As soon as Harper pulled up to the building in a cab, Sean opened the glass doors to usher her in. He couldn’t read her expression behind the huge sunglasses she must have dug out of her purse. “Are you alright?” he asked.

She waved him away after she’d taken the rolled-up twenty out of his hand and handed it to the driver.

“Don’t run!” he’d called after her as she hurried back to the waiting yellow taxi.

“I’m fine,” she huffed. Harper stiffened and pulled away from his hand on her lower back, but she didn’t actively shoo him away.

“We’re taking the elevator,” he said when she veered toward the stairs. She opened her mouth to protest but snapped it shut again.

He held the door open for her and she pulled off the sunglasses. A dark ring had settled in beneath each eye.

“What’s with all the blankets?” she asked.

Sean looked to the couch. Maybe he had gone overboard. It was piled high with all the extra blankets and pillows he could find—and considering Sam had gone above and beyond when furnishing the loft, there were plenty to be had. “I just wanted you to be comfortable.”

“I have a bed where I can be comfortable,” she said.

“No arguing. Get on the couch and I’ll make you some soup.”

“I’m not sick! I was just dehydrated—”

“All the more reason to have some soup.”

He set up Netflix to stream on the television and was pleased when he saw her begrudgingly dismantle the pile of blankets and pillows to hole up on the couch.

The little shop hadn’t had much variety with the soup, so he’d bought one of each flavor. He peeled open the chicken noodle soup, poured it in one of the white bowls, and started the microwave.

“What’s this?” she asked. Harper wrinkled her nose at it.

“Chicken noodle soup.”

“Great. Pasta in a broth.”

“Just eat what you can,” he said. God, she was an annoying sick person. His phone buzzed in his pocket. “It’s my lawyer, I have to take this,” he said. She waved him away as she carefully scooped just broth into the spoon.

“Hi,” he said quietly as he slipped away to his bedroom. “Please tell me you have good news.”

“Actually, I do,” T said. “It turns out the police officer you punched is letting you off the hook.”

“What? He’s not pressing charges?”

“Nope. Although, honestly it’s probably because his ego is bruised and he doesn’t want to waste time with all the paperwork and court time. LAPD has bigger fish to fry than you.”

“Uh, thanks? I guess,” he said.

“Just being honest. Here’s some more good news to cheer you up, all the other charges have been lowered to misdemeanors.”

“All of them?” Sean’s heart swelled, but he didn’t want to get too excited yet.

“All of them,” T repeated. “Once again, I think it’s the court’s lack of time and money to pursue them, not that the assault charge has been dropped. The other charges were kind of banking on that as a catalyst.”

“That great!” Sean said. “But what exactly does a misdemeanor mean?”

“Well, that’s the tricky part,” T said. “They come with a relatively hefty fine, though I get the sense that’s not a huge barrier for you.”

Sean stayed silent, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“Anyway, the repercussions kind of depend on what you plan to do. It might impact future job prospects, professional licenses, and in the future, child custody. Technically, misdemeanors don’t come with jail sentences most of the time, but you might go back to jail while we wait for everything to be resolved. That can be up to two months.”

“But I’m on bail.”

“That was only while we got to this part of the process,” T said. “At the moment, we’re in limbo.”

“Isn’t there, I don’t know, anything we can do? To get some of those dropped?”

T drew in a breath and Sean heard Harper laugh at something on the television. “Yes, actually,” she said. “If you could talk Ashton into dropping the witness statement, we have a really good shot.”

“Okay,” he said. Never gonna happen. “Thanks.”

“Sean! Let me know if you’ll be able to talk to him by Friday, alright?”

“Yeah, will do,” he said.

“You didn’t ask about the last good news.”

“There’s more?”

“An officer will be by later today to remove your ankle monitor.”

“That’s it?” He was shocked. Sean had already grown accustomed to the bulky little appendage.

“That’s it.”

“Thanks. For everything,” he said.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“And, hey, one more thing?”

“Yes?”

