Finally, after what feels like a lifetime of misery watching Waylon fall apart—the boy who only days ago was singing and dancing and laughing his drunk ass off on the bar to my so-called dad-rock—Reggie says gruffly, “He’s crashin’ again.”

I force a hard swallow and nod. Steeling myself, I’m careful to stay behind Waylon as we lift him to a stand. His eyes are open, but I don’t think he’s taking anything in. I don’t know exactly how heroin works for someone who’s likely never done it before, and combined with the gallons of whiskey he’s no doubt consumed by the smell of it, there’s no telling whether or not he’ll even remember his meltdown. If it’s just the first of many as the night goes on.

Taking advantage of the momentary lapse—be it an emotional crash, or three days of debauchery finally, finally catching up to him—we haul Waylon the same direction Reggie took Ivy earlier.

“Was she okay to drive?” I ask quietly.

It’s slow-moving as we make our way toward his truck. Waylon’s feet drag with each step, his knees threatening to give out more than once. Reggie and I each have got a boneless arm slung across our necks, keeping him from face-planting, should he go down.

“Yeah,” Reggie says quietly. “She just needed to get out, you know?”

Yeah, I know that feeling very well.

“She felt guilty more than anything. Leavin’ him. But...”

“She needed to put herself first,” I finish. “I get it.”

He nods in my periphery.

Waylon mumbles something.

“What’s that?” Reggie asks, lowering his head to hear him. I stare straight ahead, watching where we’re walking.

Reggie sighs, and I cut him a sideway glance. His brows pull inward in a tight frown. “He’s right here, Waylon. You can tell him yourself.”

I frown and he rolls his eyes.

Not taking my eyes off the gravel path before us, I duck my head. “Way?”

“Will?” he says sluggishly. Fuck, he’s out of it.

“Yeah, I’m right here.”

He sighs, and I swear it sounds like relief.

Confused, I straighten and cast a questioning look over at Reggie. His mouth twists with a knowing sort of smirk as he looks ahead. So much for hoping he didn’t figure it out, I think.

Finally he glances over, our gazes colliding for a quick, solid beat, and he winks. “Our secret.”

My mouth tightens into some semblance of a smile, and I nod.

Not only did he just prove that he accepted me, but that he accepted Waylon, too. Accepted us.

Not that there is an us, I remind myself.