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and they’re gone. Just like that, he’s out of my life again. I fight against the hands that hold me.
    “Shh. Calm down and I’ll let you go.” It’s a familiar voice. One I’ve heard plenty of times.
    “What the hell, Ernest?” I jerk away, shocked by his strength considering I tower over him in heels.
    “This is not the time or place, Carly.” He steps in front of me when I try to blow past him. Again subduing me with a body-block wrestling-type move.
    “What do you mean? He obviously wants to talk to me. How dare you two get between us?”
    “No, he doesn’t.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “He’s glad to know you’re alive after last night’s—” He drags it out, searching for words. “—episode. But he’s not ready to talk to you.”
    My heart stutters in my chest. I swallow hard and rub my hand over its struggling beat, settling into a nearby chair. “He’s that mad at me?” I focus on the floor, feeling like a fool for asking.
    “I don’t know what to tell you, Carly. I’ve never seen him this pissed.”
    “But he’s mad at me. That’s good. It means he still cares.” I manage a wildly delirious smile, nodding and finally looking at Ernest. Because this is good news, right? I’ll take pissed over indifferent any day. His face bunches in a tortured way.
    “Carly, don’t.” He shakes his head.
    Maria appears at Ernest’s side, her gaze moving between us. “Is everything okay?” she asks, up-downing Ernest with obvious contempt.
    “It’s fine.” I wave away her concern. “Maria, Ernest. Ernest, Maria.” I give a forgettable introduction. Neither acknowledges the other. “What do I do?” I turn to Ernest, desperation twisting my words.
    “Nothing. You’ve already done too much.” With that he turns to leave, grinding my heart between his heel and the stone floor. I fall against the chair back, hands covering my face to hide the tears.
    “What the hell is her problem?” Maria’s voice goes icy, a sassy hand lifts to her hip. I look up to find Ernest grabbing Heather with the same forearm death grip he used on me. She side-eyes him, tucks her purse under the arm she jerks from his grasp and chugs what remains of her wine. With an entitled smile, her glare returns to me. She catches a laugh behind her hand and shakes her head like I’m beyond pathetic. In that moment, I realize I am.
    Oh, god. What the hell have I done?

Chapter Five
    I need a drink . I mean, seriously, why the hell should I kill myself trying to hold all these frayed ends together when it is obvious they are already beyond my grasp? I slide into an open spot at the bar.
    L.A. is huge, with a million posh places to eat. What are the chances that after last night, we wind up at the same restaurant? That’s like a sign from God. Surely. A sign I can’t even begin to decipher sober.
    “Grey Goose and water with a twist,” I say to the bartender. He gives me a quizzical look. Is this idiot really going to card me? I don’t back down, instead raising my brow to wordlessly ask if there’s a problem.
    “Make that two,” Maria says, sliding into place beside me. The bartender turns to reach for the top shelf. “Are you sure, Carly?” Maria whispers into my ear.
    “I have never in my life been more sure. Besides, alcohol was never my problem. I can handle it.” My smile is light and carefree, easily telling a lie every addict knows. But considering all the ways I polluted my body last night, a simple vodka and water is like an ice cream sundae. “What about you?” I nod at the sweaty glass now in Maria’s hand. She warily eyes a lemon peel floating on top. This moment is huge for her—the end to months of sobriety. A real friend should stop her. Part of me wants to. A bigger part selfishly needs my old partner in crime.
    “Like you say, alcohol was never my problem.” She shrugs with a small laugh, repeating my denial. Raising our drinks, we salute the official end of our sobriety with a wordless toast and