Page 53 of Rush

I put my seat belt on, and Luke pulls the car out onto the street.

We’re only a few minutes out of town, heading for the city, when I remember that I’m supposed to be going to the cinema with Ares tonight.

God, I can’t go out with him, not while I’m feeling like this.

And I don’t want him to know how close I was to drinking today.

He’d be disappointed in me, and I couldn’t bear that. It’d probably tip me over the edge.

I get out my phone from my bag and tap out a text to him.

Hey, I’m gonna have to bail on tonight. Sorry. Left work early, as I’m not feeling well. Rain check?

While I wait for him to text back, I run a hand through my hair, and it gets stuck in the tangles. On my phone, I switch the camera to selfie mode to look at my hair.

I almost scream when I see myself.

Mascara and eye makeup are smudged under both my eyes. I look like a panda. And my hair is a damp, knotted mess.

I look like I used to the morning after a heavy drinking session.

“Jesus Christ!” I whine. “I look a mess!”

“Yep.” Luke nods, chuckling.

“Thanks a lot! You could’ve told me that I looked like this when you came into the bar,” I complain, trying to rub the mess away from under my eyes.

“Sorry.” He shrugs. “But I didn’t want to push you over the edge by telling you that you looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. I figured you’d have downed that wine in one go if I’d told you. I know I would’ve if I’d been in public, looking like you do right now.”

“Ass,” I grumble.

He chuckles. “And that’s the reason you asked me to be your sponsor.”

“Because you’re an ass.”

“Because I’m truthful.”

I look at him and smile for the first time since the argument with my dad. “True that.”

Luke pulls the car to a stop outside my building. I stare up at it, knowing what is waiting up there for me.

An empty apartment.

“Thanks for the lift and the save,” I tell him as I take my seat belt off.

“Anytime. Do you want me to come up and keep you company for a while?” he asks.

“Yes.” My response is so quick and eager; it’s laughable. And he does chuckle. “God, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” I groan. “I’m a grown woman, afraid to be alone in case I succumb to the urge and run to the nearest bar and drink myself into a coma.”

“You’re not pathetic, Ari. You’re human. And a brave one for admitting that you’re afraid.”

“Thanks.” I give him a sad smile.

“I’ve been there, remember? Hell, I’m still there. I know what it feels like. And, also, I can’t let you go to another bar, looking like that.” He gestures to my face, grinning.

“Jerk.” I chuckle.

“Come on,” he says, taking off his seat belt and turning off the engine. “You can make me a coffee.”