He perches himself against the headboard and dutifully swallows the pills, not bothering with the water. Did I mention he is green? Yes. Because he is. He is shaking, too. And I, the girl who is always cold, am responsible for making him an icicle. He gave me his jacket in the pouring rain when I felt like running away spontaneously—barefoot and underdressed in the middle of the night. He slept in the living room for me, with nothing to shield him from the cold.

“We need to get you to the hospital.”

“In this storm? Fat chance, Rory. It’s probably overcrowded, anyway. Christmas fecks all the drunks up, and winter does the rest.”

“Why did you have to leave?” I seethe, trying to gain control of my temper. “What kind of stupid asshole wakes up in the morning sick as a dog and decides to take a long-ass stroll in the rain?”

My New Jersey-based bad cop is slipping into my speech, and I bare my teeth at him. I tuck the edges of his blanket under the mattress, again caging him to the bed.

He doesn’t answer, just presses his eyes shut. His chest is barely moving. I stand up and go to Richards’ bedroom to grab another quilt for him.

When I come back, he looks:

1. Ashen
2. Dead

I run a finger under his nostrils. He is still breathing, but barely. Cold mist covers his skin. My entire body turns rigid.

Be okay. I can’t lose you, too.

“Fuck you.” I feel the tears prickling my eyes as I begin to undress.

He needs body heat. He needs body heat, and for the first time in a long time, I am actually not cold. My blood is boiling with fury at what he did to himself. At what I did to him. I dump my clothes by his bed, leaving on only my white cotton panties—I never bothered to wear a bra or brush my teeth, things were too hectic today—and slide in next to him.

I think he is out of it enough that he doesn’t even realize when I roll him to his side and clasp my arm and leg over him. His heart beats against mine, dull and weak, struggling to keep up with the rest of his body. Hot tears run down my cheeks.

Everything is falling apart. Summer was right. I am naked in bed with him—only not for the reason she thinks. I can’t let him die in the name of loyalty to Callum. Richards is a runaway, my boyfriend is in another country, Mal is a widower (and possibly bipolar?)—plus, surprise! He kept the napkin—and there’s this huge secret hovering over my head, but I can’t seem to untangle it from the cloud of lies and deceit that follows my every step in Ireland.