Page 112 of The Breaking Point

I was tired, not paying attention to what Jordan was saying, when Jordan slowed his car down. In front of us was a huge group of fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances, their emergency lights bright against the night sky.

“Damn, what happened?” Jordan said, craning his neck. “The entire highway is blocked.”

“I think we might have to turn around,” I said.

“No, they have somebody directing traffic.” Jordan pointed.

We were slowly making our way through the maze of vehicles when we passed by the wreck. We both looked, of course, and I grimaced when I saw the car was basically wrapped around a tree. I had a feeling whoever had been in the car wouldn’t have made it.

As I looked more closely, though, I noticed a decal on the back left bumper: a red hibiscus from Hawaii. It was a decal Mrs. Dallas had gotten when the family had gone to Hawaii a year ago.

I froze, time seeming to crawl to a standstill. “Pull over!” I yelled at Jordan.

“What the hell? Why?”

Jordan hadn’t even fully stopped the car when I jumped out. I jogged over to a police officer. He held up his hands, scowling at me.

“Son, this is an active scene. Get out of here,” said the cop.

I didn’t listen to him. I just ran toward the car, ignoring the cop’s shout. Right then, somebody raised their flashlight to illuminate the back of the car.

On the bumper was the decal I’d recognized. And most definitive of all was another sticker, this one that said PROUD HOCKEY MOM.

“What happened?” I asked. I whirled around. “What happened?”

“Some kid was drinking and wrapped his car around the tree. He didn’t make it,” said the cop.

I fell to my knees.

Ben. Oh God, Ben.

What have I done?

BRADY

PRESENT DAY

The day Grace stopped texting me, I knew something was wrong.

She’d given me space for about two days. Then she’d started texting and calling me, telling me she wanted to be there for me no matter what was wrong.

I didn’t reply to any of her messages. I felt like a complete piece of shit, ignoring her, but I didn’t know what to say. Every time I started to text her back or call her, I could hear Coach’s words in my head.

It didn’t help that I kept dreaming of the night Ben had died. Sometimes it was just the actual memory of seeing Mrs. Dallas’s car wrapped around that fucking tree.

Sometimes it changed into where I was in the car with Ben. I kept begging him to stop driving, that he was drunk, but Ben would just laugh and tell me to chill.

The worst dreams were the ones where I was the one driving. Sometimes I was drunk; other times, I couldn’t get control of the car for whatever reason.

Ben would be in the passenger seat, and then we’d slam into the tree. Sometimes Ben would fly through the windshield; other times, he’d have his seat belt on, but he’d be unconscious.

I always woke up not knowing if Ben was dead or alive. Maybe that was actually the worst part, because I’d wake up hoping that Ben was still alive.

Then reality would crash in, and I’d realize that he was still dead. And it’d been my fault entirely.

I’d given him those keys. I’d seen him drinking. I’d told myself he’d be fine, even when I’d been around my mom when she’d try to drive after she’d been drinking.

I’d known better. I could’ve stopped Ben from dying, but it’d been easier to say nothing. I’d taken the easy way out because I’d been a coward.

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