“Then, let him. At least he never set anything on fire.” This might be the only chance he had to say exactly what he wanted to Xander, and the witnesses would hold him socially accountable.

Once the doc stepped down and Dad was headed up to the stand, I looked back at Willow.

She gave me a reassuring smile—not that everything would be okay but that she would be there even if it wasn’t. I couldn’t return the expression, and hers softened in understanding.

Being up there on the stand, having my military record brought out like that, only served to remind me that even though we knew each other on a cellular level, we hadn’t caught up on all the details of the years we’d spent apart. But we’d have time for that…at least if the envelope Julie had given me decided so.

I wasn’t looking. Not until after this was over.

Simon questioned Dad, and he did surprisingly well. His answers were clear and concise, and he actually came off as perfectly lucid. We couldn’t have hoped for a better day to do this.

“Art, tell me: are you certain about wanting a do-not-resuscitate order?” Simon asked.

“Since I had it tattooed across my chest, I’d say I’m very certain,” Dad insisted. “This isn’t your choice, Alexander.” Dad turned to stare at my brother, and my stomach clenched. “I’m not a child. I am a man who deserves the dignity of controlling what happens to his body.”

“Objection,” Milton called out.

“You know it’s wrong,” Dad continued, and now my stomach twisted with nausea. “I taught you better than to tie another person down and force things into their body that they don’t want. That’s what you did to me!”

The crowd behind began to speak at the same time.

“Objection!” Milton shouted.

Shit. He was going off the rails.

“No further questions,” Simon finished, then sat down next to me. “Well, if nothing else, the entire town will be talking about that for a while.”

My muscles locked as Milton approached my father. He started easy, laying the foundation that, in every other matter besides that of his DNR, Xander was an excellent guardian in his opinion. And the DNR wasn’t a matter of malice or negligence but opinion.

That’s where he lost Dad.

“I do think it’s malicious to directly ignore someone’s wishes about his own body,” Dad argued.

“I agree,” Milton said. “But are you sure they’re your wishes?”

“I am.” Dad nodded.

“Today, you are. But what about tomorrow? Next year? Your memory isn’t always supporting you, Art, is it?”

Dad’s forehead puckered. “Some days it’s…faulty.”

“Like the day you shot Camden?”

My eyes slid shut as the muttering of the crowd washed over me.