Chapter 4

Ryan froze, then slowly pulled the jacket around him and buried his face in it.

His tears soaked the fabric. His heart felt torn apart.

He lost track of how long he crouched there. Avery and Dylan were long gone when he finally struggled up, put on the jacket, and headed out.

The fire alarm blared.

People rushed for the emergency exits.

Panicked, Ryan pushed into the crowd despite his weakness. He stumbled, but people kept shoving from behind.

"You're blocking the way! Move!"

One shove knocked him down. Feet trampled him, pain tearing through his body.

Ryan curled up, shielding his head. Footsteps and screams filled his ears. His eyelids drooped, his vision blurring.

Tears streaked his dusty cheeks.

Just before he blacked out, a familiar voice called from far away.

"Ryan!"

He lifted his head. Someone was racing toward him, frantic, her eyes full of fear and concern.

Avery!

***

An argument woke Ryan.

He opened his eyes in a hospital bed. Through the half-open door, Avery and Dylan were arguing.

"You said he was just the help!" Dylan snapped. "Why run into a fire for him? Who is he really?"

Avery rubbed her forehead, then hugged him. "He's just the help. You're overthinking it. I'll stay out of his business from now on, okay?"

"Then prove it! Prove he means nothing to you!"

Avery paused, then pushed the door open and walked in.

Her cold gaze settled on Ryan, full of feelings he couldn't read.

Ryan met her eyes. His empty stare made Avery look away.

Then she thought of Dylan waiting outside, hurt and angry, and turned back.

"You've always loved money, right? I've got plenty."

She flung a stack of bills in his face.

"A thousand dollars a bottle. Finish them all, and you get a hundred grand."

Ryan's heart lurched.

She knew he was allergic to alcohol.

He trembled, biting his lip until he tasted blood.

Finally, he looked up and barely whispered, "I'll drink."

Avery's assistant, Nora Gamsey, wheeled in cart after cart of liquor.

Ryan numbly drank one bottle after another.

The liquor burned his throat and stomach, bringing back a memory.

Once, Avery had drunk until her stomach bled. Worried, he'd claimed he could handle his liquor and offered to take over.

His allergy had landed him in the hospital.

She'd stayed beside him for three days and nights, sick with worry. After that, she'd never let him touch another drop.

'But now...'

His heart twisted. By the tenth bottle, he couldn't keep it down.

He threw up liquor and a pool of blood.

A doctor walked in on his rounds and shouted, "Are you out of your mind? You're dying of cancer, and you're drinking?"

Avery's voice shook.

"Who did you say has cancer?!"