Ah, so Forrest knew about the Pinkertons. “What else were we supposed to do? You snuck out of Preston’s lodge in the middle of the night last month. We had no idea where you were.”

“All I recall is waking up there and he’d taken the liquor out of the house.”

“Why did you go to Chicago?”

He yawned. “Can’t remember.”

Jesus. “Well, then why did you come back to New York?”

“What difference does it make? I’m here now, so you can stop badgering me and leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that. Not until you tell me what is going on. Why are you staying in this shithole?”

Forrest struggled to a sitting position, his eyes suddenly more alert. “What’s with all the questions? Fuck, let’s open a bottle, Kit. You were always good for a party.”

“I’d rather talk to you and find out what is wrong. This isn’t like you.”

“Of course it is. You and me, we both like to drink. We screwed women and drank bourbon almost every night during college, remember? Those were good times.”

Yes, but they weren’t in college any longer. And Forrest’s drinking had accelerated far beyond the point of a casual night out with friends. “Forrest, help me understand. Because I’m struggling not to load you into a carriage and take you home.”

“Home,” he sneered. “That isn’t my home anymore. They don’t want me there, they never have. I’ll never go back to that house.”

Forrest hadn’t shared much in recent years about his family, but he and his father never got along. As the only boy, Forrest had shouldered quite a bit of responsibility from an early age. When one of his sisters died in her early teens, everything at home had worsened. Mr. Ripley had pressured Forrest to go into law and take over the family business, but Forrest hated the idea. He’d gone for a philosophy degree instead and his father never forgave him.

“A hospital, then.”

“Jesus Christ, not you, too? You sound like Preston. I don’t need a goddamn hospital.”

“Then let me take you to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. The staff is first rate.”

“I’m perfectly fine here. I like it. There’s always someone to keep me company.”

In other words, there was always someone with whom to drink. Kit shook his head. “It’s not safe. And you need a bath.”

Forrest fell back on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. “When did you become such a nag? Where has fun Kit gone, the one who likes a party and entertaining a willing woman?”

He still liked those things. Just not all the time. “I’m still fun, but some of us have responsibilities. We cannot drink ourselves stupid in seedy boardinghouses.”

Instead of being offended, Forrest laughed. “You, responsibilities? Like what?”