I saw it happen in slow motion. The stack of pint glasses slid out of my hand, practically leaping forward onto the tile floor.

Crash.

Every head in the bar swiveled to look in my direction, a few people openmouthed. It was more than just a single drink dropping. At least ten glasses were now in bits and shards across half of the bar, and I was standing right in the middle of it.

I looked up sympathetically toward Mary and Austin, two of my employees, as they nodded, immediately heading for the back room to retrieve a broom, dustpan, and vacuum.

“I am so sorry,” I said to Mary as she came back out. “Let me sweep this up.”

“Are you sure?” she said, holding the dustpan. “I really don’t mind, Taran. I’m sure you’d rather be preparing drinks for customers. I could clean this up.”

“Are you kidding?” I said, taking it from her. “Of course not. I’m not making anyone else clean my mess. I wouldn’t mind a second set of eyes to make sure I get every shard, though.

“Fine, fine,” she said, smiling at me. “Y’know, out of all the bars I’ve worked in, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an owner so involved before. You’re really dedicated, Taran.”

I puffed out a laugh as I started sweeping up the glass. “Some might call it dedicated. Others might call it pathetic.”

“Pathetic? What are you talking about? You have an amazing work ethic and love for your businesses.”

I nodded. “Or I just have nothing else going on in my life and resort to being a workaholic when I don’t know what else to do with my day.”

“Been there before,” Mary said. “You’ll pull through; I’m sure of it. You’re a workaholic, but you’re successful because of it.”

Mary’s words were the glimmer of kindness I needed on a shitty night like tonight. The glasses breaking was a pretty good summation of how my day had been going, anyway. Since coming to Rose Falls, I’d felt more emotions each day than I had in entire years in D.C. Today was no exception, and as I stood behind the bar at Cobalt, the headache I’d been nursing all day only got worse as the evening went on, leading to my eventual mishap with the glasses that was usually reserved for first-week-on-the-job newbie bartenders.

Firstly, I’d been awful to Patrick in the morning. I had felt like I was on total autopilot, like I couldn’t bear to acknowledge the pull I felt toward him. Seeing him standing there in my living room, clearly so confused, had gutted me. What I had really wanted was to run over to him, hug him, and hold him close like I had the night before.

But I hadn’t done it. I had retreated. I pulled out every old trick I’d had in the book, everything I’d do to hookups the morning after when I’d needed my alone time.

This had been completely different, though. Patrick was different. And the guilt hung over me all day.

I’d come to Cobalt to bartend, hoping that work would distract me from nagging feelings about Patrick. It worked, to some extent—we had a fairly steady stream of customers, and the bar had plenty of work to keep me busy. But as the night wore on, the stream of customers slowly declined until the bar was only half full. It made sense that on a weeknight we wouldn’t be as packed, but now more than ever, I felt like I needed it. I tended to every customer’s glass, making sure no one needed refills, but at a certain point I was only breaking things and getting in my bartenders’ way.

After the sun had long since gone down, I decided to take a break. I went outside, the night air bracing and refreshing. It was early enough that there were still a few people out on the streets, students coming back from long days of class or professors heading home to their families. For a moment I felt like an alien here, like everyone else was thriving in the spring and I was just… unraveling.

I needed something to clear my head. I headed over to the mini-mart across the street, wondering if they had any fresh juices or even an energy drink. I didn’t even want it, really—I could have had exquisite beverages at my own bar—but I needed to get out, and the mini-mart was a safe bet.

As I crossed the street, I saw a flash of a familiar face leaving the store and walking around the corner to the side of the building, to the small dirt clearing surrounded by trees. For a split second, I thought it was Patrick, and adrenaline shot through me.

But after a moment, I realized that it had been Owen. The faces had been fairly similar, but the hair had been far too unkempt for it to be Patrick.

I almost ignored him as I walked over toward the front door of the mini-mart. But at the last moment, I hesitated. Why would Owen be walking around to the back of the mini-mart? Some impulse in me decided to go say hello to him.

I rounded the corner of the building. I saw Owen there, dressed all in black, slumped into a seated position on the small concrete sidewalk. His back was up against the brick wall. He was smoking, taking a long drag on a cigarette with one hand pushed into his hair. He was looking down at the ground, away from me, and seemed wound up tighter than a coil.

“Hey,” I said, taking a few steps toward him, trying not to startle him.

He still jumped when I spoke. His eyes flew open wide, looking up at me. “Oh, Taran,” he said. “Um, hi.”

I saw that it looked like his eyes were slightly red. “Jesus, are you okay, Owen? Your eyes are all red—is everything alright?” I felt a squeezing in my chest—everything about his demeanor reminded me of myself when I was a few years younger than him, when everything had been going bad with Leanne. I used to find places in town where I could be truly alone, too.

