Chapter 1
I didn’t want to be here.
Seriously, it’s not like I wanted to spend my Friday night at the local trap house.
I didn’t want to be the one to knock on that drug house door.
I didn’t want to be the one looking into the filthy rooms. I didn’t want to be the one who stepped over the bodies of people already passed out on the floor, even though it was only ten.
I didn’t want to be here at all. But I loved Holden, so I’d be here anyway.
I sighed, finally ripping my keys from where they were stuck in my car’s ignition.
I was yards away from the small, dilapidated house, yet I could already feel the bass from the music pounding through the ground.
I could see the shadows of bodies moving in the uncovered windows.
They weren’t fast-paced like they were dancing.
They moved slow, like zombies three years into the apocalypse. Already rotted.
He knew better than to come here. But… I guess maybe he didn’t.
If Holden was here, at this house, it could mean only one thing.
He’s relapsed. Two years of rehab. Two years of therapy and Narcotics Anonymous meetings and endless tears shed during my pleas for him to just hold on a little longer. All of it, gone. Just like that.
It’s funny how that happens, isn’t it? So many hours of struggle, of pain, of hard work…
it can all disappear in a single second.
The wrong second. That one moment where you give in to the chaos, even when you know it’ll only lead to heartbreak.
The second you choose black instead of yellow. I would know, after all. Wouldn’t I?
I took one last glance at myself in the small mirror of my car, eyes tracing over my makeup, then down to my blonde hair. Not a strand out of place. Just the way I liked it.
I looked up at the stars as I stepped out of the car.
They were plentiful tonight, glowing bright and excessive against the pitch-black sky.
A slight smile tugged at my mouth as I soaked in the feeling they gave me.
Infinite. Infinite possibilities, I reminded myself as I walked toward the house.
Infinite paths. Infinite choices. Infinite chances. Infinite outcomes. Infinite endings.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Holden hadn’t made the wrong choice. Maybe I’d go in there and he’d be sitting on the couch. His eyes would be clear. He’d be sober. My smile grew a little bigger. There’s still hope. There’s still hope for Holden, just like there’s still hope for me.
I kept my head tilted toward the stars, letting the hope they beamed down swell inside me. Letting it remind me that everything in life can be good, if we just give it the time to remember how. Though… not watching where I was walking seemed to be the wrong choice.
“Woah,” was the word that flew out of my mouth at the impact. My body slammed into something solid, like walking into a brick wall. I flew backward, bounced like a rubber ball launched too hard.
I braced for the ground, but before I hit it, large hands wrapped around my waist. They caught me mid-fall, then yanked me forward in the opposite direction, propelling me straight into a chest. My hands landed there first. I steadied myself only for a second before looking up.
The guy who stood before me was tall, tall enough that I had to tilt my head the same way I had when I was looking at the stars. Blonde hair, shaggy and unbrushed.
But it was the tattoo on his neck that caught my eye.
Big. Bold. It wasn’t decorative. It wasn’t subtle.
An anatomical heart ran up the side of his neck, oversized and dark, the lines thick enough that it looked almost carved rather than inked.
Veins twisted outward without symmetry, like something still mid-function instead of preserved.
It didn’t look like art meant to be admired.
It looked painful. Not in the way tattoos usually do, but in the way open things are painful.
Like something that had been exposed on purpose.
I let my eyes trace the ink for just a moment before glancing back at his face.
His expression was flat, narrowed eyes lined with annoyance.
“Oh gosh,” I breathed, pulling my hands off him. “I apologize.”
Even though, like I said, I’m pretty sure he walked into me. But an apology couldn’t hurt, especially not when you’re dealing with people from this side of town. People you don’t want to piss off.
“Um,” I said, dropping my gaze to his hands. They were still on my waist. “Can you let go of me?”
He did. Immediately. Like he hadn’t realized he was still touching me. But he still didn’t say anything.
“Well. Alright then,” I muttered under my breath. Judging by where he came from, he was probably high. And I didn’t have the energy to deal with another person who had fallen victim to the same poison that claimed Holden.
I sidestepped him, heading for the door. We were already close. I only had to take a few more steps. I reached for the doorknob, about to knock, when I felt the same hands wrap around my wrist.
“Hey,” the guy snapped. His fingers closed around my arm, pulling me back so fast my body twisted to face him. “You can’t go in there.”
“Excuse me?” I shot back, locking eyes with him. This time I looked harder. His pupils were steady. His gaze was clear. Sober. “Let me go,” I said, louder now. He wasn’t high.
“Did you not hear me?” he said, shaking his head like I was the unreasonable one. “You can’t go in there. I don’t know what you think this is, but it’s not a house party with free vodka and dance music on the speakers.”
I scoffed, trying to yank my hand back. His grip only tightened. “I don’t drink, asshole.”
“Sure you don’t,” he muttered like he didn’t believe a word I said. “Just wait out here. Have a cigarette.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a carton, and flipped it open like it was supposed to impress me.
“I’m Austin. This is Levi. We can take you home if you need it,” he added, nodding to the other guy I hadn’t noticed until now.
“Gross,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Is there a reason you think I’d want to choke down rat poison in smoke form? Life is too good to die of lung cancer.”
“Okay…” Austin started, but I cut him off.
“And I don’t need you to take me anywhere. I need to go inside.” I pulled again, not that it made any difference.
“Listen,” he said, quieter now. The sharp edge in his voice dulled. “You don’t need anything in there. Seriously. Walk away. It’s not worth it.”
I paused. There was something in the way he said it. Like he meant it. Like he was pleading. But why?
“I’ll remind you that you don’t know me,” I told him. “And your assumptions are wrong.”
“No, they’re not. You’re looking for drugs,” Austin said without flinching. “Walk away while you still can.”
Then it hit me. The misunderstanding. And it almost made me laugh. I looked down, letting out a short breath of amusement. “I’m the last person who would ever be looking for drugs.”
“Oh,” he said. His hand finally loosened. My arm dropped back to my side, free again.
“Yeah. Oh,” I muttered, turning back toward the house. What a complete waste of my time.
I heard him say something else, but I wasn’t listening.
I was already pushing the door open, not bothering to knock.
The smell hit me first. Mold. Rotten air soaked in smoke, decay, and something unwashed.
It flooded into my nostrils and made me gag.
I scanned the room quickly. Bodies slumped against the walls.
Passed out. Hollow. Nobody looked at me.
I kept walking. My eyes checked every chest to make sure it still rose and fell.
My feet moved faster, driven by a panic I was trying to swallow down.
And then I saw him. Holden. Slumped against the arm of the couch wearing the red hoodie I bought him for Christmas last year. My heart sank. I rushed to him, dropped to my knees, grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him upright.
“Holden,” I said, cradling his face in my hand, trying to lift his head. It fell again. Limp. “Fuck. Holden, come on.”
I pinched the skin of his arm. Nothing. I grabbed his wrist, felt for a pulse. Weak. My own pulse, meanwhile, was exploding. Panic surged through me, flooding my brain with static.
“Damn it, Holden,” I whispered, letting his body drop again. I fumbled with my phone, fingers shaking as I pressed three numbers.
“What are you doing?” a voice said from behind. I turned. Of course. The tattooed guy. Austin.
“Calling an ambulance,” I told him, somehow keeping my voice even.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.
“My name is Blair Evanston and I need an ambulance,” I said quickly. “My brother… he’s overdosed.”