I Might Be In Trouble Summary, Characters and Themes

I Might Be in Trouble by Daniel Aleman is a sharply written, emotionally raw novel that follows a once-promising author spiraling into crisis after his career collapses, his relationships falter, and a reckless night ends in tragedy.  At the heart of the book is David Alvarez, whose voice carries the story with self-deprecating humor, haunting introspection, and jagged vulnerability.

Told in a first-person narrative, the novel explores themes of artistic failure, loneliness, guilt, and the chaotic path to redemption.  Aleman brings readers deep inside the mind of a man on the edge, crafting a character study that is both intimate and unflinching.

Summary

David Alvarez is a former literary success now teetering on the brink of collapse.  Once celebrated for his bestselling debut, his second book flopped, and his third was recently rejected by his publisher.

His romantic life has similarly disintegrated—he’s haunted by the memory of his ex-boyfriend Jeremy, whose effortless warmth and depth of connection still linger painfully.  After a disastrous and unsatisfying date with a man named Shane, which ends in awkward sex and a diagnosis of gonorrhea the next day, David finds himself utterly adrift—financially depleted, emotionally unraveling, and creatively paralyzed.

Out of options, David visits his estranged father in New Jersey to ask for money.  The reunion is cold, marked by tension and judgment.

His father refuses his request for a loan and insists he get a “real job,” reaffirming the deep rift between their worldviews.  His stepmother Sheila offers him a paltry $125, a gesture that stings more than it helps.

With only a few thousand dollars to his name, no prospects, and increasing pressure from his agent Stacey to write something bold and original, David is forced to consider radical reinvention.

Desperate for both escape and inspiration, David returns to Grindr and connects with Robert, an older, charming man who exudes stability and sophistication.  Their chemistry is immediate.

What begins as a casual hookup transforms into an unexpected night of bonding, city-hopping, and mutual vulnerability.  Robert seems to admire David’s writing and expresses genuine interest in his story.

For the first time in ages, David feels seen and inspired.  But when he wakes the next morning, everything unravels—Robert is dead beside him, and David is consumed by panic and guilt.

He had given Robert a pill the night before—possibly an antidepressant or sedative—and the combination with alcohol may have been fatal.  Unsure whether this qualifies as manslaughter or a tragic accident, David calls Stacey.

Surprisingly unshaken, she proposes an unthinkable plan: they will return Robert’s body to the Plaza Hotel where he claimed to be staying, thereby detaching David from the scene of death.  In a surreal sequence of events, they dress the body, maneuver it through an Uber ride, and manage to get it into a hotel room.

But before they can escape, the illusion shatters—Robert’s real identity is revealed.  He was living a double life, complete with a secret husband: the famous actor Corey Donovan.

David flees the hotel, stunned and afraid, only to lock eyes with Jeremy in the lobby.

In the following weeks, David is gripped by paranoia.  News coverage of Corey Donovan’s mysterious loss is everywhere, and David fears discovery.

An autopsy eventually rules the death accidental, but the weight of the cover-up and the threat of being exposed keep him in a state of dread.  He isolates himself in his apartment, speaks aloud just to affirm his existence, and spirals into guilt and silence.

Yet unexpectedly, the trauma becomes the very source of his creative revival.  David begins to write a novel based on a man who wakes up next to a dead body.

Channeling his lived horror into fiction becomes a way of processing and controlling the chaos.  Stacey and his editor Jackie respond positively to his pages, and eventually, he receives a new book deal—$130,000 and the hope of reclaiming his artistic future.

In a moment of fragile pride, he even lies to his father about the success, seeking validation.

As his life starts to stabilize, Stacey brings shocking news: Corey Donovan wants David to ghostwrite his memoir.  The implication is chilling—Corey may know about David’s involvement in Robert’s death and could be using the memoir project to control or expose him.

During their tense meeting, Corey displays a masterful understanding of David’s guilt without directly accusing him.  David tries to decline the offer, but Corey insists.

Caught between the opportunity and the trap, David is forced to confront the possibility that his secret is not as buried as he hoped.

Eventually, David admits everything to Corey in a second confrontation.  Corey listens without rage but with chilling precision.

He chooses not to take legal action, recognizing that vengeance won’t bring him peace.  Instead, he lays down firm conditions: he will approve the book, and once it’s done, he wants no further contact.

The relief is only partial—David is spared, but the guilt remains etched into his life.

The release of his new novel, I’m in Deep Trouble, is a turning point.  At his launch event, surrounded by fans and peers, David experiences a moment of pride and validation.

