My stomach drops. “Hey,” I say cautiously.
Miles’s eyes flick to my face, sharp and assessing, like he’s checking for damage. “Hey.” He pulls me into a quick, rough hug that’s over before I can return it. That’s the second sign.
“What’s going on?” I ask immediately.
Miles glances at Vinny, then jerks his chin toward the exit. “Let’s get in the car.”
That’s the third.
The night air outside is mild compared to Minnesota, but my skin prickles anyway. Vinny takes my bag without asking and stows it in the trunk. Miles opens the back door and waits until I’m inside before sliding in beside me. Vinny gets in the front.
We pull away from the curb, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows.
No one speaks for a full minute. I can feel my pulse in my throat. “Miles,” I say finally, “you’re freaking me out.”
He exhales through his nose, scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Is Rafe okay?”
Miles hesitates just long enough to tell me everything. “He’s at a party,” he says carefully.
“Okay.” I suspected he would be since I haven’t been able to get hold of him. I’d just hoped he would have read my message about me flying in and chosen not to. “That’s not—” I stop myself. “You said it’d be good if I came.”
“It is,” Miles replies. “It really is.”
“But?”
Miles looks straight ahead, jaw tightening. “But he’s been… difficult.”
I swallow. “Define difficult.”
“He’s been trying to ditch security,” Miles says flatly. “Getting pissed when Vinny or Robyn won’t let him wander off. Drinking too much. Saying shit he shouldn’t.”
My body goes still. “How long?”
Miles’s mouth twists. “Long enough.”
The car hits a bump, and my stomach lurches. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“And that’s my job because…?” he snaps before clearing his throat. Miles sighs, then glances at me sideways. “Sorry. You think I didn’t want to?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Vinny clears his throat from the front seat. “We’re heading to the party now,” he says. “He’s been there a couple of hours. Robyn’s there.”
“A couple—” I press my fingers into my knee. “What kind of party? He mentioned it briefly, but I’m not sure what the party is for.”
Miles huffs out a humorless laugh. “It’s at Stenton Carranza’s place.”
My stomach sinks. Stenton Carranza is infamous. Legendary musician, legendary excess. The kind of name that comes with stories you hear secondhand and don’t fully believe until you see them for yourself.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Miles nods. “Yeah.”
The rest of the drive passes in a tense blur. My mind keeps leaping ahead, imagining scenarios I don’t want to picture. Rafe drunk but fine. Rafe drunk and sloppy. Rafe with someone else’s hands on him. Rafe so far gone he doesn’t know where he is.
I hate myself for not knowing how bad it’s gotten.
