“But I still love you,” he whispers.

“Hoo boy,” Weston says under his breath.

I swallow a sigh. I’ve never met a more pathetic person, and I force myself to remember that this man clearly has addiction issues. But from the sounds of it, he’s the one refusing to go to rehab. Refusing to save himself.

Either way, I’m more than a little relieved when we arrive at his house. “Let me talk to his mom before we take him in,” Brenna says. “I need to warn Louisa.”

She hops out and hurries toward the two-story home. It has a white wraparound porch, big bay windows, and a welcoming red door. It’s hard to picture a meth addict living there.

I wait for Brenna to reach the porch, then twist around in my seat to address Eric. “Listen, I don’t know what your history with Brenna is,” I say in a low voice. “But this is the last time you’re going to be calling her.”

Confusion fills his eyes. “But I have to call her. She’s my friend and—”

“She’s not your friend, pal.” My jaw goes so tight I can barely get a word out. “You just risked her life, made her drive in a storm to rescue you from some bender, and then thanked her by asking for drug money. You are not her friend.”

I think a sliver of guilt manages to penetrate the high, because his lips start trembling. “She’s my friend,” he says again, but it doesn’t hold as much conviction as before.

Brenna returns to the car, accompanied by a dark-haired woman in a flannel robe and rain boots. She looks like she was dragged out of bed.

The woman throws open the back door. “Eric, honey, come here. Get in the house.”

He manages to slide out of the backseat on his own. Once he staggers to his feet, his mother latches on to his arm. “Come on, honey, let’s go inside.” She glances toward the driver’s seat. “Thank you so much for bringing him home.”

As she guides him away, a dismayed Brenna peers at Brooks’s open window. “Your coat,” she reminds him.

“Let him keep it. I’ll buy another.” A response that reveals just how badly he wants to disentangle himself from this entire situation.

I don’t blame him.

When Brenna is buckled up in the backseat, I twist around and prompt, “Hastings?”

She slowly shakes her head, and I’m startled when I glimpse unshed tears clinging to her long eyelashes. “Can I spend the night at your place?”

27

Brenna

“I’m so embarrassed.” I flop down in the center of Jake’s bed, wearing one of his T-shirts, a pair of his thick socks, and nothing else. My cheeks are still burning from the humiliation of scouring the streets of New Hampshire for my druggie ex-boyfriend—and dragging two other people along for the ride.

Jake closes the door. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. We all have our shit.”

“Really? So you have a meth-addicted ex-girlfriend lurking in the shadows who might require rescuing at any moment? Sweet! We have so much in common!”

His lips quirk up. “Fine. Maybe my shit isn’t quite as exciting as yours.” He runs a hand through his hair, which is still damp from the shower.

We both showered—separately—the second we got back to Jake’s apartment. After being out in the cold April rain with Eric and then driving home in wet clothes, we desperately needed warming up. A part of me is still floored that Jake and Brooks did this for me tonight. It’s definitely going above and beyond.

I can’t get Eric’s face out of my mind. His enlarged pupils, the rapid-fire jabbering. It’s horrifying to know that he smoked meth for three days straight, got lost in a quiet residential neighborhood, and passed out in the bushes. Afraid. Alone. Thank God his mother continues to pay for his cell phone so that he has the means to communicate and call for help.

I just wish he hadn’t called me.

“I can’t believe that’s the same Eric Royce who almost played for Chicago,” Jake says, and there’s a flash of pity in his eyes.

“I know.”

He joins me on the bed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with him.” I have to amend that. “Not to this extent, though. Usually he wants money. Last year I made the mistake of giving him some, so now he thinks it’s okay to keep asking.”

“You dated for how long?”

“About a year and a half.”

“And you broke up with him.”

I nod.

“Why?”

“Because it was too much.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “It got too intense, and we weren’t good for each other anymore. Plus, my dad hated him by that point.”

“Doesn’t your dad hate everyone?”

“Pretty much.” I smile faintly. “But he especially hates Eric.”

“I’m not sure I fault him for that.”

“Me neither, but you weren’t there. We went through some stuff and it hit Eric hard. He was immature and didn’t know how to properly deal with his emotions. He made a lot of mistakes.” I shrug. “Dad doesn’t allow for mistakes.”

My voice cracks and I hope Jake doesn’t notice. Because that’s the problem—there’s no such thing as forgiveness with my father. He hasn’t forgiven me for my relationship with Eric and all the trouble it caused. I don’t think he ever will.

Once again I feel my cheeks heat up. “See, I told you that you didn’t want to get involved with me. I’m way too fucked up.”

“You’re not fucked up,” Jake says. “If anything, you seem to have your shit together, a good head on your shoulders. Especially compared to your ex.”

“Well, one of us needed to be the grownup in that equation.” Bitterness coats my tongue. I gulp it down. “I was carrying the entire relationship by the end of it. Eric fell apart and couldn’t be there for me when I needed him and yet I was expected to be there for him, always. It was exhausting.”

“I can imagine.”

I rub my weary eyes. My relationship with Eric taught me so many tough lessons, the most important one being that you can’t rely on anyone but yourself. He wasn’t equipped to handle my emotions, and I don’t know if that’s exclusive to Eric, or boyfriends in general. What I do know is that I’ll never be so careless with my heart again.

“If he ever calls again, I don’t want you to pick up,” Jake says roughly.

“Really. So if he’s lying in some ditch and needs my help, I should just let him die?”

“Maybe.”

I stare at him in shock.

“I don’t mean to be callous, but sometimes people need to hit rock bottom in order for things to change. You can’t always rescue them,” Jake says somberly. “They need to crawl out of that hole and rescue themselves.”

“I suppose so.” I sigh. “But you don’t have to worry about this happening again. My days of rescuing Eric are over.”

“Good.” He crawls to the head of the bed and lifts the corner of the comforter. “Come here. It’s been a long day. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Our first sleepover, Jakey. Isn’t this exciting.” My sarcasm lacks its usual bite. He’s right. I’m tired. And I just want to erase the memory of Eric Royce from my head. I was as devastated as Eric was when everything fell apart. I almost died for that guy. But enough is enough. He’s a ghost from my past, and it’s time to forget about him.

I slide under the covers and snuggle up next to Jake. He’s lying on his back, and my head is on his bare chest. He smells fresh and clean from the shower, and his skin is so warm. I feel his heart thumping beneath my ear. Steady, soothing beats.

I can’t believe he did this for me tonight. I could’ve gone to find Eric on my own, but Jake wouldn’t let me. He had my back, and the thought causes my throat to close up a bit, because I can’t remember the last time someone was truly there for me.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmurs in the darkness.

“Of course.”

“Can I kiss you or are you too tired for that?”

“God no, please kiss me.”

He rolls on his side, one arm stretched out with his cheek pressed against it. He inches closer until our lips are touching, and then we kiss, and a wave of pure emotion spills over me.

I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline wearing off, or if I’m feeling overly needy given tonight’s events. But the emotional connection we made tonight is merging with the deep physical ache I feel for him whenever we’re together. I don’t know how long we lie there making out, but soon kissing is not enough. My breasts feel heavy and my core is throbbing. I push him onto his back again and climb on top of him, grinding against him in a desperate attempt to ease the ache.

He squeezes my ass and groans against my mouth, and suddenly his thick erection pokes out of his boxers.

“Oh, hello there,” I greet it.

Jake grins up at me. “Sorry, that was unintentional, I swear.”

Unintentional or not, it’s a welcome sight. I stroke the hot, hard length of him, shivering when I remember how it felt filling my mouth, the wave of satisfaction that hit me when I brought him to climax. I want to feel that satisfaction again.