Page 147 of My Unfinished Heart

“I uh…umm…” I clear my throat. Twice or maybe three times. “No.”

My voice comes out raspy and weird, so I cough and clear my throat again. Finally, I lower myself to the floor, my back against the refrigerator, with no idea what to expect. I don’t do well in uncharted waters.

“Is this too weird?” he asks.

“No,” I lie. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I just want to say I’m sorry⁠—”

I shut my eyes. “Don’t.”

“For everything I put you through. Everything I put Tristan through. I'm really, extremely sorry.”

“Please don’t.” I cover my eyes with my hand. An apology from him is too much.

“I don’t have a lot of time to talk, and I wish I could ease into this better because I know we may as well be strangers, but the truth is I still love you. So much. And I’ve been missing you for the longest time.”

The phone slips in my grip because my palm is sweating. I’m sweating everywhere. It’s starting again. It’s been two weeks since I’ve thrown up, but it’s coming. There’s no way to stop it.

If it’s possible to choke on shame, I’m about to do it.

That’s when West walks in.

I don’t know what the hell he’s doing at my house, but here he is like a fucking miracle. He takes one look at me and holds out his hand for the phone. I give it to him, pick myself up off the kitchen floor, and get to the toilet just in time.

After a while, I notice he’s with me again, sitting with his back against the bathtub, scrolling his phone. He’s quiet. He sees me see him, and he reaches out a hand to pat me on the shoulder. “Better?” he asks.

I nod, standing up to rinse my face and mouth before sitting down next to him. The cool porcelain tub on my damp shirt gives me a chill.

“You’ve gotta do something different, brother. This thing you’re doing—not working so great,” West says.

“No kidding. What are you doing here?”

“I saw the Bat Signal.”

I almost laugh. “Seriously.”

“I hadn’t heard from you today. I was headed to the bar, and I thought I’d stop by—make sure you were okay.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he says.

Maybe, maybe not.

“What’d you tell him?” I know he didn’t hang up the phone when I handed it to him.

“That you weren’t feeling good. Stomach flu.”

“Did he buy that?”

It’s West’s turn to laugh. “I think so.”

“Where is he?”

“Some place called Rivershore. He said it was like a rehab.”

“Is he okay?”