Patrick called Anthony's mom, but she didn't know what was going on. It was three hours later before Anthony slammed into Patrick's apartment and flopped on the couch. He was still dressed in his rumpled funeral clothes, blood spots on the white shirt.

Hailey stood at the fridge, the door open, and Patrick froze at the counter, a knife in one hand and an onion in the other.

"Fuck," Anthony muttered and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, then jerked back to his feet and ...