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and I’ve got you.”
    I check his pupils with a little flash light from the kit. They’re responsive, in the way I’m pretty sure they should be. He must just be drunk.
    “Shelly,” he moans.
    I kiss his temples as my stomach twists. “Do you love me?” My voice shakes. “Do you love Shelly?”
    “I love you,” he whispers.
    When he falls asleep again, I call Raymond.
    When he arrives, I go.
     

CHAPTER SIX
    Lucas
 
    I wake up sore . Not in a bed. I can feel the hardness of the floor, or ground, beneath me.
    That’s all I’m able to discern before the dryness of my mouth demands my full attention. I try to open my eyes, but even my eyelids are sticky.
    Fuck.
    The smallest movement of my head, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
    I lie still, listening to the ticking of a clock. Ungodly fucking loud. My nightstand clock? The kitchen clock? I shift my arm a little and I can feel the plush carpet underneath my ass. So I’m in my bedroom.
    I crack open my eyes, and there’s the ceiling.
    I make the mistake of trying to sit upright. Pain rips through the side of my chest, so unexpected, cold sweat pops out all over me. I push myself the rest of the way up and slit my dry eyes open. Look around.
    I’m lying just outside the bathroom, on a pallet on the floor with lots of blankets. I’m wearing pants—black shorts, like the ones they used to give out at fight night. I look down at my painful side and see some gauze there. What the fuck ?
    I reach my other hand up and rub my eyes.
    “Fuck!”
    I blink again, and realize one of my eyes doesn’t open all the way.
    I take a deep breath and search my foggy mind. What did I do last night? Honestly…I don’t remember. I have this memory of being in a car. I wasn’t driving.
    I was riding with someone.
    Shelly.
    My throat aches at the memory.
    Shit, so it was one of those nights.
    I grab the door frame and pull my screaming body upright. God, my fucking head. I walk into the bathroom, hoping the change in location will jar my memory, but…nothing.
    I rub my eyes and am reminded, again, of my shiner. One look in the mirror, and my mouth opens.
    Shit. What the hell did I get up to last night? Where the fuck was I?
    I tug at my shorts. These are fight night shorts. I can tell because they’re short as shit.
    I lift my arm up and check out the bandage on my side. I’ve got a big scar there from way back, and it looks like it somehow got split open. I pull my shorts off. One of my hipbones is bruised as shit. So fucking weird.
    I dig in a drawer and grab some eye drops. Drop some in my unhurt eye, and fuck the other one. It stings like hell, and I can barely open it anyway.
    I look around the bathroom and am sucker-punched by the memory of bathing with Leah in the tub beside me. Reality sinks in too quickly, as it does every morning for the last couple. Leah was here. I sent her away.
    I’ve got the nagging feeling something else happened, something bad that I forgot, but as I start the shower and shuffle in, I can’t remember what.
    All I know is…I feel desperate. Edgy. Fucked.
    Whatever happened last night, wherever I went…it made me think of things I usually keep firmly barred from entering my mind.
    I sigh and scrub my hand through my hair, then pull it down because the fucker stings. Knuckles. Every one of my knuckles is split open; both hands, too.
    Shit, so I did fight.
    I have a hazy memory of blood splattered on a mat. I wonder where I went.
    I used to get like this more often. I haven’t drank or used in years until this week, after finding out about Leah. After looking for a sub since Monday and nothing working out.
    Three days of ‘try-outs’, and not one eligible girl. I’m not sure what the fuck is up. They’re all so…wrong. Fat fingers, bony fingers, short necks, long necks, bad tit jobs, knobby knees, chapped lips, tatted earlobes, ridiculous manicures…and the list goes on and fucking on.
    I turn off the shower and step out on