A startled laugh escapes me. “And you couldn’t tell them to move?”

I can’t see her skin turn pink in the darkness of the yard, but I can imagine it, having witnessed her blush at least ten times an hour over the past few days.

“Fitz!” The call rings out too close for comfort. Abby is stumbling this way, one of her friends trailing behind her.

“Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath as Reese watches the scene intently. “Got any ideas?”

“Yes. Come on.” Reese shocks me to hell by grabbing my hand and tugging me along the fence line, around the corner of the house, through a side door that leads into the garage and finally back into the house.

Once we’re in the hallway, she drops my hand. “You’re welcome.”

I use my suddenly cold hand to rub the back of my neck. “Thanks. And while we’re here.” I stalk past her to where, yes, there is a couple making out enthusiastically, thumping against the door.

Thump, thump, thump.

Christ. It’s like one bad flashback after another.

It makes it easy for me to walk up, pound heavily on the door right next to their heads. “Time to move on somewhere else, folks.”

They must hear me, though they don’t stop their make-out session. Instead, Romeo hoists Juliette up higher on his hips and they slide to the wall next to the door. But at least they aren’t blocking it anymore.

I bow, flourishing one hand toward the door. “Ma’am. Your humble abode awaits.”

Reese darts forward with the key, pushing the door open. “Thanks,” she murmurs as she passes, the word so quiet I nearly miss it with the raging party around us.

“No problem.”

She starts to shut the door but then hesitates on the threshold. Only an inch of space is open, and her eyes are wide and a little uncertain.

A shriek rings out above the music, coming from the living room. “Fitz!”

My shoulders tense.

Abby.

I can’t see her yet, but I don’t have much time before that inevitability.

Reese’s eyes meet mine, then the inch of space widens. “Escape hatch?”

Yes, please.

I step through the door and she closes it behind us, muting the pounding music and jumble of voices. It’s a whole different world in the small space, the Christmas lights casting a glow like early-morning rays of sun.

I sit on the corner of the bed and brace my elbows on my knees. “Sorry I’m ruining your night to have the room to yourself. She’ll eventually pass out or her friends will drag her off soon enough, then I’ll leave you to it.”

“It’s fine.”

So she says, but she’s still standing by the door, arms crossed over her chest, looking everywhere but at me.

When she finally speaks, her voice is tentative. “Are you . . . Never mind.”

“What is it?”

“It’s none of my business.” She uncrosses her arms, then crosses them again.

“Go ahead and ask. If I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”