"I made a mistake, Owen. I had a little too much and didn't want to call you, so I drove home. Guess I wasn't doing all that good of a job of it, because I got pulled over."
Well, shit.This is bad. Somehow up until now my old man had avoided getting a DUI.
“Did you hurt anyone?” My heart pounds in my chest. If he ran over a kid or something, I will disown him.
“No. Just a stop sign.”
I sigh.
"I'm on my way," I tell my dad, but I don't wait for his response. I don't need to hear histhank you. After tonight, I'd love to forget this ever happened. I push off the bed, and Autumn's warm touch melts away.
"Owen? What's going on?"
I step into my pants and pull on my shirt. It's what I wore to work today. Or yesterday, I guess. The days are beginning to run together.
"My dad was taken to jail." In the relative darkness, Autumns gasps. "DUI," I add, pouring salt into the wound.
"Oh, Owen."
"I know, but he didn’t hurt anyone … so that’s good."
"What can I do?"
Smack some sense into my father? Rid him of the disease that eats away at the last shred of a bond we have left?
"Right now? Nothing."
"Lawyer? I can get a lawyer." She looks hopeful and I know the helper in her really wants to be of use.
I shake my head, then remember she probably can't see me. "Let me figure out how bad it is first." I lean down toward the mass of dark hair and kiss the top of her head. "I love you."
"I love you too, babe."
The simple, common pet name pierces my heart.Don't go, I almost tell her.Don't listen to me. Stay here and spend time coming up with more unique pet names.
I don't say anything like that, simply because I don't have the time. My dad needs me.
* * *
"Hello,I'm here for Michael Miller." I step up to the desk in the front of the police station. The officer behind the desk looks up slowly from whatever it is he's doing on his phone. My guess is solitaire or porn. Probably solitaire. He's looks like a solitaire guy.
He glances behind himself, somewhere in the station. When his gaze arrives back on me, it travels over me with obvious contempt. "Jones wants to see you."
"Uh … okay?" I don't know who Jones is.
"Follow me." He stands. The desk hid his stature, but now I see he's a good head shorter than me, and much wider. We walk back through a set of doors and through a room with partitioned desks. "Jones," he yells, but it sounds more like a catcall. "The Miller kid is here."
I balk. I'd bet a hundred bucks this desk guy is my age or younger.
Ten feet away, someone steps from the partitions. Hair as red as a flaming torch catches my attention first, and I know it immediately. "Jackson?" I ask, astonished. I haven't seen the guy since high school. He'd gone down to the valley for college and that was the last I'd heard from him.
He pulls himself up to his full height and sticks out a hand. The desk guy melts away into the periphery. "Owen Miller, it’s been a long time."
I shake his hand, a weird sense of nostalgia and happiness coming over me. It mixes with my tiredness and creates an altogether bizarre feeling. Jackson is a cool dude. We were friends in high school.
"Too long, man. You're back?"
He nods. "Yeah, I came back a few months ago. Got a little sick of the traffic in the valley."
