“Get in,” I say.
He folds himself in the passenger seat, and we do not speak for a full minute. Then he closes the door, and I drive.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I look at him in the glow of a streetlight as we pass under it. He stares at the floorboard, shadows darkening the skin beneath his eyes. “What are you sorry for?”
My fingers shake against the steering wheel. I no longer want confirmation of what happened. I want to curl into a ball and cry.
“For putting you through this.” Slowly his head moves back and forth, like even he can’t believe it.
I ask the question, with the answer I already know. “Did you drive drunk?”
He nods, eyes still cast down.
“How much trouble are you in?” I’ve heard of the leniency police officers will show firefighters. Those could have been rumors though, and until now I’d never thought to ask.
Gabriel lifts his head, swinging his face to meet mine. The brokenness in his gaze doesn’t appear to have a bottom, and I’m lost in those dark eyes of his, falling down into nothing and everything and whatever is waiting once we hit bottom.
His lower lip trembles. I turn right, faster than I intend, and park the car on a dark and quiet street.
My back presses against the door as I turn and face him. I wait.
“I’m in a lot of trouble.”
I’ve never heard his voice like this. Shallow, and full of despair.
“Start from the beginning.” I don’t know how my voice is calm.
“I went out with Plotnik and Casella after we were done with our reports. I know I told you I’d be home, but—” He hesitates, and I finish the sentence for him.
“You didn’t want to come home.”
His answering nod is tiny and regretful. “Things have been hard. Between us, I mean.”
My skin prickles. Anger bubbles, but it doesn’t break the surface. I’m feeling too many other emotions for anger to take hold yet.
“It’s my fault.” He shakes his head. It seems to be his favorite movement right now. “Everything is my fault.”
“Keep going,” I instruct. Fear grips my heart. For the first time since he called me, I’m beginning to understand this might be worse than I thought.
“I had too much to drink, but I didn’t want to ask you for a ride. I didn’t want you to know I’d been drinking. I see your disappointment every time you look at me, and I didn’t want to add to it again, and…” He coughs on a sob. “And I didn’t call for a ride, because then my truck wouldn’t be there, and you would know.” He digs into my center console and finds a travel pack of tissues. “How did you know, in St. Lucia?”
“I woke up and found you on the couch. And you reeked.” I wait for him to be done blowing his nose. “I restarted my birth control that night.”
He sobs once more, louder this time, filled with more anguish. I cry too, but quietly.
When he can speak, he says, “I’m sorry. So sorry.” He’s shaking his head again, like even he is astonished by all that has happened. “I ruined it for us. I—” His voice cracks. “I have no idea what’s going to happen to me.”
I take a deep breath. Reality and whatever this is that I’m doing right now do not feel like they are one and the same. This is a different me, an alternate version, and I’ve been asked to play her role momentarily. “Is this not a standard-issue DUI?”
More sobs from Gabriel. “Someone walked in front of my car.”
Horror races through me. “Are they ok?”
“I don’t know. Nobody would tell me anything. One moment I was driving, and then there was a loud sound. I never even saw them. I got out of the truck.” He makes a sound, an anguished huff of emotion. “I’m the one who called 9-1-1.”
I’m too shocked to think. My limbs are frozen, and simultaneously tingling. I’m no longer tethered to this earth, and I could float away.
