Out of the corner of my eye, I swear my angel’s wings flutter.

We thaw out from the cold on the frayed couch in Drew’s living room, in front of a hissing radiator. I wish I could steal him away from here, from this place with dirty walls. There is a faint scent of stale beer, no decorations, no family photos. No loving touches. It’s a place to crash when you’re too tired or wasted to move.

“The radiator in my room broke, so it’s better if we’re out here,” he says, tucking another blanket around me. “My dad’s at the pub. Won’t be back for hours.”

“This time yesterday I was in a hospital bed. Your couch is perfect.” I lean my forehead against his. “I’m glad to be with you. I don’t care where.”

“Me, too.” He smiles. “How’d you get out of the house? Seemed like they had you under lockdown.”

“I think they assumed because I’m not really athletic that I would never figure out how to climb out my window. It wasn’t that high up, though. And all the yoga helped. I practically had to sun salutation my way out of there.”

“You’ll get in trouble, though. When they see you’re gone.”

I shrug. “Worth it.”

I settle my legs over his lap and he reaches over and intertwines our fingers. “Was it as bad as I imagined—the hospital?”

“It sucked. Really hard.”

“What happens next?”

“They’re ‘monitoring’ me. If I stay clean, they won’t send me to inpatient rehab. If I don’t, then there’s that. Either way, there’s weekly group therapy in this lame-ass outpatient program.” I roll my eyes. The return of Circle of Sad. “Random drug testing at home. Suboxone—this medicine that helps with getting me off this shit. They took the lock off my bedroom door. My aunt and uncle have never done this before, so once my aunt finishes reading all the books she bought I’m sure they’ll figure out more ways to make my life suck. Right now they just stare at me a lot.”

“What kind of books? Like, psychology books?”

“Let me see. There’s Don’t Let Your Kid Kill You, Expecting Better, Addict in the Family … I don’t even want to know what the hell Mae’s reading.”

He pulls me a little closer. “I wish I could have been there with you.”

My aunt and uncle have made it clear: I’m not allowed to date a drug dealer. Even a former drug dealer. Not that I care what they allow or don’t allow.

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to … see me like that.” I frown. “I feel like you always see me at my worst. I wish you could have known me. Before.”