Dalton eyes him hard, saying so many things with that look that I don’t even begin to understand. “No. But you need to leave before you get us both killed.” Then Dalton turns and looks at me. “And you need to get back in the house before Carter gets you killed.”

He stands up and right before he slams the car door he says, “We need to talk before you leave, Carter.”

I’m struggling into my wet jeans and Luke reaches over to help me. I really should keep calling him Carter in my head, otherwise I’ll likely slip up and call him Luke around Asa.

“Are you in trouble?” I ask him. I button my jeans and then straighten out my shirt. He slides a hand around to the nape of my neck.

“I’m always in trouble, Sloan. I wish I could tell you I’m good at my job, but I think the past hour has proven that my priorities are a little out of line.”

I laugh. “I personally think your priorities for the past half hour were spot-on.”

He kisses me and says, “Go. Be careful.”

I kiss him back, hard. And when I walk away from him this time, it doesn’t hurt quite as much. Because now I have hope.

Hope that he has a plan to get us out of this mess.

***

I smile the entire time I’m in the shower, because when I opened the backdoor and walked into a spotless kitchen, I knew without a doubt it had been Carter who cleaned it.

No one-and I mean no one-has ever lifted a finger to help me around this house. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard that cleaning is the way to a girl’s heart, but based on my reaction, I’d say it’s the way to mine. Because I nearly cried when I heard the dishwasher running.

That’s really sad. Loading a dishwasher means more to me than an engagement ring? From the outside looking in, it would seem my priorities are way out of line, too.

But I much prefer them this way.

Asa is passed out on the bed when I walk into our bedroom. He’s sprawled across the mattress long-ways, naked.

Great. I’m going to have to try and wake him up or roll him to his position, but he’s way too heavy for me.

I walk around to his side of the bed and grab his arm and try pulling him across the mattress. He doesn’t budge, but he does groan between snores.

Then…he vomits.

All over my damn comforter.

I close my eyes and try to remain calm. Of course he would ruin this beautiful night.

He continues vomiting between bouts of groaning, filling the room with an acidic smell. I rush to the desk and retrieve the trash can, then I lean over him and lift his head so that he’s vomiting into the trash can.

He throws up two more times and then finally, after a few minutes of calm, he opens his eyes. When he looks up at me, the terrifying look in his eyes from earlier is gone, replaced with a childlike innocence. “Thank you, baby,” he mutters.

I place the trashcan back on the floor and then put my hand on the side of his head. “Asa, I need you to try and stand up. I need to take the comforter off the bed.”

He rolls over, away from the vomit, and pulls a pillow to his chest, falling back to sleep almost immediately.

“Asa.” I shake him, but he’s out again.

I stand up and look around the room, trying to figure out how I’m going to do this without having to go downstairs and ask for help.

There’s no way I can do this by myself, and I’m not about to sleep downstairs on the couch. Not with Jon here. I’m praying Dalton or Carter are still here, because letting Jon or Kevin know that Asa is out cold will not be doing me any favors when it comes to my safety.

To my relief, Carter and Dalton are standing at the door preparing to leave when I make it downstairs. Carter stands alert when he sees me.

“I need someone to help me lift Asa so I can change my comforter. He threw up everywhere.”

Jon mutters, “Good luck with that,” from the couch.

Carter glares in Jon’s direction and then immediately starts to head to the stairs. I can see the disapproval in Dalton’s eyes, but he begins to follow Carter as well.

When we all make it up to the bedroom, the stench is so bad, I’m forced to cover my nose to keep from gagging.

“Holy shit,” Dalton mutters. He walks straight to a window and opens it. We all look down at Asa and I’m a little embarrassed for him that he’s naked. But knowing Asa, he wouldn’t care. And even if he did, it’s no one’s fault but his own that he’s in this position.

Carter reaches down and tries to shake him awake. “Asa. Wake up.”

Asa groans, but still doesn’t wake up.

“What the hell did he take?” Carter asks, turning toward Dalton.

Dalton shrugs. “Hell if I know. I saw him chew a few pills on the way to the casino. Heroin on the way home.”

Carter doesn’t even hesitate when he leans forward and hooks Asa under the arms. He lifts him up and then stands, pulling Asa away from the bed.

I immediately gather the comforter and wad it up. I’m not even going to attempt to wash this one. I set it in the hallway and then change the sheets, just to be safe.

“Which side does he sleep on?” Carter asks, still holding him up beneath his arms. I point to Asa’s side of the bed and Carter drags him over there. Dalton helps lift him back onto the bed and I pull another blanket out of the closet and cover him with it.

When I’m tucking it around him, Asa opens his eyes and looks up at me. He runs a hand over his face, wincing. “What’s that smell?” he grumbles.

“You threw up on the bed.”

He grimaces. “Did you clean it up?”

I nod and whisper, “Yeah. I changed the sheets. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t close his eyes. Instead, he lifts his hand and tugs at a strand of my hair. “You take such good care of me, Sloan,” he says.

I stare at him for a second-at this vulnerable version of him. And somehow, even with Carter standing in the room with me, I feel for him.

I can’t not feel for him.

Asa isn’t the way he is because he chooses to be. I feel like he is who he is because he was never shown how to be anything different.

For that, he’ll always have my sympathy. He’ll never have my heart, and he’ll likely never even have my forgiveness.

But I can’t help but give him my sympathy.

I start to stand up, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist, pulling me back down. I lower myself to my knees beside the bed and Asa wraps his hand over mine. His eyes are closed when he whispers, “One time, when I was five…I threw up on my bed. My father made me sleep in it. Said it’d teach me not to do it again.” He releases a small laugh, but then his eyes squeeze together even tighter. “Guess the bastard was wrong about that, too,” he mutters.

Oh, God.

My hand goes to my heart as I ache for the little boy in him.

I turn and look at Carter and Dalton and they’re looking at Asa with just as much pity as I am. When I turn back toward Asa, he’s rolling onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow.

He grips the pillow in both fists and presses his face against it so hard, I’m convinced he’s trying to smother himself. His shoulders begin to shake as they roll forward into the pillow.

“Asa,” I whisper, soothing a hand over his head.

He becomes a wreck of sobs. It’s the kind of cry that is so deep and heart wrenching, it’s not even accompanied by a sound.

Completely silent.

I’ve never seen Asa cry. I didn’t even know he was capable of real tears.

He won’t remember any of this tomorrow. He won’t know if I left him here alone or crawled in bed and held him. I continue to sooth Asa’s head as I glance up at Carter. Dalton is no longer in the room. It’s just the three of us now.

Carter walks over to me and I can see equal amounts of sympathy in his eyes. He lifts his hand and runs it over my cheek, then bends forward and kisses me on the forehead.

He holds his lips there for several seconds before breaking away and walking toward the door. When he reaches the doorway, he turns around and stares at me for a moment. He lifts a hand and slowly runs his thumb over his bottom lip. My heart reaches out for him, but I stay planted on the floor, comforting Asa.