“Ryker, you have a visitor.”

It was late afternoon. Marcus was playing basketball outside, drenched in sweat, not expecting any visitors. An Asian kid covered in tattoos drove hard toward the basket, began to make a layup, then thought better of it and flipped the ball to Marcus. Coverage was tight. These guys were good. It went without saying they were tough. Marcus faked right, then rolled left and went for the three-pointer.

Swish.

Now they were only down by six, but the guard shouted again.

“Ryker, move it —let’s go!”

That was it. The game was over, and so, it turned out, was his time behind bars. Ten minutes later, having toweled off, changed back into civilian clothes, and signed a bunch of forms in triplicate, Marcus found himself sitting in the plush leather seats and cool air-conditioning of Mr. Garcia’s gleaming new silver Lexus.

“So . . . ,” Mr. Garcia said, sitting in the driver’s seat in a brown wool suit, brown leather shoes, and turquoise bow tie. “Turns out you were right. The DA called me this morning. He finally listened to the 911 tape. He read the statement your mother gave the police and reviewed all the forensic evidence. He also went back to the case files that led to both restraining orders, and based on all that, he dropped the charges.”

“All of them?” Marcus asked.

“All of them. And not only that —at six o’clock this evening he’s going to hold a press conference announcing that he’s clearing you of all wrongdoing and stating that given the circumstances, you acted honorably and within the law to defend your own life and that of your mother. He expects all the local stations to cover it live.”

“Does Elena know?”

“She was the first person I called.”

“What’d she say?”

“She burst into tears.”

“And my mom?”

“She was the second person I called.”

“She’s still in the hospital?”

“Yes, but the doctors say she’s making great progress. She should be released tomorrow. She’s so happy for you and can’t wait to see you face-to-face.”

“Thank you, sir,” Marcus replied. “For everything.”

“Happy to do it, young man.”

So much was racing through Marcus’s head at that moment.

“I’m really a free man?” he asked, trying to process it all.

“You are,” Mr. Garcia replied. “But before I take you home, there are a few things we need to talk about.”

“Actually, since my mom isn’t there, can we go straight to your house?” Marcus asked. He could hear the relief in his own voice. “I’m dying to see Elena.”

“I’m sure you are, son, but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He paused, and Marcus immediately tensed.

“Look, Marcus, you’ve just been through a terrible ordeal,” Mr. Garcia said softly. “You shot and killed someone. You spent the night in jail. That’s a heavy burden to bear, and it’s going to take a toll on you. You were certainly justified in what you did —morally and legally. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not criticizing you. But I think you need to take some time to process what just happened.”

“Meaning what?”

“It’s not uncommon for people in your situation to go through some sort of trauma, to have nightmares, anxiety attacks, and whatnot.”

“I’m fine, sir; really, I am.”

“You just watched a man die, Marcus, and die at your hands,” Mr. Garcia said. “That’s got to leave some emotional scars. No one your age —any age —should have to go through that. And I’m so sorry it happened. But now I think you need some time.”

“Time for what?” Marcus asked.

“To recover, to heal,” Mr. Garcia replied. “Look, I’m not your father. But I think you need to have a serious talk with your mom, and even more with your pastor and maybe a professional counselor. Work this thing through, Marcus. Take it seriously. And then we’ll see.”

“What does that mean: ‘we’ll see’?” Marcus pressed. “What are you really saying?”

“Marcus, this isn’t easy for me, but I have to do what’s right for my daughter.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m asking you to take some time off from seeing her, calling her, writing her.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know. Let’s say a year, then see where we are.”

“A year? Please, Mr. Garcia, I just bought a ring for Elena. I was about to ask you and your wife for permission to ask her to marry me the moment we graduate. Please, sir, don’t do this. I’m fine. And I’m in love. Don’t tell me I can’t see her.”

“Marcus, I know you two are very fond of each other. I know you’ve discussed marriage. But you don’t seem to appreciate the gravity of what has happened.”

“I had to do it, Mr. Garcia. I didn’t have a choice. Elena knows that, doesn’t she?”

“I’m not here to argue with you. I’ve done everything I could to help you, and I’ve done it from my heart. But I’m asking you to respect my wishes. Let’s talk again a year from now.”

Marcus was speechless. He didn’t need time to process or heal. Mr. Garcia was the one who needed time, not Marcus or Elena. But he could see it was pointless to argue. He certainly wasn’t going to get the man’s blessing to marry his daughter now. But waiting an entire year? Why not just say he could never see her again?

They drove back to Monument in silence, but Marcus couldn’t actually go home. The house was no longer a crime scene. All the yellow tape had been taken down. But it still needed to be thoroughly cleaned, especially his mother’s room, and that would take several days. So Mr. Garcia dropped him off at the Matthews’ house. They had left town for the week and offered the house to Marcus if he needed it. Mr. Garcia pulled up out front, handed over the keys, and explained that Mrs. Matthews had left some instructions on the kitchen counter and some food in the fridge. Then he drove away, and Marcus entered the large, empty house feeling more alone than when he was behind bars.