He pulled in a short breath of air, shaking his head quickly. “No, no, everything’s fine,” he said. “It’s allergies—I’ve got bad allergies. You know how it is, spring here in Rose Falls. God, there really are just so many things blooming!” He let out a quick laugh before looking down at his cigarette, almost guilty or ashamed, and then taking another long drag.

“Right,” I said. “I get fairly bad allergies too. If you need a Claritin, I’ve got plenty back at my office. I could run and grab you a few.”

“Nah,” he said. “I’ll be fine.” He stood up, brushing off his pants, turning toward me.

“So everything’s okay?” I asked. “You weren’t… coming over here to be alone and… cry, or anything?”

“What?” he said, shaking his head and stomping out his cigarette butt. He laughed. “Not at all. I’m… celebrating today, actually.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the occasion?” I asked, smiling gently at him.

“Um… well, a customer at Brew for You said I was a good employee, so I know I don’t suck at my job, at least. And… I hung out with a couple friends last night who I thought hated me, and it turns out they… don’t. I’ve really got so much to be grateful for.”

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of what he was saying as much as he was trying to convince me. I didn’t know anything about Owen, but maybe he was mourning some breakup or life event of his own--I wasn’t going to pry.

But maybe I was making that up. After all, I didn’t know his normal demeanor. Maybe he just acted this way sometimes.

“Okay,” I said. “Well, I should probably get back to Cobalt and quit bothering you, then. You can always feel free to stop by. You gave me a free drink. I can give you one too.” I smiled kindly at him.

His eyes flew wide again, and he watched me for a moment as if he was trying to decide whether or not he should tell me something. I couldn’t figure out why he was acting so strange, so skittish. All I had done was offer him a free drink, not invited him on some sort of crime spree. I offered people free drinks all the time.

“You mean like… at the bar?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Yeah. Of course. Do you like cocktails, or are you more of a beer guy? Or wine, hell, I don’t know that much about wine, but we’ve got a good few bartenders who do.”

He studied me, nodding his head slowly. He wiped at the corner of his eye, sniffling slightly. “Yeah,” he said, almost tentatively. “Yeah, I think that really would be a good way to celebrate.”

Something in me felt like it would be good for Owen to get inside. I didn’t know if he was lying to me or not about the allergies, but it really did seem like he was in a bad place. I figured it would be a good thing to have him come back to Cobalt with me—for God’s sake, it had to be better than him sitting alone in a dark glorified alleyway, smoking cigarettes.

“C’mon back with me,” I said. “I can make you something good. Have you ever had real honeycomb? We’ve got this cocktail with it that’s my absolute favorite.”

* * *

Two hours later, Owen seemed like a completely different person.

He’d been sitting at the bar, trying cocktail after cocktail on our artisan menu, and I was having a fun time crafting them for him. I even made him something totally new, a cocktail that was good enough I considered putting it on the menu.

With every drink he had, it was like the tightened spring inside Owen loosened more and more. Maybe there had been something bothering him, but now that he was relaxing, it seemed to leave his mind entirely.

I finally felt less stressed, too. It turned out that Owen was a really cool person, and talking to him had completely reversed my bad mood of the day.

He was regaling me with animated stories about his time in New York City. Apparently he’d been very social there, from the way he told it.

“You should have seen it,” he said, talking about some scenario where he’d convinced a friend in New York to walk down the block in only a pair of lacy women’s panties. “Max was so embarrassed but also kinda into it.”

“This wasn’t some sort of hazing thing, was it?”

Owen shook his head emphatically. “No way. I would never have made Max do something he didn’t feel comfortable with--he was just like me. Wanted to do it for the story. And honestly, he did look kind of cute.” Owen hiccuped once, seeming to momentarily lose his train of thought before turning back to me and continuing. “Like, I know Patrick’s gay and I’m not, but, y’know… if there was any guy I’d go for, it would have been Max. I kinda loved him. As a… friend. Still do, even though he doesn’t talk to me. But shh. That’s our little secret. Patty doesn’t know. Could I get another one of those cocktails?”

I felt a small pang in my heart. Was this Max guy the reason Owen was upset earlier today?

“Max doesn’t talk to you anymore? Why’s that?”

Owen’s face fell for a moment, becoming very serious. “He just doesn’t,” Owen said, looking down at the bar. “If you knew me better, you’d know why.”

Owen definitely did remind me of how I’d been when I was twenty-six. I decided not to push the issue.

And he was so similar and yet so different from Patrick. They both had the same core of kindness to them, but Owen’s was more chaotic whereas Patrick’s was calmer. They were both charmers, able to hold a witty conversation better than most people I met.

And Owen, smiling and cheerful again after a few minutes had passed, was now absolutely glowing about his brother.

“I love Patty so fucking much,” he said, letting out a long sigh and looking over the bar at me. By this time of night, Cobalt wasn’t that busy at all—there were a handful of couples still at the tables throughout the lounge, and only two other men in suits sitting at the other end of the bar. Owen had my full attention, and he was making me smile with how he talked about Patrick.

