I couldn’t believe I’d had to leave my friend and come back to our building to search through Trev’s pigsty of an apartment for his insurance card and ID.

My fists hadn’t relaxed from the second that fucking hospital bureaucrat came in to bitch about needing the damn cards. They’d still have been tight and ready to punch something if I hadn’t had to use both hands to search through all the shit Trevor had been hoarding since he moved in.

“Seriously, Trev?” I’d mumbled. “You’ve only been living here for a month and a half.” Where did all that crap come from? Takeout menus, crumpled-up receipts from close to everything he’d bought in the last few years, four pairs of sunglasses—three of them broken—a crushed pack of gum, and four thousand other things. But no ID or insurance card.

“Fuck. Fuck the world and everyone in it.” And yeah, I meant everyone.

It shouldn’t have been possible to be more pissed off than I was about having to leave my comatose friend just so the hospital could fill out their stupid paperwork.

I’d really underestimated the limits of my anger.

When I’d called Sara to ask if she could grab Trev’s cards and bring them to me, I’d only been pissed at the hospital. After she missed the second call, I figured she might’ve been in the bathroom or in a deep sleep. I was disappointed, but not upset about it…yet.

At the bottom of one of his many junk drawers, I’d finally found his insurance card. I’d slipped the card into my wallet and gone up to my place to quickly vent about the hospital administrators to Sara before I headed back, to hold her in my arms and gain the strength I’d need to go fight with them over Trevor’s care. I couldn’t wait to see her, even if she were asleep. After all, she’d be there because she’d promised she would be, right?

Wrong.

At least Kitty was still there. She followed me as I stomped from room to room, calling Sara’s name. The sheets were still a rumpled mess, but Sara wasn’t wrapped in them or even hiding under them—yes, I checked. Fuck, I even checked the pantry, where I’d found Kitty once after she’d somehow gotten herself locked in. No one was there. No one was in the bathroom or kitchen or even on the microscopic balcony.

No ransom note. Not even a fucking Be right back note.

I knew she’d been through a lot recently with that asshole Cal. So, I should’ve been more understanding and less angry. But knowing that and feeling that were two very different things.

So, when Sara hadn’t picked up her phone when I needed her and wasn’t where she’d said she would stay when I needed her, I was all out of empathy. The only thing I could think about was how fucking alone I felt.

The first and second promises she’d made me, she’d broken less than two hours later. And what capped it all off was what she’d said when she finally did pick up her phone.

Know what the world’s shittiest response is when someone asks you why you aren’t where you said you’d be or answering the calls you said you’d answer?

“Where do I start?”

Was she serious? How about she start by thinking about the guy lying in a coma right now. Or maybe the guy she claimed to care about, who was an inch away from losing it because he’d had to leave his friend in the hospital to get a fucking plastic card that she should’ve been around to get for him.

At that point, I didn’t even care if I was being irrational or not. Because she didn’t care enough to keep her promises. At least not the ones she’d made to me.