I contemplate taking the watch off as soon as Tess drags Henley out the door. But I don’t. I leave it on, because as much as I hate to admit it, Tess is right.

I do need a goddamned babysitter.

There have been experiments designed to determine how long a person can function without sleep. General consensus dictates a subject in a closely monitored environment can maintain a semblance of normal functioning for an average of ten days before losing coherency.

I’m on day twelve.

I shaved off a few days when Tess started badgering me. She knows the signs and I don’t want to worry her. She worries about me enough.

No sex.

No booze.

Inconvenient and irritating, but I made a promise. I might be an inconsiderate bastard with loose morals and an over-taxed liver, but I keep my promises.

Who the fuck do you think you’re kidding? This isn’t about your imaginary sense of integrity. This is about her.

That doesn’t leave me with a lot of options. I could find a fight. It’s Thursday—there will be douchebags aplenty at the bar tonight. My usual routine is pick some jackhole who likes to get pushy and then wait for him get his dick in a twist because the woman he’s hitting on isn’t falling all over herself to leave with him. Then I step in, rough him up a little. By the time I’m through, said damsel in distress is so turned on by my white knight routine that she’s got her panties in her hand before I can blink.

All of which is a big, fat nope.

She waltzes back into your life and five seconds later, you’re jumping through goddamned hoops again.

Besides, fighting in my current state is a bad idea. My judgment is impaired. I’d probably end up killing someone.

That leaves me this. The only outlet I have that doesn’t involve self-abuse.

Yeah, as long as I keep the watch on.

Anything to keep her.

Anything to be with her.

Crazy thing is, I don’t even want to drink. And don’t even get me started on other women. Promise or no promise that was never going to happen. It’s ladies’ night. A month ago, I’d be shooting fish in a barrel. Right now, just the thought of it makes me a little sick to my stomach.

I’ll be lucky if I’m ever fully-functional again.

There’s a way to fix this, you know? A way to even yourself out. A way to keep your promise. Get what you need.

Henley’s the fucking problem, but she also happens to be the solution.

What was it you said to Legs when she and Patrick were going round and round?

You broke it, you bought it.

She’s the one who broke you.

Make her fix you.

She didn’t break me. I’ve been fucked up since the day I was born. But she’s the only person I’ve ever known who can make me feel like all my parts are working right. When she smiles at me, I feel whole. I feel real.

Yeah? She can break you as fast as she can fix you, asshole. Remember that.

For all my grandstanding and this isn’t over until I say so bullshit, I’ve been avoiding Henley. The night I dropped her off at her place was the last time I spoke to her. Looked at her. I mean really looked at her. She asked me if I wanted to come up and I froze.

Bitched out.

I said no because I knew what she wanted. That I’d give in. Fuck her. Kiss her.

And what’s wrong with that?

If she knew the truth about me, what goes on in my fucked-up head and that I’m just pretending to be a normal functioning person most of the time, she’d want nothing to do with me.

I can’t keep doing that because the more time I spend with her, the sooner she’ll figure it out. Eventually, she’s going to be able to look at me and see just how fucked up I really am. How broken.

She deserves better than me.

I know that, I’m just too much of a selfish prick to cut her loose and I’m such a pathetic shitsack that I can’t tell her no.

So, avoidance is my shitty plan C.

“Hey.”

I raise my head to find Patrick standing a few feet away, wearing another one of his fancy suits, leaning against my work bench like the prospect of getting engine grease and tire soot on his jacket doesn’t even occur to him. I didn’t hear him come in, but I’m not surprised he’s here. By the look on his face, he’s been here for a while.

I lower my gaze, concentrating on the bolt I’m tightening. “What the fuck do you want?” It’s a shitty thing to say. Patrick has never once been anything but loyal. He’d slit throats and burn bodies for me. I know that. He’s like a brother to me. Closer than my own.

I don’t know why I say it.

Yes you do.

He’s the Conner Gilroy up-sale. The version of me that’s better in every way. Smart enough to be successful, without the fucked-up brain.

Good-looking enough to get any girl he wants without the need to exploit it.

Wealthy enough to do whatever he wants but what he wants is to make the world the better place, not raze and burn everything he touches.

Morals and principles.

He doesn’t have to think about what’s right. Doesn’t have to wonder if he’s making the good choice. He just knows. Just does it.

He’s the version of you that’s worthy.

Good enough for her.

If my nasty attitude bothers him, he doesn’t let on. “Just saw Tess.” It’s an open-ended comment but I can tell by the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a rabid dog he’s been charged with putting down, that there’s nothing open-ended about him being here.

