I lied to Summer.

Again.

It’s a lie of omission, but it’s still a fucking lie.

The guy who drove Alex around the city, never looking at the houses they drove to, would have had no problem with lying. He’d have said there’s always a gray area.

How times have changed.

Still, there’s no way in hell I’m going to worry her with this.

I left work two hours before my appointment. They don’t have any idea how long a prosthetic fitting is going to take, so I fudged it. I’m taking most of the morning and part of the afternoon off. That doesn’t feel great either, but there’s only one solution to the problem of Alexei stalking us around the city.

I have to confront him.

Not confront him. Meet him. Talk to him, at least. Maybe, if I can get him on neutral ground, we can have a conversation.

I don’t have a way to contact him.

But I know who does.

I take the train to Queens and walk to my old apartment, the heat settling thickly on my shoulders. It’s too hot for this and my leg aches in the prosthesis. I have the ugly sensation that I’m being watched, and I’m probably right. In this kind of neighborhood, people are always watching.

The hallway of the apartment building is fragrant with the pungent odor of garbage and spilled beer. I can’t believe Summer came here to visit me and still wanted to be with me after that.

Small miracles.

I’m planning to knock on Curtis’s door, but when I raise my hand to the battered wood, I see there’s no need.

It’s already open a couple inches.

I don’t like that.

I push it out of the way and step inside.

It’s dark inside, and so silent my stomach tightens at the lack of sound. Every muscle is on alert. Is he here? Is he dead? Was this place robbed? What am I walking into? I should turn around and go right back out. I don’t.

The only light is coming in from the gaps around the curtains, letting in sharp morning sunlight. My prosthetic bangs against something on the floor. A beer can clatters off to the side. As my eyes adjust, I see that the entryway and the living room are more of the same. He had a party here recently.

“Curtis?” I call out his name and blink, taking in more of the wreckage. It’s looking less like a party and more like a downward spiral with every step I take.

There’s a slow shuffling from the second bedroom and I follow the sound.

“Curt, it’s me.”

The same darkness cloaks the bedroom, but the curtains are shitty here, too. Curtis is curled up on a bare mattress on the floor. He’s fully dressed, down to his shoes. He’s got a towel over his shoulders like a blanket.

“Curtis.”

He blinks. His face is on display in one of the lines of light from the window, and his eyes are so sunken in it makes my stomach turn.

“Day.” His voice is ragged, torn to shreds. “How’d you get in?”

“The door was open.”

He pushes himself upright, and I can see in the movement that he’s not okay. Something falls softly to the floor with a delicate click. A needle.

Curtis stares toward the window. “What time is it?”

I pull out my phone and check the screen. “Just past eleven-thirty.”

“Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair. It hasn’t been washed in quite some time. “Guess it doesn’t matter, though.”

“Are you still working?”

He laughs out loud. “No, man. No. Why would you think I could hold down that type of job?”

“I thought things were going okay at Killion.”

“Killion?” His grin is crazy, misshapen. “That was three fucking jobs ago. You probably don’t remember what that’s like. What do you do now, sit on your ass in an office? Collared shirt, look at you.”

“Get up.” I haul him bodily off the mattress and put him on his feet. “This is—” I shake my head. “You can’t live like this.”

Curtis pushes my hands away. “Why are you here?”

I don’t bother lying. “Do you have Alex’s number?”

He looks to the side and breathes out, a short sigh of disappointment. “It’s in my phone somewhere. In the other room. If that’s still his number.”

I go out to the living room and throw the curtains open. This place is in worse shape than I thought. Jesus, Curtis. He’s going to die in here if he doesn’t do something.

If I don’t do something.

The phone is buried in the middle of some rotting takeout boxes on the coffee table. Curtis trails out of the bedroom while I flip through his address book.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah.”

I enter the number in my phone.

“I’m going to give you a number, too. The first thing you’re going to do when I walk out of here is to call this place.”

He snorts. “What place?”

“Heroes on the Homefront.”

“Oh, fuck that. Those people don’t know—”

I turn to face him and shove his phone into his hand. “You’re killing yourself. Do you get that? You are killing yourself.”

Curtis’s eyes go wide, then they darken. His next words are soft. “Who cares, man? I can’t do these jobs. I can’t fucking sleep at night. The dreams—”

I look him in the eye. “I know. Trust me. I know.”

He drops his gaze to the floor.

“I’ll let them know to expect a call from you.” I check the time on my phone. “By noon. If you don’t call, I’m coming back here.”

“You can’t—”

“I can, asshole.”

He hears the promise in my voice.

“I’ll call.”

“Good.” I head for the door. The fitting is in the city, so I’m traveling back there. “I’m also going to send somebody to clean this place up. Call. Shower.” I point my fingers at him. “Don’t let me down.”

* * *

I pull the brand new liner over my leg and take a deep breath.

My heart’s racing.

I didn’t expect to feel this way, getting a new prosthetic, but I do.

Dr. O’Connors balances it in front of my stool until I’m done with the liner, then hands it over.

“Should be a perfect fit,” he says, his eyes on the socket. “But if it’s not, we can make adjustments.”

I slide my leg in and stand up.

Oh my God.

There’s no pain.

It fits.

It fits.

My missing toes uncurl and relax for the first time in months.

“I—”

I take a few steps forward. Dr. O’Connors’ assistant, Sherry, pokes her head in the door and gasps. It scares the hell out of me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Dayton!” Her face is alight. “You’re so tall!”

Joy. A pure, undeserved joy ignites in the center of me, followed by a stab of regret. Summer should have been here for this. I can feel it in my shoulders. I’ve been standing off-balance for so long that I stopped noticing. Now my back is straight.

There is no pain.

“Show me the walk!”

I walk in a circle around the exam room again. Sherry turns over her shoulder and calls down the hall. “Guys! Come see Dayton!”

A little crowd of nurses in scrubs gathers at the door as Dr. O’Connors puts me through my paces. Every exercise is a breeze. There’s no pain.

When he stands up and pronounces it absolutely perfect, all of the nurses clap.

Dr. O’Connors puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you finally showed up for this.”

I give him a look. “How old are you, even?”

“Same age as you.”

Everyone laughs, and then we move seamlessly into end-of-appointment nonsense. Scheduling the check-up. Things I should watch for. All that.

The nurses start to disperse.

“Wait.” Sherry stops at the door. “I need your help with one last thing.”