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He needed to drive south. He would go as far south as he could and never look back. He’d run and run and somehow get over the damn border and keep on running. He was going to be fine.

He was going to survive.

Trev couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for the loss of his bright future. It was all falling apart right before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it.

It was fine.

Wherever he ended up, he’d make a new future—an even better one.

Trev hit the sidewalk running, ignoring the cab driver’s bitching about his crappy tip. Trev hurried inside and then raced up the stairs, his thighs screaming at him the whole way up. Once he arrived at his floor, he paused to give himself a moment to catch his breath.

He hadn’t seen any of his belongings outside, so he hoped that meant Camille hadn’t started to clean out his place yet.

Still, Trev wanted to be ready to raise hell if he saw her and doubling over panting from bolting up multiple flights of steps in stilettos wasn’t going to be very helpful.

He strutted out into the hall once he wasn’t about to keel over, and he was pleased to see it was clear. He hurried to his door, finding that the locks hadn’t been touched.

Good.

Maybe Camille had smoked too many cigarettes and landed herself in the hospital again.

Maybe she’d been run over by a bus.

He could hope.

He stalked to Camille’s apartment at the end of the hall and knocked furiously.

Nothing.

He knocked harder and even kicked the door.

Still nada.

Great.

Okay. Think, think, think—Juicy!

Trev had given Juicy a spare set a while back. He hated to wake him up at this hour, but he didn’t have any other choice since Camille wouldn’t answer. He hurried over to Juicy’s door to knock, but it opened just as he raised his hand.

Juicy was on the other side, an old man with papery white skin and a shock of gray hair that defied gravity. He had Barkie’s leash in his hand and blinked at Trev in surprise. “Oh! Trevanion. You’re here. I was about to take Barkie for a walk.” He paused. “Are you bringing me my ointment?”

“No, I need my spare keys,” Trev replied quickly.

“Why?”

“Because I lost mine.”

“Why don’t you just go into your apartment and find them? They’ll be in the last place you look. Always are.”

“Juicy, I need my keys to get inside my apartment. Camille isn’t answering and I need to get in, like, now.”

“I’d help you, but Barkie really needs to go?—”

“Juicy, please.” Trev usually enjoyed their strange chats, but he didn’t have time right now. He turned his gaze to the empty carpet beside Juicy’s feet. “Barkie, I’m sorry, but I really need my keys, boy.”

Juicy frowned. “Well, if he has an accident, you’re cleaning it up.”

“Happily.”