“No. I’ll need another.”

“I think I’m cutting you off, pal,” he replies. “It’s almost midnight, and you’ve been drinking all day.”

“Are you the fucking alcohol police?” I ask with a frown.

“Yeah, actually, I am.” He smirks. “Who can I call for you?”

“Why would you call anyone for me?” God, my words are all fucking slurred.

“Because you’re not driving home. I can call a friend or a cab, which is it?”

“Call Addie.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and then bark out a laugh. “Wait. You can’t call her.” I slide my phone across the bar at him. “She hates me. Call Christina.”

“Are you sure?” he asks with a grin. “Or is there another woman’s name you want to toss out?”

“Christina,” I repeat and lay my head down on my arm, suddenly very tired. When did I get so fucking tired?

“This is Bill at the Yellow Rose bar in Hillsboro.”

I’m at the Yellow Rose? Huh.

“I have Jake here, and he’s going to need a ride home. He told me to call you.”

I don’t need a ride home. I have a fucking car. As soon as I sleep off this bender in the backseat, I can drive myself home.

God, it feels like I’m spinning. The kids playing pool are laughing. The music is loud.

“You okay, Jake?”

“Yeah, Bill, I’m good,” I answer him without opening my eyes. “I can just sleep here.”

“No, you can’t.” He laughs and I suddenly smell coffee. “Have some of this.”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

I haven’t had the spins since . . . hell, since before the band broke up. Since before Christina’s accident. I frown and shake my head, trying to clear it. Why in the hell am I thinking about that? It was a long time ago. It has nothing to do with now.

I feel a hand on my back.

“I told you, sweetheart, unless your name is Addison, I’m not going to fuck you. I’m sure one of the guys playing pool will take you out back and rock your world, just ask them.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

Christina.

“Hey.” I open my eyes and try to focus on the three Christinas standing beside me. “How did you get here?”

“I drove here, Einstein. Has he paid his tab?”

“I have it here,” Bill says, handing Christina my debit card and passing me a pen to sign the receipt. I give him a five-hundred-dollar tip. He’s earned it. “Here’s his phone.”

“Thanks.”

“You didn’t have to come.” I step off the stool, and Chris tucks herself into my side, helping me toward the door. “Thanks, Bill! Have a good one!”

“Obviously, I did have to come,” she says as she leads me to her car. “You’re hammered.”

“Thank fuck.”

I drop into her car and put the seat back, immediately closing my eyes.

“Spinning?” she asks as she pulls out of the parking lot.

“Yeah.”

“If you’re gonna throw up, warn me so I can pull over.”

“Not gonna throw up.” I take a deep breath through my nose and will myself not to throw up. “Fucked up.”

“What happened?”

I swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat. “Addie’s gone.” I feel her turn off the freeway and brace myself as she turns right. “God, slow down. This isn’t a fucking race.”

“What do you mean Addie’s gone? Where did she go?”

“Broke it off,” I reply. We come to a stop, and I push out of the car and hurl on the grass, unable to keep it in anymore.

“At least you didn’t do it in my car,” Chris says from behind me. “Come on, jackass.”

Man’s arms pick me up, and I look over at Kevin, who smiles happily. “How did you get here?” I ask him.

“I live here.”

“You don’t live with me. Christina wouldn’t like that, and I don’t swing that way, man.”

“Oh my God,” Chris says with a laugh, leading us to the front door. “We’re not at your house.”

“Oh.” Before I know it, we’re in the guest bedroom. “I fucked up, C.”

“Why did you break it off?” she asks quietly and helps me out of my shoes.

“Because I fuck up everyone’s lives,” I say and lie back on the bed. At least throwing up made everything stop spinning.

“You’re an expert at fucking up your own life,” C mumbles, but then the lights go out, and I let sleep take over.

BACON. I CAN smell bacon. I turn onto my side and moan. Fucking hell, I should never drink like that.

Thing is, I don’t ever drink like that. I’m too old for that shit.

“Jake! Get your ass out of bed!”

Christina is yelling from the kitchen, and it makes me smile. Back in the day, before the fame and all the bullshit, she used to make me breakfast to get over a hangover. A four-egg omelet with bacon and more cheese than any one person should eat in one day.

Except, I don’t want to move. My head feels like ten people are sitting on it, and I’m pretty sure I no longer have a functioning liver.

“Jake,” Christina snaps as she opens the door to the bedroom. “Don’t make me throw water on you.”

“You wouldn’t.” Is that even my voice?

“Oh, you know as well as I do that I would. And have. And will again if I have to. So get your hungover ass out of bed.”