"You don't think I know a little something about restraint at this point?"

There was a smile on his face as he said it, so I knew it was more something he was proud of than him telling me I was being a d.i.c.k.

"Sorry," I apologized anyway, "I guess I don't know how to turn off Big Brother Bot. You've managed to get clean without me, I'm sure you can manage to do whatever it is you want to do on your own, too. But just keep me in mind if you ever need help, or a co-pilot, or even just an older brother to b.i.t.c.h to when life doesn't treat you fair."

"I do miss having people to talk to," he smiled over the two plates of food between us as the waiter set them down, "I've kind of had to alienate myself from everyone I hung out with while I go through this. I think I'm getting back to the point where I can hang out with them again without getting crazy."

I didn't like the idea of him putting himself back in that situation, but I bit my tongue and didn't say anything. If I was ever going to get used to the idea of him being an adult, I needed to start practicing. If there was one way to test his self-control, a party with his old friends was it.

Besides, don't they say that relapse is a part of recovery? Addicts are allowed to make mistakes along the b.u.mpy road to sobriety, right?

G.o.d, I hoped he didn't make that mistake.

"Enough heavy s.h.i.t," he decreed, "I'm starving to death over here. Let's eat."

I smiled at him and tried to shut off the part of my brain that kept telling me to advise against him hanging out with his old friends.

We ate our meal in silence. Not because we had nothing to say or because we were uncomfortable, but because the food was delicious and I couldn't shovel it down my throat fast enough.

I washed the pasta down with the last swallow of my beer and sat back against the booth with a heavy sigh. It had been a long time since I'd stuffed myself so full of food that I had a hard time breathing and I quickly remembered why I didn't make it a habit.

"Holy s.h.i.t," I groaned, "I think I'm gonna explode."

"I feel your pain," Parker rubbed his stomach with his palm, "I need to take a nap while this food baby incubates."

As soon as the word "nap" left his mouth, I could feel my eyes getting heavy. I couldn't afford a nap. I had a dinner to make. Napping was not an option.

"Let's get the h.e.l.l out of here before I pa.s.s out on the table," he flagged down the waiter again and asked for the check.

Outside in the parking lot, we exchanged an awkward goodbye hug and headed for our cars.

"Be safe!" I yelled across the pavement.

He waved over his shoulder in acknowledgment and I had no choice but to consider it a success that he didn't flip me off.

I hit the grocery store on my way back to Holly's house and picked up all the stuff I'd need. I hauled it all into the house in one go and dumped all ten bags on the kitchen floor in a pile.

The need to pee had hit me halfway through the grocery store. By the time I stuck my key in the front door, my teeth had been close to floating out of my head. Groceries could be put away after I answered the call of nature.

I'm a firm believer in the theory of toilet gravity and that day was no different than any other: The closer I got to the toilet, the closer I got to p.i.s.sing my pants.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and I quickly washed and dried my hands so I could check the message. It was a text from Holly letting me know that she'd be out of the office right at five o'clock. It'd take her half an hour to get home, giving me just under an hour to have dinner cooked, plated, and on the table. It'd be tight, but I could do it.

I was chopping like a mad man a few minutes later when my phone rang on the counter next to me. I answered on the first ring and hit the speaker b.u.t.ton.

"Ryan," I answered as I grabbed an onion and continued chopping, "What's goin' on, man?"

"Well, Porter," I could hear the stress in his voice, "are you sitting down?"

"No, Ryan, I'm not sitting down. I'm trying to make dinner for my girlfriend. Why are you on my phone?"

"With you being a big actor now, I just didn't want you to faint and break your face or something. A f.u.c.ked up nose and some black eyes isn't going to land you any roles, dude."

"Ryan, I'm fine," I set the knife down and splayed my palms on the counter, giving all my attention to my cell phone, "Spill it."

"Well, it's been an interesting ride, my friend. As of three hours ago, you're officially retired from the p.o.r.n industry." He blew out a long breath, probably waiting for me to respond. I was busy trying to sort out the warring emotions I felt about his announcement though, so he kept talking, "The first few blogs went live as soon as I hit send on the email and they just kept trickling out there. Once the news. .h.i.t social media, it went viral within an hour. From what I understand, most of the major news stations will be covering it on the five o'clock news here in a few minutes. I wanted to be the one to tell you so that you didn't have to hear it from the TV."

"You should've insisted that I sit down, Ryan," I found myself leaning heavily against the counter to keep myself from sliding down the wall and spending the rest of the evening sitting on the kitchen floor.

"I tried, Porter. You, as usual, didn't want to hear anything I had to say."

"You're not exactly known for dropping bombsh.e.l.ls on me like this though. I wasn't expecting it is all. It's a bit of a shock."

"You sound like my bank account, Porter."

The line went dead and I was left with my silent phone, a pile of vegetables to be chopped, and steak fajitas to make for two.

The screen flashed to life with a buzz one more time, displaying the time and a message from Holly. Five o'clock on the dot.

Just leaving the office. See you soon!

"s.h.i.t!" I got back to chopping with a vengeance and tossed the strip steak into the frying pan. I doused it in olive oil and spices and waited for it to start sizzling. I didn't want the veggies to be soggy, so I had to wait until the meat was nearly done before adding the bell peppers and onions.

I sent off text messages to Parker, Preston, and my mom to tell them my retirement was official and poured myself a gla.s.s of wine. I flipped the meat in the pan and stepped around the corner to set up the bar with plates and a wine gla.s.s for Holly. I was down to ten minutes until she was due to walk in the door.

