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Colton: I’m parked outside your house.
A few seconds later, the porch light came on, and the door opened. I got out of my car, crossing the street.
Austin stood there. His hair was shorter. He’d always been lean, but he was thinner. “What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping we could talk.” I hadn’t thought through what would happen if he didn’t want to talk.
He glanced at my truck, then at me. “Come in. You’re a cop now?”
I stepped inside. “I am.”
“I heard you enlisted.”
“I did. Did my four years, then went back home to be a police officer.”
He gestured for me to sit across from him on the couch. “Congratulations.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about me. I wanted to see how you were doing. I feel bad about not coming to see you sooner.”
Austin rested his elbows on his thighs. “I remember you stopping by the hospital.”
Surprised, I said, “I didn’t think you were awake.”
“I was in and out. I appreciated you coming by. What’s going on?” He wanted to know why I was here now.
I took a few seconds to gather my thoughts. “I felt responsible for what happened in college. Your partying and drinking. It got out of control, and I didn’t realize it. I wasn’t there for you.”
Austin’s brow furrowed.
“I should have been more involved. I should have gotten you help.”
“What college kid thinks that a friend’s partying was an addiction? You drink, party hard, and sleep through classes.”
“Not everyone does that.” I hadn’t. I was disciplined, even back then.
Austin shook his head. “We went to a party school. I was there to have fun. If it got out of control, it was on me.”
“You don’t—you don’t blame me for not seeing it?”
He shook his head. “No, man. That blame rests with me. I’ve been in rehab. I know the drill. I should be apologizing for not being a good friend to you.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” I wiped my hands on my jeans.
“I’m the one who owes you an apology. You didn’t force me to drink. You didn’t even drag me to the parties. Why do you feel responsible?”
“I could have been a better friend.” The mantra I’d told myself since college felt weak.
He leaned back on the couch. “Yeah, maybe, but I wasn’t ready to hear it. I needed to hit rock bottom.”
He said it with such conviction, I started to believe him. “Falling off the balcony of a frat house was that for you?”
He nodded. “It got my parents’ attention, and the school’s. I was expelled. Went to rehab. Life got real, quickly.”
I needed to talk this out with someone who was there, who might understand something about guilt and shame. “I’m dating someone, and she was robbed yesterday, assaulted. I didn’t protect her. I failed you. I failed her. When I was in the military, I didn’t realize this kid was going to throw a bomb at us.”
I knew I was rambling, not making sense, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
He held his hand up. “Look, I don’t know what happened in the military, but I can tell you, you’re not responsible for my drinking in college. If anything, I influenced our friends to party.”
