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Then I ran like a coward, drunk on grief, sick with disbelief, and drove right through the scene of a grisly accident.
A man in uniform, pinned between two vehicles. Blood spattered along the hood of a wrecked car, red on red. Another man, trapped inside, shouting with anguish.
Chaos.
Catastrophe.
A nightmare that would haunt anyone who had the misfortune of witnessing it.
But the worst part?
It wasn’t just any nightmare.
It was my nightmare.
Theo was that man in uniform.
It was his blood decorating the red sedan, his body crushed between two pieces of unmerciful metal.
It was Kip trapped inside, begging for his partner to answer him.
It was me slamming to a stop, stumbling from my own vehicle and watching my world fall apart as my best friend, the man I’d just betrayed in the worst way, died before my eyes with forgiveness laced into his final words.
Forgiveness for me.
It was also me who buckled to the pavement when they announced his time of death, sobbing into my hands and begging for it to not be true.
9:03 p.m.
It was me who watched Kip get pulled from the wreckage, disheveled and devastated, along with a little girl and elderly woman, all alive—all destined to live another day.
Because of Theo.
Because Theo sacrificed his life for theirs.
It was me who cried harder after hearing those heart-wrenching details, and it was me who carried the painful burden of breaking the news to June.
It was June who watched me approach her on the dance floor, her face turning white, a mask of panic and confusion.
It was June who collapsed against me and had a blindsiding asthma attack when the realization sank in that her brother was gone.
It was Samantha and Andrew Bailey who rushed to the hospital.
It was Samantha and Andrew Bailey who met me in the waiting room, terrified for their daughter’s well-being, only to be informed of even graver news.
Their son was dead.
It was me who caught Samantha as she fell, a scream tearing from her lips.
It was me who consoled her as she cried. She cried for just the second time since I kidnapped baby June on that terrible night, and she cried so hard, I wondered if she’d been saving all her tears for that moment.
It was Kip who comforted Andrew, filling him in on the harrowing details as they both wept in a quiet corner of the waiting room.
It was me who held June after her diagnosis and subsequent release. We broke down together in the middle of the hospital parking lot, clinging to each other as if we were all we had left.
And it’s me, right now, a week after Theo’s funeral, knowing exactly what broke, but only having the resolve to mutter, “A plate.”
Silence festers around me, and I open my eyes.