His father reaches out with tentative support, and even Stacey, tough as ever, shows genuine care.  Jeremy reenters his life, and the two share a meal that is heavy with possibility and regret.

While Jeremy is open to rekindling their romance, David admits he isn’t ready.  He wants to be alone, not out of avoidance, but because he needs time to become whole again.

The novel closes with David walking home alone—not triumphant, but no longer in freefall.  He understands that survival isn’t about winning or being perfect, but about moving forward despite shame, fear, and pain.

His acceptance of his imperfection and his ability to tell the truth through writing marks a quiet, hard-earned transformation.  He may still be in trouble, but he’s no longer hiding from it.

Characters

David Alvarez

David Alvarez stands at the anguished heart of I Might Be in Trouble, a protagonist whose descent into emotional, professional, and ethical crisis forms the novel’s primary arc.  Once a celebrated author, David is now creatively blocked, financially desperate, and haunted by the collapse of his relationships—especially his breakup with Jeremy, whose loss reverberates throughout his every decision.

David’s early depiction is steeped in quiet despair; he drifts through life, numbed by failed dates, meaningless sex, and mounting anxiety.  Yet beneath his acerbic humor and self-deprecating voice lies a man yearning for connection, meaning, and redemption.

His night with Robert—beginning with romantic possibility and ending in death—triggers a series of ethically murky choices, plunging him deeper into self-loathing and paranoia.  However, it also becomes the crucible through which he begins to transform.

His return to writing, spurred by the traumatic event, signals the reawakening of purpose and voice.  By the novel’s end, David’s journey—though riddled with mistakes and sorrow—is marked by a hard-won honesty.

He emerges not wholly redeemed, but emotionally clearer, more willing to take accountability, and committed to forging forward, not by denying his imperfections but by accepting them as part of his truth.

Stacey

Stacey, David’s literary agent, emerges as an unexpected pillar of strength and darkly comic relief in the novel.  Brash, pragmatic, and often startlingly unfazed by chaos, Stacey acts as both enabler and savior.

Her willingness to help David cover up Robert’s death—down to moving a corpse in an Uber—positions her as morally flexible, but her actions are grounded in loyalty and fierce protectiveness.  She understands the high-stakes world David occupies and navigates it with ruthless efficiency.

Yet Stacey is more than a one-dimensional fixer.  She provides David with unwavering support, hard truths, and occasionally biting sarcasm.

She encourages him to lean into vulnerability in his writing and ultimately serves as a guiding hand back to his creative core.  Through her mentorship and unapologetic worldview, Stacey embodies the industry’s brutal realism while also serving as a counterweight to David’s emotional fragility.

Her ability to balance the grotesque with the humane adds richness to her character, making her one of the story’s most compelling figures.

Jeremy

Jeremy, David’s ex-boyfriend, represents a spectral presence throughout much of I Might Be in Trouble, his memory haunting David’s thoughts and influencing his actions.  Unlike Robert, whose charm masks duplicity, Jeremy is portrayed as sincere, emotionally intelligent, and grounded.

He was the anchor David lost, the one relationship that offered true intimacy and mutual care.  Their breakup left a gaping void that David tries to fill with meaningless encounters, but it becomes clear that Jeremy was more than a lover—he was a mirror to David’s better self.

Jeremy’s reappearance in the narrative, particularly in its latter chapters, introduces a moment of hope and emotional resolution.  Their reconnection is heartfelt and mature, marked by honest communication and mutual respect.

Yet David, in a rare moment of clarity, resists the temptation to seek comfort in reunion.  Instead, he acknowledges his need to heal independently before embracing love again.

Jeremy, with grace and understanding, accepts this, underscoring his role as a symbol of authentic love and emotional maturity.

Robert

Robert is the catalyst of chaos in David’s unraveling—a man whose enigmatic charm, concealed truths, and sudden death propel the novel’s darkest turn.  Initially, Robert appears to be everything David craves: worldly, admiring, and confident.

He validates David’s talent and offers an intoxicating escape from loneliness.  Their connection feels transformative, a potential new beginning.

But Robert’s sudden death, combined with the revelation of his deceit—lying about his age and hiding a marriage—shatters the illusion.  In death, Robert becomes both a literal corpse and a metaphorical weight David must carry.

His presence haunts the story even in absence, and his lies spark a moral reckoning for David.  Though we never know Robert deeply, he functions thematically as a reminder of how desperate longing can blind us to danger and how easy it is to romanticize what we don’t truly understand.

Corey Donovan

Corey Donovan, Robert’s famous and imposing husband, evolves from a background specter to a dominant psychological force in the story’s final act.  At first, he is a name in the tabloids, a tragic figure mourning his spouse.