“Could you maybe … make an overture to Ashton for me? See if he’d even be willing to see me. I, I don’t know. I have a feeling this isn’t going to go over well. But now that I’ll be able to leave the house soon, it’s worth a shot.”

“Definitely. I’ll have someone in the office connect with him later today. This really is your best bet for coming out of this in the clear. You’re lucky, you know that?”

“I have my doubts,” he said. “Thanks again.”

“No problem, you’ll hear from me soon.”

Sean sat on the edge of his bed and contemplated the situation with Ashton. No matter how many angles he tried, he couldn’t seem to get anything to sound right. And judging by what Eli and Manny had said, it didn’t sound like Ashton was in any kind of mood to be generous. He’d be lucky to talk to him when he wasn’t totally coked out of his mind.

Finally, Sean emerged from the bedroom. He crept up quietly to the couch and found Harper sleeping. All the noodles and most of the chicken remained in the bowl, but it seemed like she’d spooned out all of the broth.

She looked tiny and gaunt curled up on the couch. Maybe that was to be expected after spending so many hours at the hospital. I’ll make her eat more. And better. I have to, he thought to himself. Harper was beyond thin, even for a model. Her natural curves suggested a richness in her breasts and hips, but a lot of it was the natural splay of her bones. A touch of it was the small amount of muscle she put on at the gym, and she was simply blessed with those breasts.

Who are you to think you can handle this kind of restriction? He struggled with the word anorexia. Was that what it was? When did someone cross the line from health-conscious to obsessed? To a mental disorder?

Sean settled into the chair across from her. He remembered being a little boy and how his mother would sleep on the couch from noon onward, sluggish from alcohol. Eventually, she gave up the pretenses and went straight to bed after her lunchtime vodka.

Once, his father came home unexpectedly from a business trip. Sean was only seven years old, but he was aware of the sizzle in the air. His mother had been a semifunctional alcoholic, and had always arranged for the cleaners to arrive the day before his father returned. This time, she wasn’t prepared.

The house was a disaster. He and Connor weren’t quite old enough yet to be embarrassed. They reveled in the mess, at the idea that they could toss plates of snacks and their juices on the floor with zero repercussions.

For five days, their mother had only slumped out of the bedroom to go to the bathroom or refill her vodka. When their father walked in, he and Connor hadn’t bathed in five days, either. They wore the same pajamas. He could still recall the stink of it.

It was summer, and neither had any responsibilities. Their father, with steely eyes, gently set his briefcase on the foyer table. “Where’s your mother?” he asked them.

“In bed,” Connor said quietly.

“How long has she been shut up in there?”

“I don’t know …”

“How long, Connor?” his father boomed.

“Five days,” he said meekly.

Their father surveyed the mess of the great room. Without a word, he stalked to the bedroom. The sound of his expensive shoes made a clip-clop sound like a horse at the races.

Sean expected to hear screaming, a glass shattering, the usual sounds of what happened behind their closed doors. But there was nothing.

Instead, their father appeared in the bedroom doorway. Their mother was passed out in his arms. She was beautiful, even in such a state, like a Hollywood actress in the arms of her leading man.

“Where are you taking Mom?” Connor said, suddenly fueled with fear. He jumped up and pulled uselessly at his father’s arm. “Put her down!”

Their father kicked in his general direction until Connor gave up. “Knock it off, Connor, shit!” he yelled. “I’m taking her somewhere to rest for awhile. You both start cleaning up while I’m gone.”

It wasn’t until years later that Sean realized his mother had actually been taken to dry out. Those sessions never lasted long. She’d return, a clarity in her voice and eyes, and promise them over and over she was done drinking. “I just don’t feel like it anymore!” she would coo.

It never took more than a couple of weeks until she was back at the bottle. In time, Sean came to see these dry outs as times of peace and quiet. Often, his father would jet off to another business trip and hire a nanny who didn’t care what they did as long as they were quiet.

Still, his mother’s drinking was never quite as bad as that time. He shook his head and looked at Harper. Please don’t let her be that far gone.

He was pretty sure he could handle it, all of it. No matter how deep the eating disorder had wormed. You just have to watch her.