Page 16 of Donovan's Men

I cocked my head toward the doctor.

“Restorative justice occurs when victims can confront their perpetrators in a safe setting and where the perpetrators can…apologize…for lack of a better word. They can—”

“Give a sob story.” Tyson’s voice had an edge to it.

Hamish pivoted to him. “We both know the recidivism rate goes down after a perpetrator has been through the restorativejustice process—they are forced to face the consequences of their actions. Some really do turn their lives around.”

“And some use it to curry favor with the parole board.Oh, I apologized. Let me out so I can be a good person. All the while, they’re planning their next crime.” Tyson tossed his sandwich down in obvious disgust.

I pressed my hand to his.

He startled.

“Maybe Hamish can provide some statistics to back up his claim.”

“I can.” He grabbed his phone from his coat pocket.

Tyson held up his other hand. “I get it. You’re right—there are some who are helped by the program. And sometimes victims feel better. Like they’ve been heard. But do you really think Meggibeth sitting down with Cole would be a good idea? That it would satisfy either of them?”

“I think it’s a terrible idea.” I squeezed his hand, cocked my head toward Hamish, and spoke when it appeared he wasn’t going to.

Hamish held his hand up, clearly meaning to object.

Giving him a slight shake of my head, I continued, “But if months or years from now, that’s what Cole wants, I’d support him. Look, his father was an abusive alcoholic who made Cole’s life hell. Cole would’ve had every right to walk away and never look back. When the old bastard got sick, though, Cole chose reconciliation. I wouldn’t have done it.” Just thinking about my father caused a shiver to run up and down my spine. “But Cole’s his own man. He’ll do whatever he wants. As for Meggibeth…” I shrugged. “If it means she’s less likely to do something stupid again, how is that a bad thing?”

Tyson’s mouth set in a grim line, but he didn’t shake off my hand. Eventually, he picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

I pulled my hand back.

He met my gaze.

The world stopped in that moment. Down to the core of my being, I saw his pain. Over some wrong committed to him? By him? I didn’t know—but I sure as shit wanted to find out.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Hamish drew my attention from Tyson.

“I’m stopping by the hospital to check on Cole and then heading home.”

“Where’s home? Do you need a ride?” His green eyes flashed compassion. Likely as he remembered I couldn’t drive.

“Where do you live, Doc?” Turning the tables on him felt like the right thing to do.

He flushed.

From the nickname or the personal question?

He cleared his throat. “Downtown.”

“Ah, well, I live in Renfrew.”

“I can still drive you—”

“I’ll take you.” Tyson fidgeted with his sandwich wrapper, which felt incongruous. He should, of all of us, be the most confident. Cop and all. He held the power in every relationship—except perhaps with his superior officers.

“It’s not necessary—”Although I really want you to.

“I live in New West.” He held my gaze. Steely determination. Like he wasn’t going to takenofor an answer.

Okay, then. I was pretty much on the way home for him.