“Please don’t throw up,” he’d muttered to himself a few times during the trip. “Rental car. Rental car. Rental car,” he repeated.

Once they made it to the parking lot, Hannah very willingly accepted his help out of the car and kept her hand in his so he could lead her inside.

“You’re not so bad, Scott Bakula,” Hannah slurred as she followed him through the lobby. Joe shook his head, his mood sour. This wasn’t how his night was supposed to end. He thought of Vicki and wondered for a moment where she might be. Then he pushed the thought out of his mind. He didn’t want to know. Instead he remembered Sarah, his girlfriend. She had plans to see a show at the Cosmopolitan tonight—the Strokes. She’d been giddy when her friend had bought the tickets, which had made it even easier for him to go to the wedding without worrying about hurting her feelings. Sarah would be home late tonight and would probably fall asleep in front of the television. Joe’s shoulders relaxed at the thought of her covered in the thin knitted blanket she kept on her couch.

It was an easy walk to Hannah’s room, which was on the first floor of the hotel. The front desk clerk had given him an extra key too easily, Joe thought. There he was, a sober older man holding an incapacitated, drunk twentysomething in his arms, and the man at the front desk hadn’t questioned his motives or his identity when he demanded a key for a room that wasn’t his own.

When he got to room 140, Joe feared that Vicki might already be there. He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to face her again after the incident in the tower. He was still furious about her betrayal even though he knew she owed him nothing. He was relieved, when he entered the room, to find it quiet, the sheets still untouched. Vicki’s luggage was on the floor near the second bed, her small suitcase open next to her guitar case, which was closed and locked. Joe looked away from Vicki’s personal items and walked Hannah to the bed closer to the door, allowing her to lean back and rest her head against a pillow. But within seconds, she moaned and scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom. Joe followed.

He marveled at Hannah’s efficiency. She held her hair back in a perfect ponytail with her left hand as she heaved straight into the toilet, not allowing one drop of vomit to fall onto the seat or the floor. “You’re a pro,” Joe told her, wincing and grinning as she threw up mostly clear liquid.

He reached out to help her when she tried to stand up, but she pushed him away, shaking her head wildly. With the bathroom door still open, Hannah gathered her dress around her waist, pulled her underwear to her knees, and sat down on the toilet seat. She faced Joe, unashamed.