One more skip forward, and I came to curled up on my side on the couch, covered by a faded fleece blanket matted from being washed so many times. My pulse jackhammered inside my skull, and my whole body ached.

A glass of water appeared in front of my face.

I licked my lips, insanely thirsty. “Thanks,” I whispered, accepting the glass as I gingerly pushed myself up onto my elbows.

Nik helped me sit up the rest of the way with a hand on my upper arm.

The blanket slipped down, and I realized I was wearing an old, ratty T-shirt, one of the few I’d left behind when I’d temporarily relocated back to my room in the house on Bainbridge. A quick glance under the blanket revealed plain black underwear, nothing else.

“All you have here are jeans,” Nik offered up in explanation. He was standing a few feet away. He’d changed into a pair of black sweats and a gray T-shirt, and his feet were bare.

I lifted the glass of water to my lips and tilted it back, shrugging as I chugged. My sluggish mind caught up a moment later, and flickers from the past hour or two flashed through my mind. Nik had dressed me. He’d had to dress me because he’d stripped off my bloodstained clothes. And he’d cleaned me up in the bathtub. And helped me purge the rest of the bourbon. Team vomiting—we could start a whole new Olympic sport.

I choked on the water. The blood drained from my face, leaving my cheeks icy.

“Shit . . . are you going to throw up again?”

I shook my head, mortified by the memories. Without looking at him, I downed the rest of the water and handed the glass back to him. “Can I have another?” I asked, my voice raspy.

As I watched him walk away, my nose picked up on the scent of toasting bread. And was that eggs?

“There’s milk and OJ, too,” Nik said from the kitchen. “And there’s coffee, but I still have to brew it.”

Now that he’d brought up the possibility of drinking something other than water, I was dying for a Cherry Coke. But after what I’d just put my stomach through, I thought it best to give it a break from the usual crap I forced into it for a little while longer. “Milk, please.” A moment later, I added, “And maybe coffee in a bit?”

“Sure.” Nik came back into the living room and handed me a glass of milk, then returned to the kitchen. “Hungry?”

I nodded and pulled my legs up onto the couch, tucking my icy feet into the crooks of my knees as I gulped down half the glass of milk. I’d never really been a fan of drinking the stuff straight up, but it sounded good. Refreshing. Tasted it, too.

“Nik,” I said softly, resting the half-empty glass on my knee. “I—”

He was standing at the stove, just out of view, but poked his head around the wall to look at me. His hair was askew, the longer strands swept mostly to one side, and his stare was open and intent.