Chapter 32

Neil leaned forward in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he processed everything Nathan had revealed. "But what exactly do you need us to do? I want to make sure we handle this correctly."

Nathan shifted nervously, his hands clasping and unclasping as he worked through the details he'd been forming during the drive over. "I was thinking of telling them that I've been staying with you since I walked out of that marriage, and that I've been working at your pharmacy." He turned to Natalie, his voice growing more hesitant. "And Nat, I need it to seem like you treated my last injury when I came back here. I'll send you the medical record so you can build the story around it... but I don't want you to see the rest of what we found."

The injury he was referring to had been relatively minor by Peter's standards: a sprained wrist and bruised jaw from three days before Beth Dutton had walked into that Los Angeles clinic and offered him salvation. It felt like a lifetime ago, that moment when his entire trajectory had shifted from survival to actually living.

Neil and Natalie exchanged a meaningful glance, both of them clearly recognizing how carefully Nathan had constructed this plan around their specific professions. With Neil owning a pharmacy and Natalie working as a nurse, the cover story would hold up under legal scrutiny in ways that a random fabrication never could.

"I know I'm asking a lot," Nathan continued, his voice thick with guilt. "Making up these fabricated stories... asking you to break the law for me. But I honestly don't know what else to do."

Natalie shook her head firmly, her expression fierce with protective determination. "Nathan, we should have reached out to you years ago, should have tried harder to understand what was really happening. Let us make up for that lost time. Let us help you now."

The words hit Nathan like a physical force, overwhelming him with the kind of unconditional support he'd forgotten was possible between family members. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "Thank you so much."

Neil's weathered hand reached out to squeeze Nathan's shoulder. "Nate, I'm just grateful we have the chance to reconnect, to be here for you when you need us. That's what family does."

Natalie's practical nature kicked in as she began considering the logistics. "When are you planning to go back to Montana?"

"I have another consultation next Monday," Nathan explained, his mind already racing through the timeline. "Hopefully my deposition will be scheduled for the same week. You might need to be there too, to provide your affidavits and testimony." He paused, hope creeping into his voice. "If everything goes well, we should be able to leave the Monday after that."

Neil nodded with the decisive confidence of someone who'd made up his mind completely. "You can count on us, Nathan. Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Natalie's expression grew slightly wistful as she processed how quickly Nathan would be leaving again. "I hope we can spend more time together before you have to go back. Maybe next weekend? After your deposition?"

Nathan felt his chest tighten with emotion at the thought of another reunion, another chance to rebuild what had been stolen from them. "I'd love that. Even if I'm emotionally drained after the deposition, I'm not missing another opportunity to spend time with my family."

"Then it's a date." Natalie said with a smile that reminded Nathan of their mother.

—

With the difficult conversations behind them and plans solidly in place, the atmosphere in the house shifted from tense revelation to something approaching normalcy. The weight of secrets and misunderstandings had been lifted, replaced by the comfortable rhythm of family members getting reacquainted.

Nathan found himself gravitating toward Charlie, who had emerged from his room with the fearless curiosity that belonged exclusively to five-year-old boys. The resemblance between uncle and nephew was immediately apparent: the same blue-gray eyes, the same gentle demeanor, even similar facial structure that made their family connection obvious to anyone who looked.

Charlie approached Nathan with the directness that children possessed before the world taught them to be cautious. "Are you really my uncle?"

"I really am," Nathan confirmed, settling down to Charlie's eye level. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"I like trucks and dinosaurs and building blocks," Charlie announced with the seriousness of someone presenting his credentials. "Do you like trucks?"

"I do like trucks," Nathan replied solemnly. "I work with them every day on the ranch."

Charlie's eyes went wide with excitement. "Can you tell me about the ranch?"

As Nathan began describing the Montana landscape and the work they did there, Trevor watched from across the room with something approaching wonder. Nathan's face had transformed completely. The careful tension he'd carried since arriving in Los Angeles had melted away, replaced by genuine joy as he connected with his nephew. The sight made Trevor's chest ache with happiness for Nathan and longing for experiences he'd never had himself.

Neil appeared beside Trevor, noting his focused attention on Nathan and Charlie. "Come on," Neil said quietly. "Let me show you where Nathan grew up."

Trevor followed Nathan's father up the stairs, their footsteps muffled by carpet that had probably been installed when Nathan was still in high school. The hallway was lined with family photographs that chronicled Nathan's progression from gap-toothed elementary school student to confident high school graduate, each image telling the story of a childhood that had been filled with love and stability.

Neil opened a door at the end of the hall, revealing a bedroom that had been preserved like a shrine to Nathan's adolescence. The furniture was exactly what Trevor would have expected from a teenage boy's room: a desk for homework, bookshelves lined with textbooks and young adult novels, a bed covered with a comforter that had probably been chosen for practicality rather than style.

