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In my past life, my wife's best friend got drunk and begged me to drive her home.
Out of kindness, I drove her back, tucked her in under the covers, and even made her some sobering-up broth.
The next morning, before dawn, she showed up at our door insisting that I'd forced myself on her while she was drunk.
She was a social-media influencer, and she used her fans and the outrage to run a live stream across every platform, forcing me to confess to a crime.
My chance at an overseas promotion was stolen out from under me, and I was dragged into an alley and beaten until I had a concussion.
My elderly mother was so upset she suffered a heart attack and never got out of bed again.
My wife, holding our newborn daughter, had nowhere to turn for help. She was shoved and fell into the river.
Reborn now, and here was the best friend gripping my wife's hand, her eyes rimmed red.
"I've had too much to drink. Let Bruce Harding drive me home, okay?"
Expressionless, I tapped open my phone.
"I'll book you a driver on the Uber app. Fifteen to start, I'll cover it."
……
Paula Fox froze for two seconds, a flicker of shock crossing her eyes.
She clearly hadn't expected me to refuse so flatly.
"Bruce, you… you haven't been drinking. Why won't you drive?"
Then she slumped limply against my wife's shoulder, her gaze bleary, her face flushed a burning red.
Her eyes drifted toward me, sly and half-hidden.
She mumbled drunken nonsense, reeking of alcohol.
"Going home all alone scares me so much."
My wife, Jessica Swanson, soothed her, then turned to me. "Bruce, couldn't you just take her home first?"
I didn't answer. I only kept refreshing the Uber app.
In my last life, I hadn't thought much of it. I just did what my wife said and drove her friend home.
I never imagined she'd come with a video, live-streaming it everywhere, insisting I had assaulted her.
My wife had defended me in tears, even digging out old award certificates from times I'd helped people, trying to prove there was just a misunderstanding with Paula.
And still she was shoved into the river.
While I knelt in front of the complex's security guard, begging for the footage, the guard looked right through me.
In the end I was dragged into an alley, left disabled for life.
This time, I would never let that tragedy play out again.
I turned to the drunk-acting Paula and asked my wife for her home address.
Before I could finish typing it in, Paula suddenly seemed to snap awake. Her hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.
Her eyes were clear.
Nothing like someone who'd had too much to drink.
"Bruce, an Uber is such a hassle."
"Haven't you heard about male drivers getting handsy with women passengers at night?"
Those eyes were like hooks, and as she said the last part, they swept over me.
It was a plain, open invitation.
I narrowed my eyes, studying her.
But Jessica noticed nothing off, and chimed right in, afraid her friend might be in danger.
"The rides are recorded the whole way, they're very safe."
"Or you could have Miles take her."
As I said it, I turned to look at my buddy. He was allergic to alcohol and hadn't touched a drop all through dinner.
If he did it, maybe things would turn out differently.
But I never expected that when I turned back, the man who never touched alcohol had picked up his glass and drained every last drop of the beer in it!
"Don't you not drink?"
Miles Dickerson gave a sheepish grin, red creeping across his cheeks at a visible pace.
"Feeling good today, wanted a taste. My head's spinning, can't help it, gonna have to leave it to you."
With that he flopped back against his chair, nearly toppling over.
I looked at Paula again and caught the quick little smile flickering at the corner of her mouth.
Her gaze was aimed right past me, at Miles behind me.
In my past life I'd been busy hunting for my car keys, and never noticed a single move she made.
Only now did it finally click.
Two days ago I'd clearly posted online that I'd taken antibiotics and couldn't drink.
One was my friend, one was my wife's friend, with no connection between them, and yet they'd both shown up outside my building at the same time.
Could this have something to do with how I was framed?
I couldn't make sense of it no matter how I tried.
But I still didn't forget to book her an Uber.
"Don't worry, these rides have recording and cameras, the car's a safe space."
Paula bit down hard on her lip, then tumbled into my wife's arms with brimming eyes and suddenly burst into tears.
"Jess, I never thought Bruce hated me this much. He won't even drive me home."
"Three years ago, I got off a business flight and didn't get back till ten. I was almost molested…"
My wife leaned in and wiped the tears from the corner of her eye.
I'd heard a little about that incident too.
Supposedly she'd worried about it for a long time afterward, jumping at shadows.
"Bruce." My wife lowered her voice, apology in her eyes. "Jess is very timid. Just help her out, please."
My face gave nothing away as I coldly tapped open my phone.
"I'm afraid not."
"Because the car's already waiting downstairs."
