Page 76 of Unbound
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"We file for a protective order. Argue that Restoration Ridge poses a clear and present danger to his health and wellbeing.” He was writing faster now, making a list. "We'll need medical testimony about conversion therapy harm. We'll need to prove his parents' intentions pose imminent threat. And we need to move fast. If they get him to Montana, jurisdiction becomes a nightmare."
"How fast?" Andrew asked.
"They could come for him any day. We file tomorrow."
Sunday night, our house became a war room. Professor Okonkwo brought two of his best senior law students to help with research. Sam reached out to other conversion therapy survivors he was still in contact with who would be willing to testify. Diana contacted LGBTQ+ advocacy groups for expert witnesses. Phoenix orchestrated their social media theatre—turning Jesse's story into the kind of viral campaign they specialized in, because public pressure could help. Jamie documented anything and everything that might be evidence.
Elijah stayed upstairs with Jesse when I wasn’t there, who was too fragile to help. Every time someone mentioned his parents or the hearing, he'd start shaking again. The fight-or-flight response was burned into him so deep, I wasn't sure it would ever fully fade.
I worked through the night on legal briefs, fuelled by coffee and determination. Around 3 AM, Professor Okonkwo found me at the kitchen table, surrounded by case law and constitutional amendments.
"Good work," he said, reading over my shoulder. "You know you'll make a fine lawyer someday."
"If we win this."
"When we win this," he corrected. "Jesse deserves freedom. We're going to make sure he gets it."
Monday morning, we filed an emergency motion for a protective order. The hearing was scheduled for Wednesday—remarkably fast, probably because Professor Okonkwo knew people. Judge Sarah Burrows was assigned, a former ACLU attorney. Good sign.
Monday afternoon, my phone buzzed with a text from Rebecca. She must have found my number in Jesse’s schoolwork.
We need to talk. About Jesse.
We met at a coffee shop downtown. She looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept since the night Jesse ran. Dark circles under her eyes, hands shaking around her cup.
"His parents are planning something," she said without preamble. "Soon."
My blood went cold. "What did you hear?"
"His mother called mine this morning. They're leaving for Montana Thursday morning." She leaned forward, voice dropping. "They want to move him before any legal intervention."
"Thursday? That's the day after our hearing."
"They know you're going to try to stop them legally. So they're just going to kidnap him and leave. They know where your frat house is."
The coffee turned to acid in my stomach. "Can you testify at the hearing? About what you know?"
Rebecca hesitated, staring into her cup. "If I testify against his family, mine will disown me too."
I wanted to tell her it didn't matter, that Jesse's safety was worth anything. But I couldn't ask someone to sacrifice their entire life. I wouldn't.
"I understand if you can't—"
"I didn't say I couldn't." She looked up, meeting my eyes. "I said they'd disown me. And they will. But Jesse is worth it."
She paused, then added quietly, "He's always been worth it."
JESSE
The two days after we filed the petition for a protective order were the longest of my life. The house became a waiting room, thick with a tension so heavy it felt hard to breathe. We were all on edge, caught between the hope of relief and the fear of what my father would do if the order was denied.
I spent most of the time in Adrian's room, a ghost haunting a space that wasn't mine. I'd stare out the window, tracing the patterns of the branches, my stomach in a permanent knot. Adrian was a coiled spring beside me, constantly checking on me, almost as if to reassure himself I was still safe, his jaw tight. Downstairs, the others tried to maintain a sense of normalcy that felt utterly false. Diana stress-baked until every surface was covered in cookies no one had the appetite to eat. Andrew paced, wearing down the carpet into the pattern of his feet.
By the evening of the second day, the silence had become unbearable. We were all gathered in the living room, the uneaten cookies sitting on the coffee table like a sad offering.
Suddenly, Phoenix shot up from the couch, clapping their hands together with a loud crack that made me jump.
