"Dad, you're going to have to figure your own way out of whatever it is you've landed yourself in this time."
"Uh…" Dad pauses, and then coughs. "Going to be a little difficult to get myself out of this one, son. I'm in jail."
I pinch the bridge of my nose and stifle a sigh. "What happened?"
Behind me I hear the rustle of sheets, then feel the touch of two warm hands, followed by a set of even warmer lips on the center of my back.
I turn my head to the side, and there is just enough moonlight coming in through her window to see Autumn's features. I love her bedhead. I want to wake up next to it forever.
Not if she takes that promotion you told her to take, fuckface.
Driving the thought from my mind, I force myself to focus on the most pressing problem at this current moment. As if there aren't enough of them.
"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 his thank 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."
"I hear you," I say. The jovial greeting turns quiet.
"So, listen," Jackson runs a hand through his hair. "One of my guys pulled your dad over tonight. He was pretty drunk, Owen."
Shame fills me. "He needs help … I'll make sure he gets it."
Jackson sits back on the corner of his desk, his hands steepled between his knees. "Slapping a DUI on your dad isn't going to help him. It might humiliate him, but it won't solve his problem. I'm thinking you and I make a deal. You get him into a treatment program, and I won't charge him with a DUI."
Gratefulness slides in, making a home for itself beside the shame warming my skin. "Thank you, Jackson. I appreciate it."
Now to convince my dad to go to rehab.
Jackson pushes aside some papers lying on the desk beside him. "I lost my dad a year ago. Heart attack."
My face falls. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, he was a good one. Pretty healthy too. Guess you never know." He shrugs and stands up. "If you go back up front, I'll have one of my officers bring your dad out."
I extend a hand. "Thanks again, man. Really. I'm a doctor now. An oncologist. Please let me know if you ever need anything. If I can't help you, I'll find someone who can."
I owe Jackson big-time. He accepts my offer with a nod, we shake and part ways. I'm a few feet from his desk when his voice rings out behind me. "Owen, did you and Autumn Cummings ever get married? You two were inseparable."
A few months ago, my answer would've been completely different than it is tonight. I grin and say, "We parted ways for a while, but we're back together now."
He returns the smile, genuinely happy. "That's great, man. Good for you guys."
I continue on to the front where I came in, rejoining the surly desk guy. When my dad comes out, he appears sober. Scared straight, I suppose.
"Owen," he greets me, ducking his head.
I can't handle seeing him this way. Standing in the front of a police station, ashamed and a hairsbreadth from having a DUI.
Placing a hand on his shoulder, I steer him towards the door. "Come on, Dad. I'll take you home."
We don't talk on the drive. What is there to say? I feel like yelling, but I can't, because he's not a child and I don’t have the energy. As I pull into the driveway, I put it in park but keep the car running.
My dad meets my gaze in the dim outdoor lights affixed to the front of the house. Taking a deep breath, I tell him, "You're going to a treatment facility somewhere. I don't know where yet."
Dad's eyes widen. "Treatment? Owen, this was a huge mistake, I'll give you that, but I don't need that kind of help. I just need to cut back a little."
My head shakes slowly back and forth. "I made a deal with the cops, Dad. They won't give you a DUI if I get professional help for you."