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Her eyes lock onto me. “What happened?”

I tell her. Watch her face shift from anger to understanding to something like pity.

“Go,” she says. “I’ve got her.”

“Blake—”

“Brandon.” She touches my arm. “You can’t fix this. Not tonight. Let me help her.”

I nod, step back, and let her slip past me to Naomi’s door.

I hope I didn’t lose my cupcake tonight.

Back at my apartment, Sebastian already waits in front, bourbon in hand. Good. Maybe it’ll scorch away the image of Naomi’s face when she screamed ‘red’ like a litany.

I unlock my door, and he follows me inside, straight to the couch.

He pours two glasses, sliding one across the coffee table. “What happened?”

“Tried to help.” The bourbon burns down my throat. “Made it worse.”

“Your version of helping or actual helping?”

“Both.” I drain the glass. “She was spiraling. Found her in the middle of a binge.”

“And?”

“Ran her a bath. Tried to get her to tell me the truth.” My jaw clenches. “With certain methods.”

His voice carries an edge. “Without discussing it first?”

“She used the safe word. Kicked me out right after.”

He refills my glass without asking. “You pushed.”

“She was hurting herself.”

“And you thought forcing her to confront everything at once would help?” He shakes his head. “You’re not her therapist. And you can’t save someone who doesn’t want saving. You should know that first-hand.”

“That’s why I know she wants me to do it.” The certainty in my voice surprises even me. “She just… I was so close. So close for her to open up.”

“You can’t force it, man. The more you push, the more she’ll pull away.”

I stand up, pacing again. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do? Just watch her self-destruct? I’m sick of it.”

“Be there. Without expectations. Without trying to fix her.”

“That’s not enough.”

“It has to be.” He levels me with a look. “Or do you want to lose her?”

Losing Naomi would be worse than any physical pain. But maybe I already have.

“So what?” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “I just sit back and watch?”

He sighs, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Look, I get it. You want to fix this. Fix her. But you can’t. Only she can do that. And in time, she will trust you and let you in.”

My jaw ticks, fingers itching to throw the glass across the room. To break something. Anything.

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