He’s here to put me out of my misery.

“Yeah?” I don’t look at him. Whatever it is he has to say, it’ll be easier on both of us that way.

“Uhhh, yeah…” he sighs. “She told me you’re having a hard time sleeping.”

“For as long as I can remember.” Bolt tightened, I move on to the next. “Not like it’s news to anyone.”

“Alright, how’s this for a news flash?” Annoyance skates through his tone. When I’m on one, I’m a small-dose kind of guy and Cap’n’s quickly reaching his limit. “She also told me you quit drinking.”

I stop what I’m doing, straightening my frame. I turn and pin him with a glare. “And?”

His eyebrows lower, his face the mirror image of mine. “And, given your current situation, do you think that’s wise?”

“My current situation?” I can feel my grip tighten around the handle of my wrench. “What the fuck do you know about my current situation?”

“Enough to know that you’re flirting with disaster.”

“Am I hearing you right?” I make myself toss the socket wrench onto the bench before I give into the urge to lay it across his face. “You’re concerned because I’m no longer downing enough Jameson to float a boat on a daily basis.”

“When was the last time you got laid?” He runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a frustrated sigh. “Because by my count, it’s been weeks.”

Henley.

She was the last.

And he knows it.

“Wow,” I say, avoiding the question altogether. “Now the fact that I’m keeping it in my pants and pulling my weight behind the bar is an issue?”

“No, man,” he says, shaking his head at me. “The issue is that you’re about to go nuclear—you know it. I know it—so just quit, okay? Stop pretending you’re okay because you’re not.”

He’s right. I’m not okay. I feel like road-kill. I’m hearing things. Seeing shit. To be 100% honest, I’m not even sure Patrick is actually here. I could be arguing with one of Tess’s stray cats for all I fucking know.

Which perfectly justifies what I say next. “I’ve been meaning to ask… how is Legs?” I tilt my head. Give him a grin. He hates it when I call Cari by the nickname I gave her the night we met. “Oh, yeah… you wouldn’t know. Because you’re hiding from her.”

Something ugly flashes across his face, fast and dark, but he wrangles it in. Stuffs it somewhere deep before it can take root. “I’m giving her time. Space. It’s what she needs, and I love her enough to give it to her. No matter how it makes me feel.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” I say. “From where I’m sitting, you’re chicken shit for not going after her.”

He shakes his head at me, refusing to take the bait. “My situation with Cari is completely different from what’s happening between you and Henley.”

“Nothing is happening.” I turn, slamming the hood of the car I was working on. “I fucked her a few times—so what?”

“You’ve been in love with her since we were kids,” he says, completely ignoring me. “When she left, it fucked you up.”

He’s wrong. It wasn’t her leaving that fucked me up. It was seeing her happy. Watching her move on from me that killed me.

She doesn’t belong to you, Gilroy. Not anymore.

“I was fucked-up long before the number she did on me, Cap’n.” I grin at him. “Unlike some people, I own my shit.” It’s a jab aimed directly where it’ll hurt him most and it works.

His eyes go dark and his fists clench before relaxing. He shakes his head at me, his expression slowly smoothing out. “Not everything has to be a goddamned knife-fight, you know?”

Before I can either say something extra shitty or punch him in the mouth, Tess’s watch goes off, filling the tense silence between us with its incessant squawking.

It’s seven o’clock.

Needing some sort of confirmation, I shoot a look out the open roll-up. It’s dark outside. Looking around the garage, I notice things. The Civic Tess was working on this morning is parked outside, having been swapped with the Mustang that was her next in line. There’s a Benny’s to-go bag on my work bench, the words EAT ME, DUMBASS! Scrawled across the front in her heavy block lettering.

Seven hours have passed, and I can’t account for any of them.

“Look.” I yank the watch off and reset it before tossing it next to my wrench. “It’s been real fun, but can you just say whatever you came to say—I’ve got shit to do.”

“Fine.” Patrick sighs, nodding his head before straightening himself from his slump. “Stay away from the bar until you get yourself right.”

“Get myself right?” I laugh. I haven’t been right for years, if I ever was. “How do you propose I do that, Cap’n? Drink and fuck myself to death?”

He gives me a look, one that says he knows. Understands. Seeing it on his face makes me want to throw myself into traffic. “You were never one for stupid questions, cousin.” He picks up the bag Tess left behind, its cold, heavy contents thunking me in the chest when he tosses it at me on his way out the door. “Don’t start asking them now.”