I added the veggies to the pan and prayed that everything would come together nicely in the end.

I tossed the tortillas in the microwave at the last minute and filled the wine gla.s.s I had set out for her.

Hot plates, silverware, and containers of food slid into place at five thirty-one and I stepped back to survey what I had put together for her. Something was still missing, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I glanced around the room hoping that something would trigger an idea.

"Candles!" I snapped my finger as the idea hit me and ran into the bedroom. I grabbed two of the tapers Holly kept on the windowsill but never lit and carried them back into the living room dining area.

Once they were burning brightly, I shut off all the lights, grabbed her gla.s.s of wine, and took up residence in the entryway to wait for her to get home.

I checked my phone compulsively for the next ten minutes.

No texts and no phone calls came through.

I finally broke down and hit the call b.u.t.ton. It rang six times and went to voicemail.

"Holly, where are you, beautiful? Call me back."

I disconnected the call and placed her gla.s.s of wine back on the counter. I gathered up the rapidly cooling food and put it in the oven so that it would stay warm.

A text went out moments later saying the same thing my voicemail had and I began to pace. It wasn't like Holly to be late home without saying anything. We had a schedule and, until that point, neither of us had deviated from it without some kind of notification.

Something wasn't right.

I called her phone again and got the same reaction: Six rings and voicemail.

I pulled up Mitch's number and dialed.

"Porter?"

"Yeah," I felt like a total f.u.c.k tard calling him, "Hey, have you seen Holly?"

"Not since she walked past my desk at five o'clock. She was in a huge rush. Said she was meeting up with you."

"That was the plan, but she's not home yet."

"Wait," I could hear his confusion even over the phone, "You didn't pick her up?"

"No," I didn't like where the conversation was heading, "I had lunch with my brother and came straight home to start cooking dinner for her. She texted me on her way out of the office to let me know she was on her way, but I haven't heard from her since."

"Porter, her car was still in the parking lot when I left."

My stomach sank.

"Do you think Becks picked her up?"

"Maybe. Want me to call her and check?" I could hear the panic edging into his voice.

"Would you?"

"Of course!"

"Thanks, Mitch. Let me know as soon as you know anything?"

"You got it, handsome."

The line went dead and I cursed under my breath.

Pacing a hole in the floor was starting to seem like a pretty legitimate prospect. I laid out a track around the couch and began making laps. It was somewhere around the tenth lap that my phone rang.

"Tell me something good, Mitch."

"Becks hasn't heard from her either," he sounded more freaked out than I was, "I don't like this, Porter. Becks and I are on our way over. We'll set up a plan of attack and go from there."

The other line beeped through, "Gotta go, Mitch. The other line's ringing."

I hit the green b.u.t.ton to answer the intruding call, "h.e.l.lo?"

"Porter!" It was Becks, "I'm on my way over there. Have me a gla.s.s of wine ready and call me the moment you hear from her if she contacts you before I get there."

"I'd love to if you and Mitch would stop tying up my phone to tell me that you're on your way here."

"See you in three minutes," and the line went dead.

I continued to walk circles around the couch and didn't bother breaking my stride when Becks stormed through the door like a tornado.

"Wine me," she demanded.

"The gla.s.s on the counter is all yours."

Mitch was right behind her.

"I brought wine!" he announced, waving the bottles above his head like war banners.

"I called her phone six times on the way over here. I got voicemail every time," Becks told us, "She's never ignored me that many times in a row."

"I called her too," Mitch said, "Six rings and voice mail."

"f.u.c.k!" I roared into the room for lack of anything better to say. Becks and Mitch both jumped at the sound of my voice.

"What the f.u.c.k, Porter?" Becks yelled, holding a hand to her chest, "Are you trying to kill us? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Holly is missing, Becks, and I can't do a f.u.c.king thing about it! I don't even know where to start looking and it's been an hour and a half since any of us have seen her. She could be f.u.c.king anywhere by now!"

"Have you called the police yet?" Mitch asked in an attempt to calm me.

"I thought about it on my way over here," Becks said, "but they won't start looking for her until she's been gone for at least twenty-four hours. She's an adult and won't be considered a missing person until then."

"What if she doesn't have twenty-four hours, Becks?" Mitch was beginning to fall apart right before my eyes and I needed to do something to rein us all back in.

I needed to give them something to do to keep them occupied.

"Let's start looking then. Someone should stay here in case she comes home. Maybe she lost her phone. Becks, think you can handle that?"

She nodded her agreement, "Wine will keep me company."

"Mitch, you start back at the office. Search every square inch of that property and find me something to work with. If she's missing, there's gotta be a clue as to where she went. People don't just vanish without a trace."

"I brought the wine, how come I don't get to stay at the house? Why do girls always get the easy jobs?"

Becks and I just stared at him until he agreed and stormed out the front door.

"What are you gonna do, Porter?"

Now that the question was there to be answered, I wasn't really sure.

Unfortunately, I didn't need to think very hard about it. My phone vibrated in my hand and I nearly dropped it in my haste to read the text that had come through.

It only took two sentences to bring my world crashing down around me: If you want to see her again, you'll be here by 7:30. 5873 Pierpont Ave.

I called the number that had sent the text as I ran out the door. It went straight to a generic voicemail.

"This had better be some kind of sick f.u.c.king joke you son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h or I'm gonna rip your b.a.l.l.s off and stuff them down your throat until you choke on them!" I screamed into the phone.