My phone buzzes softly on the nightstand. I ignore it, tightening my hold on the sleeping girl in my arms. But when it buzzes again a minute later, three insistent vibrations, I sigh and roll over to look at the screen, careful not to wake Felicity.

A jolt moves through me when I see several texts from Lincoln. I’m surprised to hear from him. He’s out at The Viper Room with Aiden, but he already knows I’m staying in tonight — and for the foreseeable future — with Felicity. He also knows how hard I’ve been trying to fix things with her, since our confrontation before the launch party last night.

My brow furrows as I slide open the tab to read his messages.

Shit.

I slide out of bed, feet moving soundlessly on the carpet as I pull on my jeans and tug a t-shirt over my head. I cast one last glance back at Felicity before I leave. She’s curled around a pillow, sleeping soundly. Her mouth is parted slightly, her hair tumbling loose across the pillows in the moonlight. My throat tightens.

She’s so goddamned beautiful.

I can’t believe I almost lost her. I can’t believe I ever put what we have together at risk. It’s the most important part of my life. She’s the most important part of my life — a fact I plan on proving to her today and every day for the rest of our lives, if she’ll let me. My eyes linger on the bedside table for a moment and a smile twists my lips up.

All day long, whenever the need to pop a pill has surged through me, I’ve focused on my future with Felicity and the cravings have seemed slightly easier to shoulder. I feel like utter shit — keyed up, pounding migraine, sweaty and pale — but like I told her…

If it’s a choice between you and some pills… I choose you, Felicity. I choose you every goddamned time. From now until forever.

I contemplate leaving a note, but quickly decide against it. I’ll be back before she can miss me, and there’s no time.

If Linc’s in trouble; I’m there. No questions asked.

I pull on my boots at the door, grab my keys off the hook, and start running. It’s not far — fifteen minutes, tops. Faster, if I manage to flag down a cab. I just hope I make it in time.

* * *

The Viper Room is a popular spot for both tourists and locals hoping to catch a show on the famous Sunset Strip. Everyone from Johnny Cash to Elvis Costello to Tom Petty has performed within its dark walls and it’s quickly become one of Linc’s favorite places to spend a night out. The bouncers recognize me at the door — a new perk of my life as a quote-unquote star — and let me skip the line without so much as blinking.

I move through the club looking for Linc’s familiar blond buzz cut, cutting through the dense crop of people head-banging to the grunge rock band on stage. There’s no sign of him on the dance floor, at the tables, or by the bar, so I head for the bathrooms. The red walls are covered floor-to-ceiling with stickers from all the bands who’ve performed here over the years. I pass by the urinals and finally spot two feet sticking out from beneath the last stall on the left. Linc is slumped beside the toilet, looking a bit worse for wear.

“Linc!” I slap his cheek lightly, trying to rouse him. “You okay, man?”

His glazed eyes crack open a sliver.

“What did you take?” I ask, shaking him.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, speech so slurred it’s hard to make out a single word. “I’m good.”

He’s definitely not good by any stretch of the imagination, but I take it as a good sign that he’s sober enough to form words.

“Let’s get you out of here, Linc.”

“Jacket,” he mutters.

I roll my eyes, grab his jacket from the disgusting floor, and loop it over my free arm. His wallet and phone are sitting in a puddle of something vile beside the base of the toilet, but I shove them into my back pockets anyway.

Bastard owes me a new pair of jeans.

“Come on, buddy.” I loop his limp arm over my shoulders and heave him up, staggering a bit under his weight.

With lumbering steps, I manage to get him out of the bathroom, through the side exit. We end up in a litter-strewn alley. It smells like piss and rotting garbage. Linc leans against the brick wall and vomits noisily.

“That’s good, man.” I pat his back. “Get it out.”

The faster that shit gets out of his system, the better.

When he stops throwing up, I pull him away from the wall and start leading him toward the mouth of the alley. He leans heavily on me, his eyes half-closed. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get him home. He reeks of piss and vomit — no cabbie in their right mind would let us in their car, right now.

“Linc, how you doing?” I grit out, straining to keep him on course.

“Fine. I’m fine,” he slurs, falling back against a nearby wall.

“What did you take?”

“Coke. Just coke, I think.”

“You think?”

His eyes crack open a bit, focusing on my face. I think he’s going to say something, but instead he leans forward and vomits again — this time, right on my shoes.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, reeling backward. I slam straight into someone who’s just walked into the alley where we’re standing. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, turning around to apologize. My eyes widen a fraction as I take in the sight of an LAPD officer standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

He looks highly unamused.

* * *

The handcuffs chafe painfully against my wrists as the officers put me into the back of the squad car, one hand pushing down on my head so it doesn’t bash against the roof. They slam the door at my back with chilling finality. My nose wrinkles when the smell of vomit wafts up, overwhelming in the enclosed space.

Just when I thought my night couldn’t get any shittier…

Linc is with the paramedics, probably headed to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. For that, at least, I can be grateful. That way, he’ll still be alive for me to strangle. I could kill him myself for dragging me into this mess.

After I slammed into the officer, he ordered me to brace my hands against the wall of the alley. I did as he said, not putting up a fight as he kicked my feet apart into a wider stance and performed a quick search of my person. I tried to tell him I was clean — no illegal substances or weapons of any kind. He might’ve even believed me, if he hadn’t found the bag of cocaine in the pocket of the jacket I was holding.

Linc’s jacket.

But possession is nine tenths of the law, and frankly neither the officer or his partner seemed too keen on hearing anything I had to say to defend myself after they found the eight ball of blow. They slammed me up against the wall so hard I saw stars, folded my arms behind my back, and slapped cuffs on my wrist so fast, I barely had time to realize it was happening.

I watch the red-blue lights flash against the brick building, rhythmic as a metronome. My mind is consumed by worries about the shit-storm I’m about to cause — with the press, with the police.

With Felicity.

Fuck. I really should’ve left her a damn note.