Out in the throng of people, it’s crowded, the cacophonous space echoing with so much complex noise it’s like a dozen people are standing in front of me, shouting. I feel the creeping aggravation that precedes a sensory overload. My skin starts to buzz and tingle, like a hive of bees dancing beneath my skin, and my chest feels heavy. I take a long, deep breath and eye the bar. I need a stiff drink, a few minutes alone in the quiet, cool air outside, and then hopefully I can hold out long enough for Jamie to see this shit show through.

“BeeBee?” Jules asks. “You okay?”

I squeeze her arm with mine. “Nothing some schnapps and a moment out in the fresh air won’t fix.”

She nods, weaving us through the crush of bodies to the bar. In her Jules way, she smiles and conjures a shot before I’ve even had time to gulp the glass of ice water that she got for me first.

“Better?” she asks.

“A little.” I set down the shot glass and exhale slowly. “I’m going to sneak outside for a minute. Want to come?”

I know her answer before she gives it to me. Her eyes lock with him over my shoulder and she blushes. “No.” Blinking away, she meets my gaze. “I mean, as long as you’re okay, of course, I’m going to rejoin—”

“I’m fine.” I can’t hear that asshole’s name. Can’t stomach how besotted she still is with him. I try to remind myself that’s how I was, that it took until Tod was his absolute worst for me to truly see him for who he was, to realize how badly I needed out of our relationship. Once again, guilt sucker punches me. I wish I’d told her everything. I wish I could have warned her. Maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess of a relationship. Maybe I could protect her—

“All right,” she says quietly, pecking my cheek. “Text me if you need me, okay? I’m close by.”

I nod, then watch her stride off toward him. “After this,” I promise myself, weaving my way toward a pair of French doors that promises an escape into the cool October night. “After this, I’m going to tell her.”

—

When I reenter the ballroom, I spot Jamie right away in a half-moon of middle-aged men, taller than most, his head bent like he’s staring into his cocktail and wishing he could drown in it.

I’m coming! I want to shout, wishing I didn’t have such an abysmal threshold for outings like this that I had to steal away and recharge the battery after I disappeared on him to the bathroom.