But it was the details that really caught Trevor's attention. Trophies and ribbons from various academic achievements, evidence of a young man who'd taken his education seriously. A guitar in the corner that explained where Nathan had learned to appreciate Trevor's musical abilities. Posters of bands and movies that dated the room to Nathan's high school years, when his biggest concerns had been grades and college applications rather than survival and freedom.

"I kept it mostly the same," Neil said quietly, his voice carrying the kind of parental sentimentality that came from missing your child long after they'd supposedly grown up. "Always hoped he'd come back someday."

Trevor could see evidence of Nathan's upbringing everywhere he looked: the careful organization, the academic achievements, the sense of security that came from knowing your family supported your dreams and ambitions. It was everything Trevor's own childhood had lacked, everything he'd learned to live without but had never stopped wanting.

One photograph in particular caught Trevor's eye: Nathan in a baseball uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen years old, grinning at the camera with the confident ease of someone who'd never had to question whether he belonged somewhere.

Trevor was still studying the image when Nathan appeared in the doorway behind him, having apparently escaped from Charlie's enthusiastic questioning about ranch life.

"I didn't know you played baseball," Trevor said, turning to face Nathan with genuine curiosity.

Nathan's expression grew slightly nostalgic as he glanced at his younger self. "Yeah, I played through high school, but I never took it too seriously. Just something to fill my time back then, you know? I was more focused on getting into a good pre-vet program."

Trevor's grin turned slightly mischievous as his imagination began working. "I'd love to see you in that uniform sometime."

Nathan chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly at Trevor's obvious interest. "Maybe when we have our own place."

The words hung in the air between them, casual but loaded with implication. Trevor felt his heart flutter at the suggestion that Nathan was thinking about their future in concrete terms. Not just surviving the divorce or getting through the immediate crisis, but actually building something permanent together.

"You think about that?" Trevor asked quietly. "Having our own place?"

Nathan's smile was soft but certain. "All the time. Especially after seeing how normal families work, how they support each other." He gestured around the preserved bedroom. "I want to build something like this with you. Something stable and safe, where we can just... be ourselves."

Trevor felt something settle in his chest that he'd been carrying for months without realizing it. The fear that Nathan's feelings for him were born from trauma and gratitude rather than genuine love, that once Nathan was truly free he might choose a different kind of life with a different kind of person.

But standing in Nathan's childhood bedroom, surrounded by evidence of the kind of upbringing that produced gentle, thoughtful people, Trevor finally understood that Nathan's feelings for him were real and lasting. Nathan wasn't just grateful for the rescue. He was planning a future that included both of them, building dreams that required commitment and trust and the kind of love that survived whatever challenges came next.

—

Monday morning arrived with the weight of inevitability that came with important deadlines. Nathan sat across from Lynette in her pristine office, both of them understanding that today would determine whether his path to freedom would be smooth or complicated by legal obstacles neither of them could fully predict.

"How are you feeling today, Nathan?" Lynette asked, her professional demeanor warm but focused as she opened a fresh legal pad.

"I'm doing well, thank you," Nathan replied, though his hands betrayed his nervousness as they fidgeted with the handles of his bag. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Thank you for asking." Lynette clicked her pen with practiced efficiency, settling into the focused mindset that had made her reputation in family law. "I'd like to continue building our case today. We need to establish a comprehensive timeline and gather any additional evidence that might strengthen your petition. Are you comfortable proceeding with that?"

Nathan nodded, then reached into his bag with deliberate movements. Without preamble, he withdrew the manila folder and the damaged phone they'd recovered from Peter's apartment, placing both items on Lynette's desk like evidence at a crime scene.

"I went back to the apartment," Nathan said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I found these in Peter's office."

Lynette's expression remained professionally neutral as she reached for the folder first, but Nathan caught the slight tension that entered her posture. She opened the manila folder and began reviewing the medical documentation with the systematic thoroughness of someone trained to extract meaning from complex paperwork.

The files were comprehensive and damning: X-rays showing multiple fractures over a four-year period, emergency room reports documenting "accidental" injuries, physician notes that individually might seem routine but collectively painted a picture of systematic violence. Lynette's frown deepened as she processed the timeline, noting how the injuries escalated in frequency and severity, how the medical visits were strategically spread across different hospitals to avoid detection.

"These records span from 2018 through early 2021," Lynette observed, her voice carefully modulated to remain clinical. "The pattern of injuries is... extensive."

She set the folder aside and reached for the phone, her expression shifting to something more guarded as she activated the screen. The gallery opened to reveal hundreds of thumbnail images that made her breath catch despite her years of experience with abuse cases.

Nathan watched Lynette's face as she scrolled through the photographic evidence of his suffering, seeing her professional composure waver slightly at the sheer volume of documentation. Each image represented a moment when Peter had chosen to preserve Nathan's pain for his own twisted purposes, creating a digital archive of systematic cruelty.

