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At the club, waiting on a delivery. Is everything okay?

I put my phone back down as Jack walks through my office door.

“Morning,” he says, a little groggy.

“You look worse than me. Rough night with the girls?”

“No, they stayed at my parents because we were out with you. No, Ria tossed and turned all night and then was up early, throwing her guts up. Morning sickness is a bitch.” He flops onto the coach.

“Sounds it,” I say in agreement.

“I feel bad. Like it’s my fault.”

“Kind of is. You did knock her up,” I tease.

The door to my office hits the wall.

“Harry?” Jack says. Harry's eyes zone in on mine and he charges at me, like a bull to a red flag. He grabs me by the collar.

“What the fuck?” I roar as I try to move away, but he shoves me back with such force, I groan in pain as my spine hits the wall.

“You knew. You fucking knew, and you didn’t tell me,” he yells. Balling his hands into fists, he goes to swing. I get ready to block, but Jack covers Harry’s fist with his hand.

“Harry, stop!” Jack yells, trying to pull him off me, but he can’t. The adrenaline pumping through him right now has taken over.

“No, he knew, he knew, and he didn’t tell me. If you had told me I could have stopped her, if I hadn’t got there—”

“Stopped what? Harry, you are talking in riddles. Back away and talk to us,” Jack begs.

I’m now nose to nose with Harry, his breathing ragged, eyes wild, his body vibrating with rage. It breaks me to see my friendin so much pain and it hurts even more to know he thinks I’m the reason for it.

“Harry, I don’t know what you are talking about. She only told me that—” He doesn’t let me finish. His large frame collapses into me and it takes all the strength I have to hold him upright and keep him together as he splinters. The usual confident life and soul of any party is now a broken heap on the office floor, and as I listen to every gut churning detail, all I can do is blame myself. I should have noticed, seen she was struggling, pushed her for more answers.

But I didn’t and when the mention of Gabriella’s name and a therapy group they all met at when they were teens breaks through the haze of guilt, I feel numb, and all I want to do is run to Gabriella and try to save her, because everything in my core tells me something is wrong.

Chapter Forty-Three

Gabriella

It’s been a long night and an exhausting day. I haven’t even got dressed. Ria stayed with us and helped clean up Ali’s room. Ali protested, but we called a doctor out to the apartment and they checked her over and suggested rest and some therapy will help her heal. When she told us what’s been going on, what led to last night’s events, it broke a piece of me that I don’t think will ever heal.

I should have been here. I should have known she was suffering. It was clear, the signs were there, and I was too wrapped up in my own lies and my messed up situation with Brad to notice. I should have gone home with her last night.

She sleeps peacefully on the couch as I clear up the dishes. Every time I glance over to check on her, I have to fight back sobs. She’s more like my sister than my friend. She saved me,took me in when I was a lonely teenager trying to find her place in the world. Just like Ria, they never judged me, loved me unconditionally and the thought of her not being here is too much to comprehend. They are the sisters I never had but longed for and if I lose either of them I don’t think I’d ever recover.

This was the wake up call I needed. I need to make better choices. Stop being selfish and focus on who and what matters. Luna has tried calling me all day and so has Patrick, but I can't speak to either of them.

My focus needs to be on Ali. I text the studio and canceled my classes for the week so I could be here to watch her. I don’t want to leave her on her own. A soft knock sounds from the front door. Half expecting it to be Ria and Jack, I open the door and my body stiffens when Brad fills the doorway, his forearm leaning against the wooden doorframe. He lifts his head to look at me and he looks as broken as me. He looks like he hasn’t slept, his eyes bloodshot and there’s a faint hint of stale whiskey on his breath, which makes me worry. He’s dressed in a black tee, jeans and military style boots, but something about him isn’t as put together as he usually is.

“Can I come in?” His voice is low and deflated and my natural instinct is to throw my arms around him and comfort him, knowing what he’s also been through after Ali explained everything.

I gesture for him to come inside, and I close the door quietly. He follows me towards the kitchen and hovers behind me as I pull two mugs from the cupboard.

“Coffee?” I ask, assuming the answer already.

“Please.” He speaks softly, not sounding himself at all and it hurts my heart. The sound of water trickles through the machine in to the waiting cup and the scent of strong coffee fills the air.

“How’s Ali?” he asks.