I’m on autopilot now, turning on the car and driving us home. I want to climb in bed, wake up in the morning, and call this all a dream.
But I’m really awake. And this isn’t a dream. It’s a nightmare.
“Will you get special treatment because you’re a firefighter?” How can something I used to think was unfair suddenly feel like a lifeline?
“My special treatment was them letting me go home with you and not having to post bail. I don’t think there will be any more special treatment from here on out.”
My wheels are already turning, making lists and plans. There is no control to be had in this situation, so I grab onto whatever I can. “We’ll start making calls on Monday morning, find a good lawyer. That’s the most important thing.”
“I need to know if the person is ok. They were awake when the ambulance arrived. I’m almost positive their leg was broken. Maybe I can go to the hospital?—”
“Do not go to the hospital.” I don't know what I’m talking about, but it sounds like a bad idea. Something a lawyer might warn against. “We don’t know what the future holds, and what a case against you will look like.”
Are these my words? Is it me speaking?
Our walk into our home is surreal. The placement of my purse on the entryway table is surreal. It doesn’t feel real when I take off my sweatshirt, or change into a tank top. Gabriel stands in the middle of our room, lost.
“Take a shower,” I say, pointing through the open door into our bathroom. He listens. When he comes back into our room, I’m already lying in our bed. I’m on my side, my back to him. The mattress dips with his movement, the comforter shifts. His gaze burns into my back. I don’t know what he’s feeling or thinking, and I don’t want to ask.
I’m running out of compassion.
It’s a slippery slope, I know, because compassion is more important than anything else.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to find more of it. Tonight, the well has run dry.
Gabriel doesn’t touch me, though I can feel he wants to. The sheets shift again, and I know it’s Gabriel rolling over. Giving up.
Marriage is hard, but this can’t possibly be what everybody meant. This isn’t petty annoyances or differences in spending habits.
This is so much worse.
CHAPTER 23
“Gabriel, I…”Corinne’s voice trails off.
The connection falls quiet, and I know Doug and Corinne are on the other end, too shocked to form words.
I stare at Gabriel’s cell phone, lying on the kitchen table with the speaker turned on, and wait. I’d suggested Gabriel tell his parents in person, but Gabriel’s only response was, “Nash would’ve never done this.” Then he brought up his mom’s contact in his phone and pressed send. I don’t think Gabriel can look his parents in the eyes and say these words. Honestly, I don’t even care. I am too broken.
“What are you going to do?” Doug asks, disbelief in his tone.
“Get a lawyer,” Gabriel answers, voice soft.
“You’d better get someone good,” Corinne adds, stress thinning her words. “How do you plan on finding one?”
“Avery found someone this morning. She’s already left him a message.”
“Maybe I should look, too,” Corinne says. “I could ask?—”
“No, Mom.” Gabriel stretches a hand across his face, fingers rubbing at his temples.
“Do you trust her to choose a good lawyer? After she let this happen to you?”
I throw out my hands, ready to defend myself, when she adds, “She knew you were in trouble. She told me you had a drink in St. Lucia, but she said it was only one. She should’ve told me what was going on, and I could’ve prevented all this from happening.”
Gabriel looks at me, head inching back as if dazed, like he’s surprised I was capable of going to his mother. Maybe he didn’t understand until now just how scared I was for him. For us.
“You couldn’t have prevented a thing, Corinne.” Stress and exhaustion make my eyes ache. “This is partially your fault in the first place.” The words are whispered, so she cannot hear them, but Gabriel’s gaze meets mine, and he hangs his head like he did last night.
