The bed dips beside me. Warm fingers trail across my shoulder and down my arms. I know it’s a dream when I feel his body pressed against mine. That I’m hallucinating his lips at my neck, his arm draped across my stomach. He traces patterns beneath the hem of my shirt as I clench my eyes shut and try to hold on, not to wake up. It smells like him, his skin. I feel that indescribable energy that wraps me in light when he’s near. A tear falls down my cheek and my chest constricts. I want to roll over, weave my hand through his hair, and feel the strands between my fingers. Want to touch his lips, soft and tender. Taste him on my tongue. To look into his deep-water eyes and remember what home feels like. But it’s a dream, and if I move, if I breathe, disturb the fragile, formless moment, it’ll disappear like smoke.

“Avery,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear and brushing his fingers down my neck. “Baby, I’m home.”

His arm around my waist tugs me, turning me toward him. I open my eyes, morning light bleeding in, and he’s still there.

“Ethan?”

A spike of adrenaline rushes through my body.

“I’m here.”

I throw my arms around him, fingers digging into his back. Face buried under his chin, I inhale. He takes my leg and hitches it over his hip, arm firm against my back. We can’t get close enough. Can’t feel enough of each other. We cling tighter, straining to kill the space between us.

“I thought you weren’t getting out until this afternoon,” I say, my tears dripping on his shirt.

“It is afternoon.”

I’ve slept all day, exhausted from insomnia and worry, still so delirious I almost can’t believe it’s real.

“I’m so mad at you,” I cry against his chest, voice strained. “I’m so fucking mad at you. What the hell were you—”

“Baby, I know. I’m sorry.” His hand tangles in my hair, massaging the back of my neck. “I’m so, so sorry, Avery.”

Fisting his shirt, I want to scream. Scream into his chest and let out all of this anxiety and anger and all the ways he’s tortured me over the last three weeks. Now that he’s back, he’s safe, I’m overwhelmed with the need to…I don’t know. Break something just to hear it shatter. Destroy something. Blow it up and burn the remains.

“I hate you so much. I hate you for leaving and for never calling me back when—”

“It’s okay. You can hate me if you have to.”

So I do. Minutes or hours, I don’t know. But lying in bed, tangled in each other, I hate him. While he’s kissing me and stroking my back. While he tells me he’s sorry and I cry, aching, pressing my hand against his chest to feel his heartbeat. Until I don’t have the energy left in me.

“Where did you go?” I ask, fingers combing through his hair.

“Nowhere.”

I would demand an answer, an explanation of where he was and who was with him and how the hell it got so bad, but I think I already know. And now that I’ve calmed down, I don’t want to chase him away again.

“Why didn’t you call? Just to let me know you were okay.”

“I wasn’t okay.” Ethan closes his eyes and exhales. He’s ragged. Color absent from his face, dark circles under his eyes. There are new lines and creases that weren’t there the last time I saw him. He’s been through the wringer and come out worse on the other side.

“I was angry,” he says. “At you, at first. My father and my mom and everyone else. But then I was just angry at myself, and I didn’t know how to talk to you. I was pissed off and ashamed, and I didn’t want to be that in front of you.”

Gazing into my eyes, full of sincerity, he cups my face to run this thumb under my bottom lip.

“Avery, I never wanted you to see me like that, and I am so embarrassed that I let it get so ugly. I hate that I hurt you. The longer I was gone, the more I convinced myself that you’d left and there was nothing worth coming back to. I’d torpedoed our life and the only thing left to do was drink myself to death.”

“None of that matters to me. All I cared about was that you were in pain and you wouldn’t let me help. I’ve been here, alone, worried that you weren’t coming back or you were lying dead somewhere. I’ve never been this scared in my life.”

He rolls onto his back and tucks me under his arm, the blankets draped over us. His heartbeat slows, deep breaths making his chest rise and fall.

“Avery, am I too late? I need to know if I’ve ruined us. You don’t have to stay with me out of some sense of obligation or pity. You can be honest with me. Can you still love me despite everything I’ve done?”

It’s an easy answer. And also not.

I still love everything he’s been to me since we met. I still love how he brings me to life when he holds me in his arms. The feel of his body next to mine and his voice when he whispers in my ear. How he’s always there to stand up for me, always has my back. All the love he has trapped inside him and the adoration in his smile. Ethan is a good man, and I know, completely, he never meant to hurt me. He’d rather throw himself off a cliff than cause me pain. But sometimes we can’t help ourselves. We all have demons, that innate human nature to destroy. Ethan’s worst target is himself.

“I love you,” I tell him. “I never stopped loving you, and I don’t think I’d know how to stop if I wanted to.”

“But?”

“But I can’t stay with you if you’re drinking.”

“You’re breaking up with me.” There’s no argument behind his eyes. Steely and calm, he doesn’t flinch.

“Because I think it’s the best thing for both of us. I failed you because I didn’t recognize what was happening right in front of me. Now I do, and I can’t ignore it. Ethan, I want so badly for us to be together, but I have to respect myself first. And so do you.”

He swallows, muscle flexing in his jaw. I know how an addict’s mind works. I see the gears turning, searching for an excuse or rationalization or some bargain he can strike with himself that adheres to the spirit of the deal if not the letter. He opens his mouth to speak, but I press my fingers to his lips.

