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“Can you tell me where I am?”
The guy laughs. “The way you look in that dress…we must be in heaven.”
Emelia doesn’t register the idiotic pick-up line. She thanks him awkwardly and asks again. I barely hear the name of the bar. It’s muffled but I think I have it.
“Stay right there, at the bar. Ask for some water if you can, but don’t go anywhere. It’ll only take me a few minutes to get there. Can you stay on the phone?”
“I’m not in danger. You don’t have to be so protective.”
Don’t I? What choice do I have? She’s holding my heart in the palm of her hand. She’ll crush us both if she’s not careful.
I feel slightly disoriented driving down the streets of Boston in the middle of the night. Going from a deep sleep to alert and awake so quickly has me feeling like I’m in some kind of fever dream. I make it to L’ultima Cena in record time and park out front. I don’t give a shit if I get a ticket or towed. If my car’s gone when I come back out with Emelia, I’ll Uber home with her and worry about the rest later.
There’s a line to get into the bar, but I think the bouncer must have seen me pull up to the curb like a bat out of hell because he doesn’t stop me as I cut past him and head inside.
The music greets me like a fist to the face. The thumping beat hammers my heart in my chest as I scan the crowd, looking for her. There are three bars spread out across the expansive space, and I find Emelia at the second one, beside some guy who’s leaning in close talking to her.
When I reach her, I take her arm and turn her gently.
Her eyes widen with alarm for a half-second before she sways toward me with relief.
“Who’re you?” the guy asks me.
I don’t even look at him.
“Come on,” I say, helping Emelia off the barstool.
Her equilibrium is off, so I hold her against me as I start to head toward the door.
Alexander cuts us off halfway. “Emelia, I’ve been looking for you. And no shit! Look who’s come to join us!” He claps his hand on my chest.
One look at his dilated eyes tells me everything I need to know—the drug habit he picked up at Saint John’s is alive and well.
“Get out of my way.”
When he doesn’t move, I start to curve past him, and he laughs.
“What’s the issue, man? Stay. Party with us.”
I don’t turn back.
“The night is young!”
His shouts fall on deaf ears.
My blood pressure drops immediately once I get Emelia outside into the brisk autumn air. Without the loud music, I can think more clearly. I spin her to face me and grasp her chin. Her eyelids are droopy and tired, but she doesn’t look high.
“Did Alexander give you anything?”
Her features contort in confusion.
“Drinks?” she asks. “Yes.”
“No. Did he give you powder, pills?Drugs, Emelia.”
Even in her drunken state, my question alarms her. “No,” she insists. “Nothing.”
Relieved, I release her then grasp her arm just above her bicep and gently direct her toward my car. I’m lucky it’s still there, sans ticket.
