If it had been any other night, I wouldn’t even have seen it.

I would have stayed at Brew for You until its normal closing time, past closing time, cleaning everything up and heading back into the office for some extra paperwork and organizing of bills.

But it hadn’t been any other night. Tonight had been the slowest night at Brew for You of the entire last year.

For three hours, not a single customer came through the doors. Sure, it was a weeknight, and it never exactly was crowded on a night like this. But today had been something different altogether. There just hadn’t been anyone there.

During the last hour of the night, I had done all the cleaning I needed to do. I’d brought paperwork out to the front, taking care of it all while perched behind the bar. I was totally alone in there and knew full well that no one else would be coming into the store that night.

So I’d done something I never usually did. I closed the shop early.

There was a time when I wouldn’t have let myself do it. In the past, I would have said that even a customer coming in one minute before closing deserved to have a drink if they wanted it. But I knew times were different, now. Keeping the lights on in the bar for those three hours had probably cost more than any drink someone could order.

My bar was failing. And nothing could make that more clear than a night like tonight.

So I’d closed up shop early, frustrated at myself, at the world, and… at Taran. He’d been weighing on my mind all day, and I kept thinking of him. It was like an itch I couldn’t stop scratching.

When I stepped out onto the street, locking up Brew for You, I knew there was no hope for me to get any sleep anytime soon. I needed fresh air. I needed a little time with my thoughts. I had to be somewhere besides my own damn bar. I headed down the street, planning to take a walk up to the Promenade and back down again before hopping in my truck and heading home.

And as soon as I started walking down the block, I saw it.

A mop of unruly brown hair, a figure leaning against a lamppost, taking long drags off of a cigarette and sending plumes of smoke into the air above him. It was unmistakably Owen, perched outside of Cobalt, seemingly holding court with anyone who walked by.

It pained me a little to see him smoking again. But on first glance, that’s all I saw, and my sympathy for him outweighed any disappointment.

Sure, of course, he might have started smoking again. He was stressed out, with his new job, being in his hometown again. I knew it must be hard for him, being surrounded by alcohol and having to turn it all down. If he had to smoke to cope with turning down alcohol, so be it. It was better than a lot of other options.

So I started to walk over to him. I was going to comfort him, to give him a hug and tell him he was doing a great job, that I understood any anxiety he felt. That I was there for him. But as I started walking over, he headed back inside.

And when I looked in to see him sitting across the bar from Taran—with at least five empty cocktail glasses littering the bar in between them—time seemed to stop for a moment.

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. Taran, making all these drinks for my brother, smiling at him without knowing what he was doing? It was like I was witnessing a car crash, something that happened right in front of my eyes, but that I had no way of preventing.

I froze for a minute. I watched them talking, watched as Taran saw me and didn’t even flinch, giving me a little nod.

And when Owen slunk out of the bar, opening the door and walking up next to me smelling like the inside of a whiskey barrel, I didn’t even look at him. He slumped onto the brick wall on the outside of the building, sliding to a crouched position on the ground. But all I could do was stare at Taran.

My heart was slamming in my chest as I watched Taran come around the side of the bar, setting down an empty glass he’d been holding before walking slowly toward the front door. I didn’t even know who I was more angry at—Taran, for doing this, or myself for letting it happen.

I maintained my composure until Taran was outside in front of me and the front door of Cobalt had shut behind him.

“What the fuck happened?” I said, trying hard to keep my voice low but even.

“Patrick, clearly something is going on here that I don’t know about—”

“What. Happened. Tonight?” I asked again, slowly. “Tell me exactly.”

“It’s not his fault, Patty,” Owen said from his spot on the concrete, his voice high and strained.

“My fault?” Taran said, furrowing his brow and looking from me to Owen, then back again. “I don’t even know—”

“Did you serve drinks to my brother?” I asked evenly.

“Yes,” Taran said, holding his hands out as if in defeat. “Yes, I did. Owen is twenty-six, and I owed him a free drink, and I don’t quite understand what is happening here.”

I swallowed hard, finally breaking my gaze with Taran. I raked my hands through my hair. “This is all my fucking fault,” I said under my breath. “It is all my fault.”

I hadn’t told Taran about Owen’s struggles with alcohol. Hadn’t told him anything about Owen being sober or that the whole reason he’d ended up in Rose Falls was because he’d been hospitalized for the third time in a row because of it.

Taran didn’t know. He couldn’t have. And of course, Owen would use that to his advantage and wouldn’t tell him.

But I still felt like I could burst. I felt like walls were crumbling down around me—like my disconnection from Taran and my inability to save my brother and my inability to save my bar were all conspiring together to completely crash and burn my life in front of my eyes.

