“She just flipped, I don’t know,” Sean said. He looked at Ashton, tucked neatly in the crisp hospital linens.

He’d arrived at the hospital as soon as visiting hours started at seven in the morning. Of course, his first thought had been of Harper—but after a restless night he still couldn’t figure out his next move.

Was it the collar? The asking to be monogamous? How he’d forced her to eat? Maybe it was all of it.

“I think … man, I think she has anorexia or something,” he said. “There are these clues, you know? But maybe it’s all in my head. The whole modeling thing and all.”

Sean looked to Ashton for advice—not that he offered it up much back in the day. The more he thought about it, the more he realized they’d been drinking buddies at best. Even in college. But isn’t that how we all are when we’re teenagers?

After last night with Harper, he’d started to think that maybe he never really knew anybody.

“Anyway, I wanted to—”

One of the machines hooked up to Ashton started to beep rapidly. Sean had never heard the sound before, and was sure he’d been around enough in recent weeks to be familiar with all the hospital noises.

“Ashton?” he asked. “Nurse!” he called. The machine got louder. Sean searched the complicated wires for some way to call them.

He scrambled to his feet and looked into the hallway. It was vacant, save for what seemed to be patients or visitors. “Fuck.”

Sean jogged down the hall to the reception desk where a large woman was kicked back in scrubs covered with pictures of puppies. “I understand, ma’am, but you need to realize—”

“Hey! Excuse me,” he said.

The woman glared up at him. “I’m on the phone,” she mouthed.

“I don’t fucking care! My friend is—something’s wrong.”

“They’ll need to fax that order to us. Yes, I can tell you the number …”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sean said. He wanted to reach across the desk and rip the phone out of her hand.

“Can you excuse me for just one moment?” the woman said into the phone. “Sir, if you don’t calm down, I’m going to call security—”

“Fucking call them!”

“Are you alright?” Sean turned to see a tiny woman with an R.N. tag. “No! My friend is—”

“What room is he in?”

Details had slipped out of his mind. “He’s just right down there—”

“Ashton Lee?” she asked.

“Yes, how did you …”

“We already have a team working on it.”

Sean turned to leave, but she placed a child-sized hand on his arm. “You won’t be allowed in there,” she said. “They’re transporting him as we speak.”

“But I was just there—”

“The doctor was notified.”

“Is he okay? Is he—”

“He’s awake. Sir? Do you need to sit down?”

Sean realized the fluorescent-lit walls had started to spin. “No, I … I’m okay.”

“Would you like me to have someone call anybody for you?”

Sean saw the woman on the phone glare at both of them.

“No, it’s … it’s fine. Thanks. When … when can I talk to him?”

“I don’t know, it’s too soon to tell anything. We have no idea yet what condition … well, nevermind about that. You can call and ask for updates any time you’d like. Are you family?”

“No,” he said softly.

“That’s okay. You can still get updates.”

He was in a stupor as he made his way to the car. Ashton was awake? And what did she mean by “type of condition?”

Sean drove to the apartment on autopilot. He wanted to call Harper, desperately. She was the first person he thought of. With his head in his hands, he heard the phone start to ring. It was like they were connected.

But it was Bill’s name on the screen. “Look, I don’t have time for whatever this is—”

“You’ll make time,” Bill said. “Did you know Ashton woke up?”

“Yeah. How did you … it was just like an hour ago …”

“The D.A. called me, that’s how I know.”

“Oh. And?”

“And Ashton’s pointing the finger at you for that night.”

“Fuck.” Yeah, he was awake alright. And apparently pissed as hell.

“This is … fuck, Sean. The D.A. is seriously taking a second look at charging you now.”

“Has he?”

“No,” Bill said, clearly exasperated. “Not yet. But obviously the statute of limitations are still well within bounds. He’s fucking mad, Sean. Ashton, not the D.A. The D.A. is thrilled.”

“What … what do I do?”

“Now? Not a goddamned thing. Don’t talk to him, and sure as hell don’t go see him. You understand me?” Don’t see him?

