Page 104 of The Song We Lost

I fumble. My hands don’t work right.

The officer’s light sweeps over my face.

He pauses, as recognition flickers across his expression, controlled but undeniable.

“Mr. Carter,” he says.

My shame ignites , as he says “Step out of the vehicle,”

I do.

The air feels suddenly hot. The pavement feels unsteady beneath my feet.

He asks me to follow the light with my eyes.

To walk heel-to-toe.

To say the alphabet.

I try, but the world is too bright. Too loud.

Even out here. Even in the quiet.

Why is it so hot?

A car slows down across the street.

A phone is already recording.

My hands shake as the officer turns me toward the car.

“Hands behind your back.”

The cuffs are cold against my skin.

The click is final.

I stand there on the side of the road, headlights washing over me, flashing lights painting my skin blue and red, and all I can think is…

Bailey is going to hear about this.

Bailey is going to see it.

Bailey…

Maybe she’ll call.

Maybe this will finally be enough to pull her back into my orbit.

Maybe…

They put me in the back of the cruiser and shut the door.

The sound is heavy.

And for the first time in months, there is nothing in my hands.

No bottle.