“Patty,” Owen said again, his voice ragged. I looked at him, seeing red in his eyes, seeing how fully wrecked he looked.

“What happened,” Taran said. “Jesus, is there anything—anything I can do to make this right? What’s the problem?”

Taran was a good person. He hadn’t intended to do anything wrong, and I could see that. But in the heat of the moment, I could barely bring myself to look at him. I couldn’t believe that he’d contributed to this. And I felt wrong, airing Owen’s dirty laundry, here outside Cobalt.

But Owen spoke for me.

“I’m the problem,” Owen finally said, looking up at Taran. “It’s me, Taran. I… I’m fucking sober. Or I was supposed to be until tonight.”

“No,” Taran said, his voice barely a whisper.

Owen was still talking. “Patty, I didn’t tell him. He didn’t know. He never would have given me any if he knew—right, Taran? Right?”

“Oh God,” Taran was saying. He’d gone pale, all the blood draining from his face. “God, no. Jesus, fuck, Patrick, I am so sorry—I am beyond sorry—”

“It isn’t your fault,” Owen said, a tear falling down his cheek. He pulled out a cigarette and struggled to light it with a shaky hand. “It’s me. It’s always me.”

I was speechless. Taran’s face was wrecked, Owen was disintegrating in front of both of us, and I didn’t have any answers. I couldn’t stop thinking that I could have prevented this—could have been more perceptive with Owen earlier today or could have told Taran about Owen’s alcohol issues.

I couldn’t help thinking that I was somehow at fault, that my responsibility had failed in a colossal way.

“It’s okay, Owen…” I started to say, trailing off because I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“It’s not,” he said, his voice firm.

“Everything will be okay,” I said.

“You know what?” Owen said, standing up, taking a few uneven steps toward me. He looked me dead in the eye. “This is it,” he said. “I’m—I’m so fucking sick of this, Patty. You can’t possibly understand. I can’t handle anything. What, one night of hanging out with my friends and feeling guilty that they can’t have a beer around me, and I suddenly snap right back to drowning myself in alcohol? One day being an hour late to my job, and I feel like I’m the worst failure in the world? Why do I feel so alone, even when I’m not? It’s not right, I’m not right—”

“Owen, you’re not broken, you’re—”

Owen collapsed into me, sobbing as his full weight sank against my torso. Surprised, I held him there as he shook against me, and slowly I brought my hand to sit firmly in the center of his back.

In a flash, it was like how things had felt when we were kids—when Owen would scrape a knee, then come to me crying, and I’d hold him just like this. Or later, when he’d get detention at school, and come to me so worried of what Mom and Dad would think.

Somewhere along the way, these moments had stopped happening. Owen hadn’t broken down at all, last time he was in Rose Falls. He hadn’t broken down when girlfriends left him, hadn’t cried at all even when I watched my dad yell at him for an hour straight about getting his life in order.

Owen had numbed it all away.

And now here, smelling of smoke and booze, heaving against me in front of Taran, in the middle of the sidewalk, he had finally broken open again.

All I could do was hold him. Nothing felt good. Nothing felt right, and at that moment, I knew that I may never be able to look at Taran the same way again, but I had my brother next to me, and I had to be there for him.

“I’m so sorry,” Taran said again, and in his eyes, I knew that he meant it. I knew that he would never have purposely harmed my brother.

But I also knew that Taran was leaving town soon, that the whole fling with him had just been temporary anyway, that even earlier this morning, he hadn’t been able to properly talk to me.

Taran and I were never going to work out to being anything other than a casual fling. It was what he’d wanted since the start, and I’d been stupid to think it would ever be something I could handle.

If Taran cared about me enough to be a potential boyfriend, then this night would be something we could work through. If he wanted to be a partner, we could discuss the emotional unraveling that was happening tonight, to build trust, build understanding.

But there was nothing to be built with Taran. Instead, this just felt like a sad final straw. No harmful intent on his part—just a melancholy ending to a spring fling that never should have taken place.

“I’m sorry too, Taran,” I said over Owen’s shoulder, feeling as Owen finally released me, standing up straight and turning away to wipe at his face with his arm. “You had no way of knowing. And no one here is to blame. But I think I need to take Owen home, now.”

Taran nodded, swallowing, his gaze soft in the ambient pillar of light from the street lamp. I could see that Taran knew it too. Knew that this was probably the last time we’d talk, even if it wasn’t the last time we saw one another. Because real life was hitting us in the face, and Taran and I had never really been each other’s “real life.”

