“Yes,” Peter said. “And since you stipulated to what you did, and that everything Amber told them in her follow-up statement was true, they’re willing to waive jail time in lieu of you attending a two-year outpatient sexual offender treatment program and paying a ten-thousand-dollar fine.”
“Jesus,” I said, as I tried to let the weight of his words sink in. I wouldn’t have to go to jail, but I’d have to spend two years in a room talking to a therapist, and possibly a bunch of sexual predators. I’d have to somehow find an extra ten thousand dollars to pay the state, despite the fact that I’d just lost my job and emptied my entire savings paying Peter’s retainer. I knew my mom would help as much as she could, but after having bailed me out, she didn’t have any extra money lying around. In fact, over the past couple of weeks, tired of trying to avoid running into Tom and Helen in the neighborhood, she had decided to list her house with a real estate agent, and while it had sold after only two days on the market, she ended up barely breaking even. She had just enough equity to buy a two-bedroom condo near Barkley Village, where I was planning to move in with her now that I wouldn’t be able to pay rent. My father, since learning that I’d gone to the police and confessed, had refused to speak with me or offer any financial help. I wished I could say that his reaction surprised me.
“It’s a great offer,” Peter said, sitting back against his chair. He folded his hands together over the swell of his belly and looked at me with cool blue eyes. “You’re lucky they’re not trying to make an example of you.”
“I get that,” I said. “But still. A treatment program? Seriously?” My mind flashed with images of having to sit in a circle with a group of nasty old men with pockmarked faces and porn-style mustaches, listening to the horrifying things they’d done to women or, even worse, children. I couldn’t fathom being among them; I couldn’t believe they were anything like me. I gave Peter an imploring look. “This was a one-time fuckup. I made a mistake, but I’m fully aware of what I did and I owned up to it. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Sure,” he said, carefully. “It’s what earned you this offer.”
“Can’t you counter it? Bargain for a lesser sentence?” I racked my brain for the words that would make him realize all I really deserved was a slap on the wrist. If he just argued more, if he just emphasized that I was first-time offender, that my record was otherwise totally clean.
“No, I can’t. That’s not how plea bargains work.” He paused and gave me a pointed look. “Unless you’re willing to change your story about what happened at the cabin. You’d have to say that Amber meant to shoot you. Then we could argue that your confession was made under duress, and a judge might rule to throw it out.”
“But that would mean Amber would be charged with assault, right?” I thought back to the small room where I’d told the detective on duty how I’d raped Amber, how he’d questioned me over and over again about if the shooting had been truly accidental. At the time, I knew he suspected there was more to the story—that it was too much of a coincidence that the same girl I’d raped had “accidentally” shot me, too. I’d protected her, though, because I’d promised I would. It was the one way I could show her that the friend I’d been to her over the years hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. It was part of the price I’d promised to pay.
“Assault with a deadly weapon, yes. Which, considering the circumstances, is more believable than it being an accident, and she’d probably be convicted. Then we could go back to the prosecutor and your case would take on an entirely different light. The confession wouldn’t be admissible, you could plead not guilty, and without any physical evidence, the rape would be almost impossible to prove. You might even be able to get your job back.”
I considered this, sorely tempted to do what Peter suggested. After all, Amber had purposely shot me. If reporting her for it would mean I could avoid having to register as a sex offender, if it meant that I could skip treatment and be able to do my job again, shouldn’t I want to tell the police the truth about what happened? Hell, the prosecutor might even tack on kidnapping charges, and, as I’d told Amber that night at the cabin, she would be the one who went to jail.
But even as I thought these things, an undercurrent of self-loathing seized the muscles in my throat at the memory of Amber’s strangled voice when she told me to stop as I pushed her thighs apart. I remembered her tears and the way she screamed the next morning when I entered her room. I thought about the conversation we had in the truck, the night she took me to the cabin, the anguish in her voice, the way she could have killed me if she had wanted to. But she didn’t. She chose to let me live, despite the fact that I had raped her, only because I promised to admit what I did and endure the consequences. If I changed my story about the details of the shooting now, I’d be going back on my word. I’d caused Amber enough pain; I couldn’t hurt her again.
“It was an accident,” I told Peter, locking my gaze with his. “She didn’t mean to do it.”
“Well, then,” he said with a sigh, “I don’t have anything to go back to the prosecutor with. You admitted to rape, Tyler. This is the best deal you’re going to get.”
“Okay,” I said, blowing out a puff of air along with the word, trying to settle the squirrelly feeling in my chest. “What happens, now?”
“I’ll tell the D.A. you accept the plea, and we’ll get a sentencing hearing on the calendar. In the meantime, Jane will get you all the information you need to set up your first appointment with Dr. Philips, who runs the treatment program. He’ll do an intake, and then you’ll see him once a week, in addition to attending a group session with other offenders. After the hearing, you’ll be assigned a probation officer, who will perform your drug tests and hopefully help you find a job.”
“Who is going to hire me now?” I said, bitterly. I hated that I would no longer be a paramedic. I hated that I’d lost the one thing I’d worked so hard for—the part of me, outside of having been Amber’s best friend, that I was proud of.
“There are businesses that participate in state incentive programs for hiring convicted felons,” Peter said, leaning forward and shutting the file in front of him. “But your probation officer can tell you more about that.”
“Okay,” I said, standing up. He held out his hand, and I shook it, trying not to let the terror I felt show on my face. “Thanks for your help.”
“Just doing my job,” he said.
I nodded and turned around, toward the door, knowing that this was true. Peter probably didn’t care what happened to me, one way or the other. He was happy because he’d been paid several thousand dollars to have a few meetings with the district attorney, and now, he’d simply move on with his day to another client, another case.
“Tyler?” he said, just as I put my hand on the doorknob.