“You’re really going to let Jane snort cocaine?” I don’t answer. My pulse is in my ears. Ever since my PTSD crept outside of a nightmare, I worry I might meet it again. Not today, I pray. “Seriously?” Beckett shakes his head. “What kind of boyfriend are you?” “One who knows how important this is,” I say with severity. “You’re the only one in this room who can stop her.”