But as the narrative tightens, Corey steps into the light—intelligent, calculating, and emotionally complex.  His interactions with David are layered with veiled threats, ambiguity, and power plays.

Corey’s decision to ask David to ghostwrite his memoir serves as both a strategic manipulation and an implicit acknowledgment of shared grief.  When the truth comes out, Corey displays remarkable restraint.

Rather than pursuing vengeance, he asserts his boundaries and reclaims narrative control.  This final confrontation is one of the novel’s most emotionally charged moments, revealing Corey as a man who, despite personal devastation, chooses measured dignity over wrath.

His presence forces David to confront the consequences of his choices not just legally, but morally and spiritually.

Pa (David’s Father)

David’s father, referred to as Pa, embodies the generational and emotional disconnect that has long plagued David’s sense of self.  He is stern, practical, emotionally distant, and largely unsympathetic to David’s artistic pursuits.

For Pa, value is measured in stability and pragmatism, and David’s struggles with creativity and queerness are foreign terrain.  Their interactions are charged with mutual disappointment and unresolved grief—particularly around the absence of David’s mother, which lingers unspoken between them.

Yet even in his rigidity, Pa is not portrayed as cruel.  His refusal to help David financially stems from a deeply ingrained belief in self-reliance.

Later, his small gesture of approval—attending David’s book launch—offers a glimmer of reconciliation.  While not transformed, Pa softens enough to show that love can exist even in the absence of full understanding.

His arc, though subtle, enriches the novel’s exploration of intergenerational tension, masculinity, and emotional vulnerability.

Sheila

Sheila, David’s stepmother, appears briefly but leaves a lasting impression through her complex mix of condescension, pity, and passive aggression.  Her offer of $125 in response to David’s desperate plea for help is a painful moment of humiliation masked as charity.

Sheila serves as a symbol of the familial disconnect David feels, a reminder of the life that moved on without him.  Her behavior suggests both awareness of David’s failings and a smug detachment from his pain.

Yet she is not depicted as villainous; rather, she is a product of her environment, someone who operates in terms of appearances and practicality.  Sheila’s role is less about direct conflict and more about reinforcing David’s sense of alienation, thereby amplifying his emotional stakes.

Shane

Shane is a fleeting but impactful character whose role underscores David’s search for intimacy in all the wrong places.  He is everything David is not—confident, physically attractive, socially comfortable—and this imbalance exacerbates David’s insecurities.

Their date is awkward, their sex devoid of connection, and their parting marked by a cold, transactional indifference.  Shane becomes emblematic of the emotional emptiness that pervades David’s early choices, a stark contrast to the depth of feeling he once shared with Jeremy.

Even the aftermath—Shane’s message about testing positive for gonorrhea—becomes a grim punctuation mark on their interaction, reinforcing the narrative’s themes of risk, alienation, and emotional vacancy.

Through this tapestry of richly drawn characters, I Might Be in Trouble crafts a deeply resonant story about guilt, healing, and the human hunger for meaning and connection.  Each character not only propels the plot but also reflects a different facet of David’s internal struggle, making the novel a moving and multifaceted portrait of a man learning how to live again.

Themes

Creative Identity and the Burden of Expectation

David Alvarez’s internal conflict is shaped by the disintegration of his once-bright literary career and the crushing weight of public expectation.  His initial success, represented by a bestselling debut, forms a sharp contrast with his present failures—a rejected manuscript, a second book that flopped, and a dwindling bank account.

These developments don’t just threaten his livelihood; they challenge his very identity.  David is not merely someone who writes—he is a writer, and when that role is jeopardized, his sense of self begins to disintegrate.

The pressure to produce something “intelligent, provocative, and irresistible” becomes paralyzing.  He wants not only to succeed but to live up to a romanticized version of himself and his work, which becomes impossible under the weight of his self-loathing and impostor syndrome.

His creative process stalls because it is no longer a space of exploration—it has become a proving ground where failure is a personal indictment.  When he finally begins writing again, transmuting his traumatic experience with Robert into fiction, the act serves both as therapeutic release and reclamation of agency.

The manuscript becomes a mirror—one that reflects his chaos but allows him to structure it.  This transformation signifies not just a return to writing but to a version of himself that believes in the transformative power of storytelling, even if that story is drawn from the darkest corners of his life.

Queer Loneliness and the Search for Connection

Throughout I Might Be in Trouble, David’s actions are driven by a profound loneliness that pervades every aspect of his life.  His breakup with Jeremy is not merely a romantic loss; it represents the crumbling of the last stable emotional foundation he had.

