“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

“Here,” Dana says, bumping her shoulder against mine.

I pull my coat from her arm and quickly throw it on. “I’m going to need some help with him,” I admit.

“You take one arm, I’ll grab the other. My car is right out back.”

“Don’t need help,” Blake mutters, rubbing his fingers along his forehead.

I sigh, anticipating what’s ahead as Dana and I each grab hold of one of his arms. “Let’s get you home and into bed.”

“Only if you’re coming to bed with me, Lemon Drop,” he stutters, trying to hold himself up. I ignore him; he won’t remember any of this a few minutes anyway.

We sneak out back without more than a simple goodbye to Charlie.

Blake shifts between carrying some of his weight and being completely dead weight. Almost too much for two girls coming off a long shift.

“She’s not coming,” Blake remarks when he catches his first glimpse of Dana.

“She’s driving.”

He grumbles. I swear to God if he gets sick, I’m going to kill him. “I mean . . . she’s not sleeping with me. It’s just you and me now, baby.”

I don’t reply because there’s no reason to. I manage to keep him on his feet while Dana opens the back door. My intention was to lay him down inside, but he won’t let go.

“Blake.”

His cold fingers tighten around mine. I give up, climbing in behind him. His head rests on my lap. On instinct, my fingers tangle in his hair. When you care about someone, even if it’s the crazy way I feel for Blake, you want to take care of them when they’re hurting.

In the short ride to our apartment, he drifts off. It gives me a chance to reflect on the last twenty-four hours. On exposed secrets. Truths still unspoken. The heartbreak it caused. When it’s all said and done, it’s going to be the things I still don’t know that determine the outcome of this. Of us.

Dana pulls in front of our building, shifting the car into park. “Umm, has an elevator been installed since the last time I was here?”

I groan, not having thought about how I’m going to get him up the stairs until now. “Unfortunately, no.”

She crawls out, coming to open my door. “You know this is going to suck, don’t you?”

“Yep,” I answer, carefully lifting his head from my lap.

I start to climb out but not before Blake grabs hold of my wrist. “Wait for me. I got this.”

With doubt, I step out onto the curb and wait. He’ll probably fall flat on his face the second his foot hits the ground, but it’s not like I’m going to be able to pull him from the car when he’s like this.

To my surprise, he makes it out, standing on his own two feet. For security, I wrap his arm around my shoulders in order to balance his weight against me.

“I’ll walk behind you in case he starts to fall backward,” Dana says as she locks up the car.

“You realize you’re not going to be able to catch him, don’t you?”

“It gives me purpose.”

I laugh at her ridiculousness but keep moving up the first flight of stairs. It’s not so bad—his legs almost keep up with mine.

“Let me know if you want to trade,” Dana chimes from behind us.

Blake beats me to answering her. “Not a chance.”

When we finally reach the door, he leans against the wall while I dig out my key. He looks as if he’s falling asleep—eyes shut, shoulders falling forward. I motion for Dana to hold the door so I can get him inside.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asks.

“No, I got it. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Thank you for everything.”

She hugs me. “I’d tell you to have a good night, but that would be stupid.”

I want to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, I push all the feelings away and watch her walk out the door. It’s only then that I feel completely, utterly lost. No idea what I’m doing or where to go from here. This guy who I think I love is half passed out beside me. Alcohol chased his worries away, but there’s no way to escape mine.

I usher him to his room, letting him fall onto his unmade bed with his feet hanging over the edge. I carefully pull off his shoes and slide the comforter up over his shoulders. Watching him lying there motionless makes my heart twist in ways it shouldn’t. I can’t stand it. Slowly I back away, flicking off the light before going to close the door.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, rolling to his side.

“You need to sleep.”

“Sleep with me.”

Just like so many other times since I’ve met him, I open my mouth to argue but can’t find the words. Instead, I slip off my shoes and climb in next to him . . . where I’ve wanted to be.

WHEN I WAKE, IT TAKES ME a few seconds to adjust to my surroundings. I’m in my apartment but not my bed. My warm down comforter has been replaced with a heavy, muscled arm. The smell of fabric softener is masked with stale alcohol.

Looking back, I see Blake fast asleep. He looks so peaceful and innocent. His long lashes make me want to kiss him, especially the lids of his eyes.

I shift underneath him, attempting to roll onto my stomach to get a better look. It backfires—he startles, lifting his arm from my waist. For a moment, I lie quietly, selfishly hoping he’ll wrap his strong arm back around me. Instead, the bed shifts, and I hear his feet padding across the wood floor. The bathroom door opens.

I debate whether I should lay here and see if he comes back to me, or if I should cut my losses and disappear into my room. Then I remember my promise to myself to not let this happen again.

Blake steps out of the bathroom then starts opening and closing dresser drawers. All I can do is sit up and watch.

The muscles in his back tense as if he can feel my eyes on him. I want to go to him and wrap my arms tightly around him. If he’d let me, I’d never let him go.

After coming out of the last drawer empty handed, he stands stiffly with his hands on his hips. “Lila.” His tone is sharp, and instantly, I know I’m just another regret. A seed of misery plants itself in my stomach. “I need you to go.”

I wrap my arms around my folded knees, otherwise unmoving. “Can we talk first?”

I hear him breathing. His jaw ticks. “Did you hear a single word I said last night?”

“That’s why I want to talk,” I admit, hugging myself tighter.

He forces a laugh, poking his tongue into his cheek. “I’m leaving for a few days. I don’t know exactly when I’ll be back.”

I jump off his bed, anger boiling over. “That’s it? I told you if you did this again . . . if you leave when things get tough, this is over.” I try to keep my distance, but my increasing frustration won’t allow it. He needs to see me . . . see what he does to me with his hot and cold routine.

“I was drunk,” he seethes, gritting his teeth.

I groan out of frustration. “Not at Navy Pier. Not when you spilled a bunch of crap about falling for me. Not when you told me you were married. Can we talk about that for a second? I need a little consolation that I’m not your side piece being kept at your fuck pad.”

He pushes past me, grabbing a duffel bag from the floor. He walks around me like I’m not even here, throwing two drawers of clothes into it.

“Blake, please don’t go.” A tear slides down my cheek as I stand in the middle of his room. I’m tired of the back and forth. I’m tired of him running when he starts to feel too much. He doesn’t realize he’s making me feel worse along the way.

He zips the bag, throwing it over his shoulder. He starts walking out the door, but then changes his mind, coming back to me. “I meant what I said about trying to figure out what this thing is between us.”

He starts to walk away again. “How is that ever going to happen if you leave whenever things don’t go your way?”

My words stop him. “Nothing has gone my way in almost three years. Whether I’m here or not, that’s not going to change until I get my shit straightened out.”