CHAPTER 78: EMMA

The call comes in at 3 a.m. Liam's name flashes across my screen, but it isn't his voice on the other end. It's some guy from a bar, sounding both annoyed and exhausted. "He's drunk off his ass," he says. "Never seen him like this. You need to come get him."

I groan, rolling over in bed. Why am I doing this again? Every time I decide to be done with him, he finds a way to pull me back in. Still, something in the guy's voice makes my heart sink. Liam isn't a lightweight. If he's this far gone, something must be wrong.

I throw on a hoodie and sneakers, muttering curses under my breath about my "stupid empathetic heart." The streets are eerily quiet at this hour, and I have a good twenty minutes to think about how pissed I am at him. But the second I pull up to the bar, all that irritation melts into concern.

The bartender, a guy with a buzz cut and a look of utter exasperation, is half-dragging, half-carrying Liam toward the door. When he sees me, relief washes over his face. "Thank God