“I sat there all fucking night in the back of a cop car, watching my father bleed out on the ground. An ambulance didn’t arrive until fifteen minutes later. I was at the police station all night, giving statements, but I was numb, and I didn’t speak up properly and I blame myself for my mom losing the case. She’d put up a lawsuit when it happened. I—I should have told them everything, down to how I felt when it happened, how my father was a good man and that he didn’t deserve it, but instead I was so numb and scared and worried that I’d be next that I said the bare minimum…all because I wanted the nightmare to end. I wanted it to be over, but with shit like that, Amber…the nightmare never ends. I still live it to this day. I still think about how differently that night could have gone if maybe my father had stayed home instead of taking me to practice, or if he had driven my mother’s car instead of that white Impala.”
“I know,” I nod, but my voice is cracking. “I know, but you can’t change that, Joaquin. You didn’t even know it would happen. You can’t blame yourself for something you weren’t prepared for. He was your father. That cop killed him.”
He scoffs and pulls his hand out of mine, shooting to a stand. “And you want to know what the worst part of it was? After the trial was officially over, the cop was put on paid leave for six months. He got away with it. All those sleepless nights…all those tears my mother and I shed…and that’s all he got. A slap on the wrist. A pat on the back from his fellow men in blue. ‘Better to be safe than sorry’ I heard them say. That motherfucker is back in the field with a gun, still living his life after ruining an entire family, and he doesn’t give a fuck. None of them give a fuck.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“I don’t hate every cop. Trust me, I don’t, because I know some work hard, they are dedicated, and want to save lives, but cops like him? Cops who are too quick to reach for their guns without listening to reason? Quick to judge someone without facts or proof, or because their skin is different than theirs? Those are the cops I hate. They don’t deserve to have authority or power, and people in this world who are just like them, without the badge and gun, are just as bad and that’s why I don’t stand for any of that bullshit anymore. If I see it, I speak up. I try and make a difference because I had the chance before and failed not only myself and my mother, but my father too.”
There are thick tears streaming down his cheeks now and I am at a loss. I can’t speak to this, all I can do is react.
I stand up and wrap my arms around him. I hold on tight and refuse to pull away. At first he doesn’t hug me back, most likely used to suffering and dealing with this pain alone, but I’m not pulling away from this.
I lost my father to a tragedy too, and though it wasn’t on a discriminatory front, it still hurt. Now I know why Joaquin Torres is the way he is—why he can come across as bitter and rude and even harsh. He is in pain, and has had to live with this pain for years. He had to accept that his father is dead because of a mistake and he blames himself for that.
I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I’d seen my father die right in front of me. I can’t imagine what kind of person I would have become.
So I hug him with all the love that I have, hoping it will take away some of his hurt and pain. I hug him like my life depends on it, and that his does too, because maybe it really does. Maybe he’s at a breaking point and the only way for him to recover is with the only thing that can ever heal a broken heart. Love.
He eventually wraps his arms around me and hugs me back just as tight, his solid body molding with mine, and we stand in his bedroom like this for a long, long time.
Not talking.
Not moving.
Just hugging.
Because he clearly needs this, and I’m glad I can be the person to bring him comfort right now.
FORTY-TWO
I’ve never spoken to anyone about what happened with my father. Hamilton found out about the story from when she interviewed me. I didn’t elaborate but she read about the case after hiring me, gave me her condolences and that was the end of that. Mills knows because he’d heard about the case personally and how a track student was affected—the track student being me.