softened when I’d said ‘dad’.

He released me and I glanced at him again. His eyes were moist.

“You look handsome as always, son,” he smiled, his mouth shaking. “Bet the ladies have been chasing you, no?”

I arched a noncommittal eyebrow.

“I heard all about your sellout show at Charboneau,” he continued, “I went down to see everything the day after opening night. Amazing work, paidi mou. Your female figures put mine to shame.”

I gave him a solid, long look.

“I’m not bullshitting you, paidi mou. At my best, I did not paint like you do now.”

My chest tightened and my eyes went hot. For my father to say that and say it sober blew me away. My father never exaggerated when it came to painting. He wasn’t harsh, but he never piled on false praise. He was honest, direct, and encouraging. But he never said what he didn’t mean. I’d been waiting to hear words like that from him my entire life. He was so fucking talented, I never thought I would. I was shell shocked.

My voice cracked as I spoke, “Thanks, Bampás.”

My dad’s smile widened across his even white teeth. Silent tears dripped from his eyes, staining his suit jacket. He grabbed me and hugged me more fiercely than before.

I let him.

My grandfather rubbed my dad’s back affectionately. His eyes were wet as well. Then he turned to Russell and said, “My grandson is such a good boy.”

“Yes he is,” Russell stated firmly.

I was ready to cry myself. When my dad released his hug, I happened to glance at Russell who was marveling like he was witnessing a miracle. Maybe he was.

“The Court will now come to order,” the uniformed bailiff announced from the front of the room.

So much for happy reunions.

Time to fight.

SAMANTHA

Traffic ground to a halt before I reached the 805 split. I was literally parked in my VW in an ocean of other frustrated drivers.

Just north of the SDU campus, the 5 freeway split into two roads, the 5 and the 805. Usually traffic lightened up at that point because there were suddenly twice as many lanes.

I’d hoped that the slow down through Del Mar would be temporary.

No such luck.

I was stuck. I couldn’t get to an off ramp to take surface streets because traffic had not moved in the last ten minutes. I know, because I was watching the clock on my dashboard.

I considered driving along the shoulder. Several drivers had done just that in the last couple of minutes. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The only problem was, I was in the number three lane and there was an eighteen wheeler between me and the shoulder on the right. There was no way he could move out of the way, and I was boxed in by cars on the front, back and left.