I was having hot and cold flashes and my skin felt tight on my face. Even my vision went blurry. I looked at my phone as I powered up my car, frantically trying to think of what to do. How to help him without making things worse. I could only see a side of his face, and one of his hands, which had the steering wheel in a death grip.

After a second, I heard the voice of the officer. “Do you know why I stopped you?” He sounded young and cocky, and I prayed to anything that would listen that he could keep a cool head.

I could see half of Patrice’s jaw clenching at the deputy’s tone. I knew he was working hard on not mouthing off, and I wanted to scream into my phone, beg him not to do anything to piss the guy off.

“I assume it was because I was speeding.”

“You were going sixty, this is a fifty-five speed zone.”

Was he really stopping him for going five miles over the speed limit? The memory of my teasing from just a few minutes ago soured in my stomach and I had to breathe through the urge to puke.

I wanted to call the sheriff’s office and tell them to call this guy off, to tell him to leave Patrice alone. To not hurt him.

Every conversation Patrice I had had about how these things went was flashing before my eyes, and a wave of nausea rolled in my gut.

I didn’t know what to do.

I couldn’t take the call off because I wanted to see what was happening, and I had to think fast. Every second that passed had the potential to escalate.

“Sir, where were you coming from?” I stared at the screen, watching the scene unfold, and with growing horror realized this deputy seemed hell-bent on starting something with Patrice.

“I thought this was a speeding stop, can I just get my ticket and go?” Patrice’s tone was getting more and more annoyed with every word he said.

The guy spoke again, this time with a definite edge to his voice. “Sir, I asked you where you were coming from.”

I saw Patrice hands tighten on the steering wheel, then turn his head fully in the direction of the voice.

“I was driving back from Trumansburg. I was there having dinner with some friends and my boyfriend.”

Shit.

“Oh, your boyfriend.” The pit in my stomach widened at the cop’s snide tone.

“Yes, my boyfriend. Look is there a point to this? Are you going to give me a ticket or is this just outright harassment?”

“Did you consume any alcohol this evening?”

The conversation from earlier came back into my head, and the relief of knowing Patrice would have no reason to lie was so powerful, I almost wept.

“No, I did not.”