"No." The honesty surprises even me. "I just… I don't want to be alone right now."

"Where are we going?"

"Meet me at Furlo's? That bar just outside town?"

"The sketchy one by the old gas station?" There's no judgment in his voice, just that unwavering acceptance he's always shown me. "See you there."

Hours later, I push through the heavy door of Furlo's. The bar is a study in shadows and secrets, dimly lit and heavy with the kind of silence that swallows confessions whole. A jukebox in the corner bleeds old country songs into the stale air. It's the kind of place where people come to disappear, and tonight, that suits me just fine.

I slide onto a stool, nodding at the bartender. The worn wood beneath my fingers feels like every bad decision I've ever made.

"What can I get for ya?"

Any other time, I would've drowned the anxiety with whatever I could get my hands on. Cocaine would've been my first choice—that familiar rush, the way it made everything sharper, brighter, more manageable. The craving hits me like phantom pain, my fingers drumming against the bar in a rhythm my body remembers too well.

One call. That's all it would take.

The numbers are still carved into my brain like scars.

But I can't do everything right now.

Jay has helped me keep that unspoken promise through countless late-night calls and impromptu drives. Through the shakes, the cravings, the moments when the walls of my bedroom felt like they were closing in and the only escape I could think of was chemical. He'd let me show up without question, sometimes just to sit in silence, sometimes to drive aimlessly until the sun came up and the need subsided.

But it's Nora's eyes that haunt me the most.

Every time the craving hits hard enough to make me consider breaking, I see them. I remember the fear that lived in them the night on the beach when she saw me high, fueled with anger. I hit thirty days clean last week and didn't tell a soul, too afraid that speaking it might break whatever fragile progress I've made. Of all the uncertainties in my life right now, there's one thing I know for certain: I never want to see that fear in her eyes again.

“Scotch,” I tell the bartender, even as every nerve ending in my body screams for something stronger.

The bartender places the glass in front of me, then leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. "You just missed your old man."

My hand freezes mid-reach, ice sliding down my spine. "What?"

"You're Sullivan's kid, right?" In a town like Eden, there's no escaping who you are.

"Yeah, he was here with his lady friend." The bartender smirks like we're sharing some private joke.