It only now occurs to me that I spent the last fifteen minutes reacting, without actually asking Summer if she wanted my help. I kissed her. Called her baby. Then I dropped her in a chair and commanded her not to move like I’m some kind of Neanderthal who fights her battles for her. It felt like the perfect choice at the time, and I can’t say I have regrets. But does Summer feel the same way? Slowly, my friends file past me, offering me encouraging looks or pats on the back. Felix is last to go, and he looks me dead in the eye and says, “Don’t run, man. Don’t run from this.”