We’d just been a fantasy. Both of us, convincing each other that we could be something we weren’t.

Owen was my real life. He was here, and he was suffering, and I was going to be here for him. And I’d no longer have the distraction of a relationship that never was meant to be in the first place.

* * *

“There’s this place in rural upstate that looks pretty perfect,” Owen said, looking at me with the glow of my laptop screen illuminating his face.

I’d brought him back to my house after we left Cobalt. Apparently, he’d already told my parents earlier that he’d be going back to hang out with Mason and Travis again tonight. It hadn’t been a lie—Owen said that he really had been planning to hang out with them before anxiety had swallowed him up and Taran found him chain-smoking outside the mini-mart.

At that point, I thought about a startling question: what would have happened with Owen if Taran hadn’t found him there? What would Owen have done? Would he have gone out somewhere else on his own, bought a bottle of liquor from some other store, drank it outside on his own?

Maybe it was actually a blessing in disguise that Taran had found him instead and kept watch over him in the bar. Taran had been putting a big glass of water in front of Owen when I’d arrived, after all. In the heat of the moment, it hadn’t mattered to me—nothing had really mattered to me other than my anger. But now that I’d gotten a little bit of distance from the situation, I could see it more clearly.

We hadn’t said a word in the car ride home, but at a red light I’d looked over and saw a few tears still streaming down his face. I put my hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, but we remained wordless.

Now he was sitting at my tiny kitchen table, flipping through various websites for addiction recovery treatment programs. It had been completely his idea—I had given him plenty of water and just told him he should sleep, but he insisted on showing me some of the places he had in mind.

“So, even before tonight, you knew about these places?” I asked him.

“Kind of,” he said quietly. “About… a week ago, I started to get scared that I was going to start drinking again. I didn’t actually do it until tonight, but I could feel the desire creeping in, and… it scared me. I ended up looking up all these programs online. But I sort of forgot about it until now.”

“I’m so sorry, Owen. I wish you had told me you were struggling, even last week….”

He hitched one shoulder up in a shrug. “I didn’t want to burden you with it,” he said simply. “I didn’t know if it was just a passing urge or if it really was going to happen. So I decided to wait it out. I know I… should have said something to you.”

I nodded. “Are you sure one of these programs would be the right thing for you?”

“Not all of them, but this one here in upstate kind of looks amazing,” he said. “It’s actually an outdoor wilderness program.”

“What?” I asked, smiling slightly. “You? In an outdoor wilderness program? I don’t think I’ve ever known someone less outdoorsy than you.”

Owen smiled softly. “I know, right? But maybe that’ll be good for me, for a change.”

“Are you sure you can handle something like that?”

He shook his head, a dark cast falling over his face again. “I’ll have to if I do this. I need a big change, Patty. This place doesn’t let you have cell phones, internet, anything… it’s just you and nature. It seems really focused on meditation and mindfulness, stuff like that. Lots of daily therapy, group and individual.”

“How long would it last?”

“Two months,” Owen said, meeting my eyes.

“Wow,” I said. “Two months in the middle of nowhere.”

He nodded. “It’s scary. But… I can’t help but think it might be the best thing for me.”

I drew in a long breath, letting it out slowly. “Well,” I said, “if that’s what you want, then… then I think it’s the best idea in the world.”

Owen’s eyes widened again as he looked at the website. “Says here there are a few spots still open for May. I could go… really soon.”

“Owen, I’ve got to ask… how much does a program like this cost?”

He bit his bottom lip. “Shit. I didn’t even think of that.”

Owen had never been good with money at all, and it didn’t surprise me that he hadn’t even considered how much the program would cost.

His face fell as his eyes darted across the screen. “Oh,” he said. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “This isn’t going to happen. I can’t afford this, not by a long shot.”

I held out my hand, signaling him to turn the computer screen toward me. I looked at the program costs, and he wasn’t wrong—it was nearly eight thousand dollars just to go for two months. It made sense because all food, shelter, and therapy were included, but seeing the dollar amount on the screen was a shock.

“I’ll pay for it,” I said without even thinking.

“What?” Owen asked.

“Yeah. I’ll pay it.”

“But you—”

“What’s a little more credit card debt? It’s for something important.”

Owen hardened his eyes at me. “Patrick, I can’t let you do that. You shouldn’t have to pay for me being a fuckup. And you’re already so worried about your bar.”

I watched him, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, the tiredness to his face that seemed like it was somehow permanently etched onto him nowadays. “There’s no question to me that this is the most important way I could possibly think to spend money. I want this for you, Owen, but I also want it for me. I love you. I need to know that I’m doing everything I can for you. I have a great credit score. I can ask Mom and Dad for help if I desperately need it. And hell—you can pay me back after you get back from the wilderness and get some great job. How about that?”

