Page 123 of Notorious

“Maybe it will give you some comfort. It’s a French phrase that means ‘the call of the void.’ It’s when you think you could just … veer into oncoming traffic. Or jump off a cliff. It’s the momentary allure of playing with danger. Wondering what would happen.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That’s a thing?”

“It’s a thing. Knowing that it’s a thing, that other people experience it, really helped me,” she says. “We all have intrusive thoughts from time to time. But you don’t have to believe everything in your head or act on it. Talking about those intrusive thoughts, shining a light on them, making sure that people know it’s okay to talk about them and about their mental health—this is important. You did the right thing when you told Kurt what was going on, what your brain was saying to you.”

Johnny and Christian talk a while more, and I can tell he’s more relaxed. His shoulders aren’t hunched, and the panicky look is gone from his eyes.

When we leave, he grabs me in the parking lot and kisses me hard. “I love you,” he rumbles. “Thank you for standing by me.”

“Stop thanking me. It’s what I mean when I say I love you, too: I’m gonna stand by you.”

“Maybe we should make up some new vows,” he says. “Ones that mean more to us than whatever we said in Vegas. Since, you know, we can’t remember those.”

I nod. “Deal.”

The trial continues for three more days, and it’s hard to tell whether it’s going well or not. I think it is, and I think Pinkerton looks like a shit, but that doesn’t mean that the jury is going to agree or award Johnny any money. The parade of porn star witnesses has drawn some media attention, but the judge has barred television cameras, so it’s only the mess of reporters outside that’s a disturbance.

Every night, Johnny’s clung to me in sleep, but he’s been peaceful. Like he’s passed over one watershed and into a new one, where the view is different.

Meanwhile, I’m still plotting with Rowan. Letting him know the status of the proceedings.

On the last day of testimony, while the jury is still out in the hallway on a break, Danny says, “Your Honor, we have one more witness. A rebuttal witness.”

“There are no other witnesses on the list,” opposing counsel snaps, holding up a sheet of paper and shaking it.

“True,” Danny acknowledges. “But we’re allowed to bring in a witness to impeach the defendant’s direct testimony.”

“Well, I object,” opposing counsel says.

“On what basis?” the judge asks.

“Unfair surprise.”

Danny shakes his head. “The witness was disclosed during discovery, and opposing counsel had plenty of opportunity to take her deposition. If they chose not to, that’s not my fault.”

“Offer of proof?” the judge says.

“Me-too evidence. The defendant testified that he’d never given anyone Rohypnol, but we have a witness to impeach his credibility.”

“Who is the witness?” the judge asks.

“Sandra Nguy?n.”

“Objection overruled.” The judge nods. “You may proceed.”

Johnny’s eyebrows knit together. I lean over and whisper in his ear, “Do you know who that is?”

He mutters, “No, I do not.”

But then the courtroom doors open, and his whole demeanor changes. A small, pretty Vietnamese woman with long, dark hair walks in, and he takes in a sharp breath. “Tawni?”

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“She’s an actress,” he whispers. “And she’s my friend.”

Sandra—or Tawni—looks nervous, her hands shaking and her lips trembling, but she’s got a determined set to her shoulders. She’s wearing a pastel blue suit and sky-high heels, but she looks more adorable than femme fatale. She gives Johnny a quick wave but sticks her chin up in the air as she passes Gary to take the witness stand.

The judge turns to the bailiff. “Let the jury in.”

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