Page 65 of Little Did You Know

"You have two options, Emmett." My fingers drummed against the metal bedrail, each tap marking the words like a countdown. "You can leave with me when you're discharged and go to Florida, where I will personally check you into rehab, and I will pay off all your debt." I drew in a breath that tasted of antiseptic and desperation. "Or I will walk out of here and never look back. You'll never see Olivia or me again. You're on your own." The ultimatum felt like acid on my tongue.

I didn't want it to be this way. I wanted him to choose to leave with us and get help. I knew this would never end if I didn't draw a line now.

"I do not need rehab." Emmett's face flushed red, the heart monitor's beeping speeding up.

"Look at yourself." I swept my arm toward the hospital bed, the IV lines, the bandages. "You're missing a hand. All because you borrowed money you can't pay back."

"I can handle this." His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. "I just need a lucky hand."

"Make your decision, Emmett." My knuckles whitened on the bed rail. "Are you staying, or are you leaving with me?"

"After all my family did for you." Emmett's face twisted, teeth bared like a cornered animal. "You can't help me?"

"I want to help you." The words scraped raw in my throat. Each step toward his bed felt like wading through concrete, memories of childhood summers and friendship weighing down my feet.

Walker's shadow fell across the tiles beside mine—two dark shapes merged into one, just like we used to be, Emmett and I, before the gambling hollowed him out. My fingers found the bedrail, cold metal grounding me as I fought the urge to shake sense into him, to grab him by the shoulders and demand back the friend I'd lost.

"You don't want to help me; you want to control me." Spittle flew from Emmett's mouth as his voice rose to a scream. "GET OUT!"

"Emmett—" The words died in my throat as he rolled to face the wall, his hospital gown bunching around his shoulders like armor.

Each step toward the door felt like betrayal. Twenty years of friendship compressed into this moment, now walking away while he lay broken in a hospital bed.

The right choice and the easy choice had never been further apart. Still, my hand hesitated on the door handle. One word from him—just one genuine plea for help—and I'd turn back. The silence stretched, filled only by the steady beep of his heart monitor.

"You did the right thing," Walker tried to reassure me on the way back to the airport. I knew I did. I knew if I gave him the money again, this would never end. He would drain me like he did his sister. The feeling of dread churning in my stomach wasn't because I had to walk away from Emmett. It was because I had to figure out how to tell Olivia.

Coming back to New York wasn't an option for her, and I knew she would want to run back the minute I told her and I couldn’t let that happen. Telling her wasn’t an option.

By the time my plane touched down at 9:00 p.m., exhaustion had settled into my bones like rust. All I could think about was curling up with Olivia, letting her presence wash away the hospital's antiseptic memories.

But she was out on her date tonight—another knife twist in an already bleeding day. The neon signs of Shit Hole beckoned as I drove past, promising temporary amnesia in amber bottles. I needed something stronger than memories to get through this night.

Since I couldn't have Olivia, I needed a drink.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled up toShit Hole. Justin's car was in the parking lot.

Stepping in, I searched the room for Justin, hoping to join him for a drink. When I found him, my heart sank. Olivia was here, as well as Hannah and Liam. Justin was her date. Trying to control the fire searing through me, I stepped to the table.

"Oh, hey, man." Justin's casual smile froze as our eyes met, his arm still draped around Olivia's shoulders.

The world narrowed to that single point of contact. Heat flooded my vision, tinting everything red. The background noise of the bar faded to a distant hum as my focus zeroed in on Justin's arm, so casually claiming what wasn't his.

My hands moved before my brain caught up. I crossed the sticky floor in three strides, fingers twisting in Justin's shirt fabric. The booth table rattled as I yanked him forward, glasses tipping, liquid splashing. Olivia gasped. Time slowed as my fist pulled back, then accelerated connecting with bone and flesh. The crack of contact shot through my knuckles with sick satisfaction.

"What the fuck, man?" Blood trickled from Justin's split lip, pooling before dripping onto his white shirt. Olivia's face had gone pale, her wide eyes darting between us.

"I said not her," I growled through gritted teeth, my chest heaving. The bar had gone quiet around us, faces turned to watch the drama unfold.

Hannah leaned down to help him up, and Olivia stared at me, handing him a napkin.

"They weren't here together." Hannah stepped between us, her blonde hair swinging with the force of her movement. "Her date ended early, and we came here, and they were already here." Her finger jabbed toward my chest. "He wasn't her date."

The fight drained from my muscles like water. Shame crept up my neck. Without looking at Olivia—I couldn't bear to see her expression—I pushed through the crowd toward the exit. The bass from the jukebox pounded in rhythm with my self-loathing. I was seriously losing it.

Pulling into my driveway, gravel crunching under my tires, my headlights carved Kathryn's silhouette from the darkness. She stood behind her car, arms crossed, the cooling engine ticking in the night air.

"How did you get through security?" The car door slammed behind me, echoing in the empty driveway. Kathryn's silence was expected but still irritating.

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