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Her eyes are downcast when she admits, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Is this okay?”

It takes her a second, but then she nods before coming back to me. Gradually, I feel her tension slip away, and she relaxes in my arms. With her warmth pressed against me, I swear she heals some of these broken pieces of mine. The ache calms in my chest, and all the bullshit outside of this room dissolves into nothingness.

Eventually, our lips naturally fall from each other’s, and she rests her head on the pillow next to me. “I’m scared I’m going to lose you,” she whispers.

“You won’t.”

She sighs and drops her eyes.

“What?”

“I’m worried about your drinking,” she reveals. “If you get caught—”

“I won’t.”

“You could.”

I want to assure her that I’m fine and that she has nothing to worry about, but it would be a lie delivered on bourbon-tainted breath.

“Promise me the next time you drink that you won’t drive.”

The worry in her eyes is real and has me considering how bad it would be if I did get in trouble and I wasn’t around for her when she needed me.

She doesn’t talk about it a whole lot, but I know she’s sad. It’s impossible not to worry about her even though she told me I didn’t need to. The fact that she felt safe enough to confide in me was huge. She trusts me when she doesn’t trust anyone. Just the thought of what might happen if she were to lose that terrifies me enough to promise her whatever she wants.

She needs me, especially after what happened yesterday.

But I need her too. She’s the only person who cares enough about me to be worried. Not even my own mother is worried—only Harlow. That alone has me caving.

“Just call me next time, and I’ll come get you,” she offers.

“Okay.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” I tell her. “But I need you to make me a promise too.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me that we’re going to get out of this place. That it isn’t just us talking about it, but that we’re actually going to do it.”

Tucked in my arms, she rests her head on my chest. “I promise.”

HARLOW

“Sebastian.” I gently shake his shoulder to wake him. “Sebastian.”

“Hmm.”

He rolls onto his back with an exhausted sigh, and when his eyes finally open, I tell him, “You have to go before my mom wakes up.”

“What time is it?”

“Six.”

He cringes when he sits up, touching the side of his face, which looks worse than it did last night. “How bad is it?”