“Patrick….”

I shook my head. “It’s done. Mom and Dad will understand why I can’t pay them back their debt sooner. Owen, there’s nothing we care about more in the world than you. Than family. I want you to do this.”

Owen leapt out of his chair so fast it made me jump. His arms were around me again, holding me so tight it was almost hard to breathe. “I owe you the world,” Owen said. “I will forever.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “Also, you’re kind of constricting my breathing right now, so if you want me to help you, you should at least consider not suffocating me right now.”

He laughed for the first time that night. It was a beautiful sound—it reminded me that no matter how bad tonight had seemed, Owen was still Owen. Things wouldn’t be this bad forever. We could still be us again one day.

Deep down I knew that the “us” I was hoping for was more of a fantasy than any reality we’d ever shared. But the difference was that now I had hope. I had hope that one day we could be the type of siblings who would do anything for each other, instead of ones that were always trying to silently compete. I didn’t feel any competition with Owen at that moment. All I felt was love.

Owen sat back down, leaning his head back and taking a deep breath. “I do want to say one thing, though,” he said finally.

“What’s that?”

He sat up straight again, meeting my eyes. “I don’t… really know what has been going on between you and Taran. But I want you to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that tonight was my fault. Taran had no idea. And you shouldn’t hold this against him.”

I shook my head. “This isn’t about Taran at all. I know that.”

Owen regarded me warily. “But it doesn’t seem like you were acting that way earlier. Like I said, I don’t know if you two were friends, or what, but—”

I paused, choosing my words carefully. “I thought we were… friends, but I don’t know if we can be anymore.”

Owen shook his head. “No. See, that’s what I don’t want. I don’t want you to ruin something good just because I messed up tonight.”

I knew that Owen was logically right. Tonight’s events shouldn’t have held any bearing on how I felt about Taran. But Owen didn’t know the full picture. Didn’t know that after sleeping in Taran’s arms last night, he’d barely been able to look me in the eye this morning. That was the real problem, the real issue—that Taran and I could never be truly close because of our own differences.

But now there was just the icing on the cake, that I’d happened to walk up and see the aftermath of Taran taking part in my brother relapsing. There was no point in prolonging things any further.

I realized I’d been sitting in silence, leaving Owen hanging. “Don’t worry about Taran,” I said. “You definitely aren’t the reason why he and I… can’t be friends. He’s leaving Rose Falls soon anyway.”

Owen lifted an eyebrow at me. “I’m not the reason?” he asked. “Then… what is? I’m telling you, Patrick… talking to Taran tonight was amazing. He’s a good person. He was looking out for me, actually.”

“Looking out for you?”

Owen nodded. “He’s good like you. Good in that rare type of way, where it sneaks up on you because he isn’t trying to constantly prove how good he is. It’s just natural to him.”

Owen’s words stung. Because I had experienced the same thing with Taran—behind his slick exterior, he really did seem goodhearted to the core. But…

“Yeah, well, you weren’t there this morning,” I mumbled.

“I’m sorry?” Owen asked.

I bit my lip, wondering how much I should tell him. But then I remembered what I’d told Taran, just a short while ago: be vulnerable. Why should I keep my personal life secret from Owen if I really did want to be a good brother to him? Why shouldn’t I share my concerns with my brother?

“How do you feel about listening to a long story right now?”

Owen shrugged, smiling at me. “I’m all ears.”

And so I told him. I told him everything, from the beginning, all the strange and nonsensical feelings I’d had for Taran. I told him how I felt this very real connection with Taran, even though I knew it couldn’t last. I knew that Taran only wanted casual sex. I knew that he was leaving town. And yet I couldn’t help from starting to care about him, in a very real way.

Owen listened, both of us getting more and more exhausted throughout the story until I came to today. I told him how distant Taran had been, how he had basically kicked me out of his house without saying it.

“I’m so sorry, Patrick,” Owen said. “But to play devil’s advocate… how do you know he wasn’t just having a bad morning?”

I shrugged. “I guess I don’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s leaving, anyway. I read about it in the damn newspaper today, for God’s sake. The whole thing was a waste of time.”

“It wasn’t a waste of time if you enjoyed it,” Owen said. “That’s all you can really ask for, right?”

I nodded, but inside I was still torn. Because I did want to ask for more than just a good time. I wanted the real deal.

And that, at its root, was the real problem. That was the reason that I was never going to really connect with Taran. I wanted a partner for life. And I knew Taran Vallas would never want that.