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He squares up to me. “Gabriella is not your concern. Let me worry about what she does and doesn’t deserve.” His tone makes me uneasy.

I look him up and down, my lip turning up in disgust. “I don’t understand what she sees in you, why she picked you.”

His eyes flash with recognition, and he laughs. “You want her, don’t you?” I say nothing, I just try and stare the prick down. “She picked me because she chose the better man. A man whose arm she can be on and be proud.

I step in closer, almost nose to nose, my anger about to reach its peak. “If you want to keep that arm, I suggest you leave my fucking club right now.”

He lets out a huff, turns on his heel, and signals for the woman to follow him, which she does. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and the shirt I’m wearing feels as if it’s constricting my breathing.

Fuck!

I make my way through the staff entrance behind the bar. The volume at which the blood is pumping round my body has my vision blurring, and I sit at the top of the staircase that leads to our stockroom. The faint thumping of the music is the only thing, along with my heavy breathing, that can be heard in the vacant stairwell. I slam my fist against the wall, wincing in pain, but in a twisted way, I welcome the throbbing pain.

The shrill ring of my phone startles me, and with a slight tremor to my hand, I pull it out of my pocket and sigh in relief when I see Ali’s number. I swipe and bring it to my ear, expecting her to apologize and ask for a ride home, but when her horrified voice screams my blood runs cold.

“Ali are you—” There's panic in my voice.

“Help, help, please. It's Cassidy. She’s, she’s dying.”

“What the fuck? Where are you?” I’m up on my feet and running back inside.

“The VIP booth at the back. Hurry,” she pleads, sobbing hysterically.

I race back to the VIP area where I see Ali in a booth, a limp body laid across .

She sags in relief when she sees me. I look down at Cassidy. She’s pale, unmoving. I press to fingers to her pulse point and freeze when I don’t feel one.

“I don’t think she’s breathing. Please help her,” Ali begs, panic laced in her voice.

I lift Cassidy, cradling her in my arms, her body like a rag doll as I run to the back exit, and through the fire doors into the backalley where I lay her on the ground. I press my ear to her chest, but I hear nothing. “Call 911,” I bark, feeling Ali behind me.

I check Cassidy’s airways are clear and cover my mouth with hers, not thinking about contamination or going to get the first aid kit, or to wait for paramedics. No, I’ve done CPR before, and lost someone because I waited too long to begin, and I refuse to lose someone else. I blow into her mouth, her chest rising and then I start compressions

Her lifeless body as it lies on the damp concrete of a New York alley as I try to revive her. The smell of urine and trash fills the air and bile rises into my nose, the urge to vomit is strong. With every pump, visions of Cassidy and then Scotty flit between each other. I shake my head to remind myself she isn’t Scotty. It’s not Scotty beneath my hands, my best friend, bleeding out, the life slowly draining from his body.

I give another rescue breath and yell, “Ali, call 911, now.”

I check her pulse again and nothing. I will her to breathe as I continue CPR. “Come on, come on, sweetheart. You’re not dying on me today,” I pant.

Ali sinks to the floor beside me. “Cassidy, wake up… breathe,” she wails, taking her limp hand into hers.

I don't know how much time passes, but suddenly, Cassidy takes in a sharp breath, and I sag in relief. I collapse against the wall, bracing my head in my hands, my breathing ragged as Cassidy coughs and groans.

“Help’s coming, Cass. You're gonna be okay,” Ali soothes. Blue flashing lights appear down the alley, and suddenly realization hits me. I saved her life, but still, that guilt I can never let go creeps its way back in. I may have saved Cassidy but I couldn’t save one of my best friends.

“I need to go with her,” Ali says.

“No, no, you’re not. I need to take you home.”

“But—”

“Don’t fight me. Ali,” I say sternly.

“Okay.” She nods. “But I need to call Brooke.”

“I’m sorry,” Ali whispers.

“What did you take?” I ask, staring straight ahead, taking a drag of my cigarette.