When Lynette selected one of the video files, Nathan immediately looked away, unable to watch someone else witness his most vulnerable moments. Lynette quickly muted the phone's audio so Nathan wouldn't have to hear his own voice pleading for mercy, but the visual evidence was devastating enough without sound.

On the screen, she watched Nathan struggle helplessly as Peter assaulted him, saw the genuine terror in his eyes and watched him begging for the violence to stop. The footage was filmed with the methodical precision of someone creating a personal collection, evidence of ownership rather than passion.

After viewing several files, Lynette carefully set the phone down and looked at Nathan with something approaching awe. In twenty years of family law practice, she had never encountered evidence this comprehensive or disturbing.

"Nathan," she said gently, "will you please give me a moment? I'll be right back."

Nathan's head dropped immediately, interpreting her request as evidence that what they'd found wasn't sufficient for their case. "Of course."

Lynette rose from her chair and stepped out of her office, closing the door behind her carefully. Once in the hallway, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths as she worked to regain her professional composure.

From the lobby, Trevor noticed Lynette's distressed exit and the way she was clearly struggling to process whatever Nathan had shown her. Her reaction told him everything he needed to know about the severity of the evidence they'd recovered.

Inside her head, Lynette was grappling with implications that went beyond the immediate legal case. Throughout her career, she'd handled hundreds of domestic violence cases, but none with evidence this vastly documented or psychologically sophisticated. Peter Burton had been a psychopath.

Her investigative team had spent the weekend attempting to locate Peter for service of process, but their efforts had yielded nothing useful. His law firm claimed he'd simply stopped showing up to work two years ago without explanation. His limited family seemed genuinely unconcerned about his disappearance, suggesting relationships that had been strained long before Nathan entered the picture.

A small voice in the back of Lynette's mind whispered that Nathan might know more about Peter's disappearance than he was revealing. After witnessing the torture documented on that phone, she found herself hoping that voice was correct. Some people deserved whatever consequences found them, and Peter Burton was definitely one of them.

After several minutes of processing, Lynette straightened her jacket and returned to her office, settling back into her chair with renewed professional focus.

"Nathan," she began, her voice carrying conviction that made him look up hopefully, "with evidence this comprehensive, we can expedite your entire case. No judge will question the validity of your claims for extreme cruelty. This is among the strongest documentation I've ever seen in a domestic violence case."

Nathan's sigh of relief was audible, his shoulders sagging as tension he'd been carrying for days finally began to dissipate.

"Now," Lynette continued, opening her legal pad to a fresh page, "I need to establish your whereabouts and circumstances following your departure from the marriage. This will be crucial for the court record."

Nathan had rehearsed this part during the drive over, but he still felt nervous about delivering the fabricated timeline convincingly. "I've been staying with my father for the past three years. My sister is an emergency room nurse. She treated my injuries at home because I was afraid to go to a hospital. I was terrified Peter would somehow track me down through medical records." He paused, adding what he hoped was convincing detail. "After I recovered enough to work, I started helping at my father's pharmacy."

"Can your father and sister provide corroborating testimony and affidavits?" Lynette asked, making notes as Nathan spoke.

"Yes, absolutely. They're both willing to testify about my condition when I arrived and my recovery process."

Lynette nodded approvingly. Family corroboration would significantly strengthen Nathan's case, especially given their professional credentials. "Have you received any trauma counseling during this period? The court will want to understand your mental health treatment."

Nathan hesitated briefly. The Yellowstone Dutton Ranch had been more therapeutic than any formal treatment he could have received, but he couldn't explain that without raising questions about his actual whereabouts.

"Yes," he said carefully. "That's actually why it took me this long to pursue the divorce. I needed extensive therapy to work up the courage to take legal action. My counselor finally helped me understand that I deserved freedom from that marriage."

"Of course," Lynette said with genuine compassion. "Trauma recovery is a complex process, and there's no timeline for when survivors feel ready to take legal action."

She consulted her calendar, cross-referencing court schedules and her own case load. "I'd like to schedule your deposition for this Friday, with your father and sister present to provide their testimony and submit their affidavits. I wish I could expedite it further, but I have existing commitments to other clients that can't be rearranged."

"Friday works perfectly," Nathan said, relief evident in his voice. "We'll be here. Thank you so much for everything you're doing."

"It's my job, Nathan, and honestly, it's cases like yours that remind me why I chose family law." Lynette's expression was sincere as she walked him to the door. "You've shown incredible courage in taking this step."

After Nathan left her office, Lynette returned to her desk and leaned back in her chair, exhaling deeply as she processed the morning's revelations. This would definitely be one of the most clear-cut abuse cases she'd ever handled: uncontested, thoroughly documented, with compelling witness testimony from credible family members.

Professionally, it was satisfying to have such strong evidence to work with. Personally, she was disturbed by the nature of Peter Burton's cruelty and grateful that whatever had happened to him, Nathan was finally free to rebuild his life.

Some cases stayed with you long after the paperwork was filed, and Lynette suspected this would be one of them.