Sean considered admitting that he’d just come from the hospital, but thought better of it. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

“Good. Lay low. The police … shit, the goddamned police might show up. I don’t know, that prick of a D.A. probably has some things in motion that he’s keeping on the down low. If the police do show up, be polite but don’t talk. You got me? Say, ‘I mean you no disrespect, Officer, but I want my attorney.’ Just say that over and over. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Sean said. “What are, I mean what do you think the odds are of the police coming here?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Right.”

When Bill hung up, Sean stood up and paced from one end of his tiny apartment to the other. He couldn’t drag Harper into this, especially not after last night. “Hey, JK, you there?” He stared at the screen, willed Joon-Ki to reply, but nothing.

“Fuck,” he said and switched off his phone.

He couldn’t be tempted to text or call Harper. The last thing he wanted was to dump his shitty life in her lap.

The apartment shrunk before his eyes. Was it always this goddamned small? The murals and stacks of books made it cramped.

Unable to sit still, he grabbed his wallet and headed downstairs. The usual scent of baking dough made him feel sick. Bile gathered at the back of his mouth.

Sean ran across the street so he wouldn’t have to walk directly in front of the shop. Just one block. The liquor store was just one block away. He’d passed it thousands of times, but hadn’t been tempted in weeks. Not since Harper.

Once, he’d even walked inside. “Can I help you?” asked the short Indian man with the thick accent.

“Nah. I’m good.” He’d been so proud of himself that day. The ability to walk in, see those glistening bottles like gems, then walk right out? He’d told Joon-Ki, and they’d toasted with Americanos instead of house black.

The bells tinkled, announced his arrival. “Can I help you?” It was the same, squat Indian man, though he’d grown an impressive moustache.

“Fifth of Jack,” he said and pulled out a fifty.

The clerk rang it up and slid the amber liquid in the familiar square bottle into a slender paper bag.

“Keep the change,” he said.

“But, sir, it’s almost twenty dollars—”

“I said keep it,” he called over his shoulder. He couldn’t wait even another second. Getting change would just take up more time.

The lid was off before he was out the door.

“No open bottle—” the clerk called after him, but Sean was already in the bright California sunshine.

By the time he reached his apartment, nearly a quarter of the whiskey was gone.

“If it’s all gonna end, I might as well be drunk,” he said to the empty apartment.

Nostalgia washed over him, and a desire for ritual. Already numbed, he laughed at the idea of what a lightweight he was now. There was a time, not that long ago, that he could drink a fifth in one night and not be blacked out.

Sean pulled out his favorite shot glass, the lone remnant from the lost days that he couldn’t give up. “Cheers,” he said as he took a shot. The feral burn down his throat was sheer comfort.

He poured another and delighted in the fire at the back of his mouth.

Fuck it all. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that Connor believed in him. That he’d actually asked Harper to be with him. It was all over now.

“Shit,” he slurred as he watched his next shot spill over the edge.

Whatever life he’d started to build for himself, all the good stuff that had come his way, it was cut short. All because of that fucker Ashton, he thought. Still, there was another voice buried in his head. Because of what you did to Ashton.

“I wasn’t even the one driving,” he said aloud. It doesn’t matter. Harper will never want you now. Who would want a drunk?

He slammed the shot glass back down, but it continued to bang. It echoed through the apartment.

“Sean Cavanaugh? L.A.P.D.” The voice boomed into his brain. Slowly, he realized the pounds came from the door. “Open up.”

“Shit,” he said. He stumbled as he got to his feet. Anything to make that pounding stop.

He struggled with the handle, but got it open. Two huge cops stood before him, their chests like barrels.

“Sean Cavanaugh?” the cop asked. His black eyes glanced into the apartment.

“Yeah? You have a warrant?” Sean asked.

“Do I need one?”

“If you wanna come in,” he said.

“I don’t want to come in. We’re here to ask you about—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know what you want to ask me about.”

“Mr. Cavanaugh, we have some questions regarding—”

What was it Bill had told him to say? He couldn’t remember. “I’m not talking to some fucking pigs,” he said.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, if you don’t watch your language, we’ll have to—”

It was like he’d elevated out of his body and watched the scene unfold below. Somebody else directed his body. Sean swung at the cop. His fast landed squarely on a hard, square jaw.