Casual dates, such as his ill-fated evening with Shane, highlight how physical intimacy often becomes a temporary balm that never truly addresses the underlying emptiness.  His interaction with Robert is perhaps the most poignant example—what begins as an impulsive hookup spirals into a fantasy of mutual understanding, where David imagines the possibility of love, career rejuvenation, and creative rebirth.

But the abrupt and tragic end to that night shatters the illusion and thrusts David further into emotional isolation.  Even his relationship with Stacey, though dependable and grounded, operates more as professional alliance than intimate support.

David’s loneliness is not just about being physically alone; it’s about being unseen and misunderstood in the roles he occupies—writer, son, partner, queer man.  His grief for Jeremy is laced with regret, not only for lost love but for losing someone who truly knew him.

By the end, even when the possibility of rekindling their relationship emerges, David chooses solitude—not out of despair, but as a conscious step toward learning how to live with himself before asking anyone else to.  The novel refuses to romanticize companionship as a cure for alienation.

Instead, it emphasizes the painful, ongoing work of becoming comfortable in one’s own company.

Guilt, Moral Ambiguity, and Consequence

David’s choices—particularly those involving Robert’s death—are saturated with guilt and moral complexity.  What begins as a night of escapism turns into a situation where David finds himself complicit in a cover-up, motivated not by malice but by panic and self-preservation.

His call to Stacey, and their decision to move the body, is presented with dark comedic undertones, but the emotional toll is immense.  He is not a murderer in the literal sense, but he is someone who makes a series of ethically fraught decisions.

What haunts David isn’t just the act of covering up a death—it’s the realization that he is capable of prioritizing his career and reputation over justice and transparency.  This guilt manifests in paranoia, nightmares, and compulsive behavior.

Even when the autopsy clears him legally, he remains psychologically imprisoned by his actions.  His decision to turn the experience into a novel adds another layer of ambiguity—does the act of writing redeem him, or does it commodify a man’s death?

The final confrontation with Corey forces David to face the human consequences of his decisions.  He confesses, not for legal absolution, but because he needs to unburden himself.

The lack of retribution from Corey doesn’t absolve David—it highlights that punishment isn’t always external.  The true sentence is the knowledge of what he did and how close he came to erasing someone’s truth for the sake of his own survival.

Family and the Inheritance of Shame

David’s fraught relationship with his father and stepmother reveals how familial expectations and emotional inheritance shape much of his present turmoil.  His father’s pragmatic worldview is at odds with David’s artistic aspirations.

The visit to New Jersey is not just a plea for financial assistance—it is an attempt to secure approval, even love, from a figure who has always viewed him as a failure.  Pa’s rejection, delivered with a sting of moral judgment, reinforces David’s belief that he is unworthy, not just as a son, but as a man.

Sheila’s pitying $125 contribution feels more like a symbolic humiliation than genuine support.  These familial dynamics suggest a lineage of emotional withholding, where affection is measured in utility rather than empathy.

The fact that David lies to his father about his manuscript’s reception underlines a desperate desire to be seen as successful, even if it’s an illusion.  Later, when the manuscript is genuinely celebrated and David receives validation from both Stacey and his editor, it still pales in comparison to the minor gestures of praise from his father.

His family does not loom large in terms of presence, but their influence permeates his internal monologue, shaping how he views failure, worth, and ambition.  Their judgment becomes a voice he cannot silence, one that undermines every step forward he takes.

Redemption through Art and Vulnerability

The turning point in David’s emotional arc comes not through external validation, but through his decision to transform trauma into fiction.  The act of writing becomes an existential anchor—a space where he can impose structure on chaos, mine personal suffering for creative truth, and reclaim agency over his own narrative.

In writing about waking up next to a dead man, David is not hiding from what happened; he is confronting it, translating lived horror into something meaningful.  The manuscript, initially a desperate grasp for relevance, becomes a work of emotional excavation.

When Stacey and Jackie champion it, the recognition is meaningful not because it promises financial stability, but because it affirms the value of his vulnerability.  By baring himself on the page, David finds a version of honesty that eluded him in real life.

His confrontation with Corey and his farewell dinner with Jeremy both reflect a new emotional maturity—he no longer defaults to deflection or evasion.  Instead, he chooses to speak the truth, even when it hurts.

The book launch signifies more than professional comeback; it is a ritual of reentry into the world as someone who has confronted the worst parts of himself and survived.  Redemption, in this context, isn’t about erasure or exoneration—it’s about the courage to face oneself and keep going, however messily.

Writing does not heal him entirely, but it gives him the clarity and strength to begin the long work of healing.