My baby went BLUE on the kitchen floor at Pop's birthday party. My brother SPRAYED something up her nose. She GASPED and screamed. The whole family CLAPPED for him. And while everybody hugged him and Ma cried into his firefighter T-shirt, I knelt on the floor picking up the little blue pill she spit out.

The next morning broke cold and gray over Lowell. Rain dripped steadily off the eaves of our house, tapping a rhythmic warning against the windowpanes.

I stood in the kitchen making coffee, my mind racing. I hadn't slept more than twenty minutes. Every time I closed my eyes, I envisioned two scenarios: my brother sitting in a state prison cell, or my brother lying cold on a gurney in the city morgue.

At 7:30 a.m., my phone rang. It was Detective Miller.

"Erin, good morning," her voice was crisp, professional, and entirely focused. "I wanted to give you a quick update on the investigation regarding Riley's case."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Did you... did you find something?"

"We've been running street surveillance in the Acre neighborhood for the past forty-eight hours," Miller explained. "We busted a mid-level distributor last night who goes by the street name Apex. We seized roughly two thousand counterfeit blue oxy pills from his facility."

My hand tightened around the coffee mug until my knuckles turned white. "Apex?"

"Yes. We found a notebook in his garage containing a list of local buyers and phone contacts," Miller continued, pausing for a second that felt like an eternity. "We're cross-referencing the numbers now with the guest list from your father's party. I'm calling to see if you remember any unfamiliar vehicles parked near your mother's house on Saturday."

"No," I lied, the word catching in my throat like a shard of glass. "No, it was just family and neighbors."

"Alright. Well, we're analyzing the chemical composition of the pill Riley ingested against the batch seized from Apex's garage. If it's a match, we'll have legal grounds for a series of federal wiretaps and search warrants. I'll keep you updated."

"Thank you, Detective," I managed to say before hanging up.

I sank onto the kitchen chair, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The net was closing in. If the police cross-referenced Apex's phone records, Ryan's number would pop up instantly. He had been buying from Apex since July. It was only a matter of hours before Detective Miller put the pieces together.

I grabbed my coat, kissed sleeping Riley on the forehead, told Mark I was running errands, and drove straight to Ryan's apartment near the university campus.

When I knocked on his door, there was no answer. I used the emergency spare key he'd given me years ago and pushed open the door.

The apartment was a disaster. Clothes were scattered across the living room floor, dishes piled high in the sink, and empty water bottles littered the coffee table. On the kitchen counter sat a half-empty glass of milk and an open box of prescription strength anti-inflammatories.

"Ryan?" I called out, moving down the hallway.

I opened his bedroom door and froze.

Ryan was sitting on the floor beside his bed, his back resting against the mattress. His turnout gear gear bag lay open in front of him. In his hand, he held a small, clear glass pipe and a blue pill resting on a piece of crumpled aluminum foil. A lighter flickered in his left hand.

"Ryan! No!" I screamed, lunging across the room and knocking the lighter and foil from his hands.

The blue pill rolled across the hardwood floor, coming to a stop near the closet door. Ryan didn't even fight me. He collapsed back against the bed, his eyes glassy, his breathing shallow and ragged.

"I can't do it, Erin," he sobbed, burying his face in his knees. "I tried to go cold turkey last night after you left the park. The sickness... the sweating, the vomiting, the shaking... my spine feels like it's being ripped apart by pliers. I couldn't take it. I called Apex's runner before they busted him."

"Apex was arrested last night, Ryan!" I yelled, pulling him up by his flannel shirt collar. "The police have his phone logs! They have his buyer lists! They're matching the chemical fingerprint of the pill Riley swallowed right now!"

Ryan stared at me, his pupils tiny pinpricks despite the dim room. "They... they have the list?"

"Yes!" I cried out, tears streaming down my face. "They're going to link you to him within twenty-four hours! You need to come with me right now to a treatment facility before the police show up with a warrant!"

"I can't go to a private rehab, Erin," Ryan whispered, his voice cracking with absolute despair. "I don't have the insurance authorization. My fire department health plan requires a ninety-day medical leave board review before they cover inpatient addiction treatment. If I apply for that review, the chief finds out today."

"Then we go to the state facility in Danvers!" I insisted, pulling on his arm.

"The state facility has a three-week waiting list for beds, Erin!" Ryan shouted back, pulling his arm free. "Do you think people just walk into rehab in this state? There are no beds! I've called three different intake lines this morning. Unless I'm actively overdosing on a sidewalk, they tell me to call back on Monday!"

The crushing reality of the system hit me like a physical blow. The city provided Narcan on every corner, but when an addicted firefighter desperately wanted a bed to save his life and career, the door was slammed in his face.

Suddenly, Ryan's phone on the nightstand vibrated loudly.