“Patrick does seem like a great guy,” I said. I had no idea if Patrick had told Owen anything about our… relationship, but I got the impression Owen knew next to nothing about it.

“He’s more than just great,” Owen said, effusive now that he was drunk. “He’s literally, like, my idol. Starting his own business when he was only… a year older than me? Fuck, Taran, I couldn’t even imagine taking care of my own room as well as Patrick takes care of Brew for You. It’s like… wow,” he said, gesturing with his hands and widening his eyes.

I laughed. “Yeah, wow. He’s a great businessman, too.”

Owen nodded slowly, closing his eyes for a few seconds before lazily blinking them back open. “And he… he gives me so many chances. You don’t even understand, Taran. God fucking above, I do not deserve the chances. I fuck up everything. I fucked up this morning, of course. But whatever. Patrick gives me another chance. Of course he does.”

He looked down at the bar, a forlorn look coming over his eyes for the first time in a while.

“What do you mean, you fucked up this morning?” I asked gently. I worried that maybe he’d had a little too much to drink, so I reached for a glass and poured him out some ice water, slowly sliding it toward him on the bar.

Owen’s eyes slowly met mine again. “I fucked up, Taran. Kinda like how I’m fucking up right now.”

I furrowed my brow at him, shaking my head. “Right now?” I asked, confused. “Here, have a little water.”

He just sat there, staring out the window for a moment before standing, swaying a little as he got up.

“Hey—water,” I said, pushing it toward him. I hadn’t realized how drunk he had become, and I felt slighty guilty about it. I was more than happy to help someone celebrate by giving them free drinks, but I never intended to give anyone too much.

“Yeah, yeah, water,” he said, nodding but not really looking at me. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, bringing one out and tucking it behind one ear. “I’ll be sure to have some water when I come back in from this smoke.”

I nodded, watching him closely. “Okay,” I said. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he mumbled. “Not that a promise from me should mean much to you. Hah.”

He strolled out to the front door, leaning against the lamppost outside the front window as he smoked.

The gnawing feeling in my chest was back. I couldn’t help thinking that something was up with Owen, something he wasn’t telling me.

Patrick hadn’t really told me much of anything about Owen—only that he was his younger brother, back in town, and that Patrick was glad to have him nearby. He’d seemed like a good worker at Brew for You and like a version of Patrick with just a little more edge.

But other than that, I didn’t know anything, really. It seemed like Owen might have been going through something, but I didn’t know what.

He stood outside for much longer than I would have expected. As I watched him through the window, I saw him randomly talking to people who passed by, presumably telling them stories. He smoked two cigarettes in a row before coming back inside, grinning lazily at me as he walked back up to the bar.

“How about another round, Taran?” he said, sitting back in the chair. The bar was already starting to clear out, but the few remaining people there looked over at him with sidelong glances.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” I said gently. I smiled—I didn’t want him to think I was being rude, but there was also nothing he could do to get me to give him more alcohol. He’d very obviously had enough. I slid the glass of water his way, and he picked it up and gave it the tiniest sip.

“You’re a good person, too, Taran,” he said, looking up at me from under tired eyes. “Just like Patrick.”

I pulled in a long breath. I was unsure of what Owen was referring to. It didn’t seem like they’d had any sibling rivalry going on, but what did I know?

“Just go ahead and have some water, Owen,” I said. “You need more. A lot more. We’re closing in twenty minutes, and I think I’ll go ahead and walk you back home. You’re close enough to here, right?”

“You don’t have to,” he said, shaking his head.

I looked up and saw a glimpse of movement outside through the front windows. The last thing I wanted was for another customer to come in—we were almost closed, but I never liked turning anyone away. But a mixture of relief and nervous energy flooded me when I saw who it was in front of the building.

“Oh, thank God,” I said, nodding over at the door. “Your brother is here. Patrick can help get you home, I’m sure?”

Owen’s eyes flew open wide like he’d seen a ghost. “What?” he asked, his voice low. He didn’t turn toward the window.

I narrowed my eyes at Owen. “Your brother. He’s outside.” I waved at Patrick, signaling for him to come inside. For some reason he looked stern, shooting daggers inside with his eyes. If Owen looked positively freaked out, Patrick looked like he was about to kill someone.

Was he looking at me like that or at his brother? And what the hell was going on?

“Owen,” I said, cutting my eyes down at him and seeing as he now gulped the entire glass of water. The look of fear was gone, replaced completely with dejected resignation.

Owen looked like he’d just given up.

“It was nice meeting you, Taran,” he said with an air of finality in his voice.

“What is going on, Owen?” I said.

“Just me fucking up,” Owen said, meeting my eyes. “Just like I said. Just like I always do.”

He turned away and headed for the front door like a man heading to an execution. But as I looked outside, I could see that Patrick’s eyes weren’t looking at Owen before, at all. He still had the same dark, hard gaze, but he didn’t move at all as his brother headed toward him.

Patrick was looking right at me.