Alex.
His head was tipped back against the cushion. Eyes closed. A red cup on the floor beside him, tipped over, whatever was in it soaking into the carpet. His jacket was still on but unzipped. His face was pale—wrong kind of pale, the kind that came from too much alcohol and not enough food.
He looked small. That was the thing that got me. Alex Harrington never looked small. He was six feet of composure and control and legacy pressure, and right now he looked like someone had reached inside him and scooped out everything that held him upright.
I crouched in front of him. Put my hand on his knee.
"Alex."
Nothing.
"Alex." Harder. Squeezed his knee.
His eyes opened. Glassy. Unfocused. It took him a second to find me, and when he did, something crossed his face thatI couldn't name. Relief and anger and exhaustion all at once, colliding behind his eyes.
"Liam." His voice was wrecked. Rough and slurred at the edges. "I told you not to come."
"Yeah. I came anyway. We covered this." I got my arm under his. "Come on. We're leaving."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
He didn't fight me. That's how I knew it was bad. But he just let me pull him up. Let me get his arm over my shoulder. Let me take his weight.
We moved through the party. People noticed. Of course they noticed—Liam Moore, Riverside scholarship kid, hauling Alex Harrington off a couch at a Kingswell house party. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Someone said something I didn't catch.
I didn't care. Let them look. Let them talk. Let them add it to whatever story they were already telling themselves about me and Alex and the double and everything else.
Derek was by the front door. He held it open for us without a word. Just a nod.
The cold outside was brutal. Alex flinched against it, his body curling into mine. I tightened my grip around his waist and we moved down the porch steps. One at a time. Careful.
"Where are we going?" he mumbled.
"Your dorm."
"That's far."
"I drove."
He didn't respond. I got him down the sidewalk to the Civic. Opened the passenger door. Guided him in. He slumped against the seat and closed his eyes before I'd shut the door.
I got in. Started the engine. The heater rattled to life—cold air first, then nothing useful. We drove the three blocks to campusin silence. Alex's head against the window, his breath fogging a small circle on the glass.
I parked in the Langford Hall lot. Killed the engine.
"Come on." I got his arm over my shoulder again. His feet were steadier on flat ground but not by much. The cold air burned my lungs and I could see both our breaths—mine steady, his shallow and uneven.
Second floor. I'd been here enough times to know the way—up the stairs with the creaking wood, down the hallway with the crown molding and the portraits of dead alumni, third door on the right.
"Key," I said.
Alex fumbled in his pocket. Dropped it. I picked it up. Unlocked the door.
His room was exactly how it always was. Organized and perfect.
I guided Alex to the bed. He sat on the edge. Swayed.