“I love you, and I will always be your friend, but this is something you’re going to have to do alone. I can’t make the decision for you, and I won’t hold a gun to your head. When you need me, you’ll always be able to find me. However long it takes, no matter how bad it gets, I will be your friend. But you have to make an effort for yourself. And you have to stay away from Vivian. She’s poisonous.”

There’s nothing about their parasitic relationship that I enjoy, but I do understand it. Addiction loves company. Ethan fills the black, empty space in Vivian’s hollow life. She provides all the reinforcement he needs to feed his destructive cravings. And I never did anything to stop it.

“Whatever else you decide,” I tell him, “please, let her go. Trust me when I tell you I know how that story ends. You deserve so much better.”

I don’t let him respond right away. I’m not after a quick surrender that turns to regret and resentment when the sun comes up. So, for tonight, we just enjoy being together again. We order pizza and watch Netflix. I cheat at gin rummy and laugh when he catches me. I take his hand and lead him back to bed when he goes to the fridge, standing in front of the open door, and realizes what he wants is a beer and it isn’t there—he can’t have it. These are profound moments for addicts. Confronted with limitation. When they reach for their drug and see, for the first time, how unconscious and ingrained the need truly is.

That night we lie in bed, wrapped in blankets and darkness. With his arms around me, my head on his chest, I sense we’re both holding our breath, in fear of the same impending cliff: What if this is the last time? What if he chooses his addiction and I choose myself, will we ever have this again? Comfort and security of being in the arms of the one we love. The trust and compassion of the person who sees through our faults. I can’t bear to look down, peer over the edge at the black uncertainty.

“Ethan?” I say, sliding my hand up his bare chest, to his cheek, tracing the lines of his face and curve of his jaw. “I love you. Whatever you decide, I’ll always love you. Even when we’re apart. Even when you hate me. That’s a promise.”

“Avery.” He captures my hand and kisses my palm, holding it firm. “I wouldn’t know how to hate you.”

Pulling myself on top of him, straddling his hips, I kiss my way to his lips. I peel off my shirt, we toss our clothes to the floor, and I bring his hands up to touch me, hold me. Remember the feel of my skin when he enlivens every nerve. How my breath escapes me when his mouth explores my body. The rhythm of my pulse when he’s inside me and there’s nothing we don’t understand about each other.

We only have a few hours to daylight, and with it a decision that will irrevocably change our lives. So, if this is all there is, all we have left, I don’t want anything left unsaid. If this is our last memory, I want it burned on my heart.

“I’ll get better,” he says, whispering against my lips. “Just don’t give up on me.”

I hope that’s true. For both of us. But as we fall asleep, I begin to prepare myself for life post-Ethan. The farthest distance between two points is desiring sobriety and achieving it.

Sitting in his truck outside the rehab facility upstate, a cozy, wooded estate on a lake, Ethan grips my hand. Or maybe I’m holding his. The program is six weeks, during which time we won’t call, we won’t write—this is his time to concentrate only on his recovery without the crutch or distraction of me. It’s a painful requirement, but a necessary one. He has to step out on this ledge alone if he’s going to find his balance.

“I am so proud of you,” I tell him as he stares out the window. I know the war churning within him, and what a profound step it is to make it this far. “Remember that.”

“The only thing I’m afraid of is letting you down,” he says. “When I was gone, every second of it I wanted to call you. So many times I almost picked up the phone. But I was ashamed—those things I said to you. Fuck, Avery.” He drags his hands through his hair and presses his palms to his forehead. “The look on your face when I took off. It’s still in here. Every time that image pops in my head, it guts me. It was like I was someone else, watching it happen, and I couldn’t stop myself. I’d make the decision to come home, and then that look would flash in front of my eyes, and I couldn’t do it.”

“It’s over now. We’re past that.” I don’t want to think about it any more than he does. “The important part is that you’re trying.”

“I fucked up, Avery.” He drops his hands to look at me, eyes red and stricken.

“I forgive you.” I take his face in both hands, insistent that he hear this. “All I care about is that you get healthy. And you’re going to have to forgive yourself. The guilt will cripple you. Trust me. The only way this gets any better is if you accept the mistakes and learn to let go. I promise it gets easier.”

“How can you love me this much?” Leaning his face into my hand, he closes his eyes, a deep crease through his brow. “Why are you still here?”

“Because you made me love you. Every word. Every moment we were together. One mistake doesn’t erase all that.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the shell casing and tuck it into his fist. “I’m giving this to you. It’s every battle I’ve fought and every lesson I’ve learned. It’s my strength and commitment. Keep it with you, and when you think it’s too hard, when you start to doubt, when you’re in so much pain and anguish you don’t think you’ll survive it, remember this. Remember me. Because I want it back. I need it back, Ethan. But only when you don’t anymore.”

Ethan wraps his hand around the back of my neck, tugging me closer. He kisses me, deep and desperate. All his fear and uncertainty in one vulnerable, precious gesture.

“One day at a time,” I tell him. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

“I won’t fail you,” he says, forehead pressed to mine. “I fucking swear, Avery. I’ll never fail you again.”