Sunrays pierced the blinds and invaded Jared Scott’s bedroom. Like shards of broken glass, the light stabbed his eyes, and he groaned. He jerked the pillow from under his head and pressed it over his face to block the intrusion. The haughty motion and subsequent drop of his head increased the intensity of pounding against his temples. His whole head for that matter.

He moaned and rolled over into a pile of self-loathing. For all his intentions to clean up his act, he continued to fail miserably. How long had it been since he’d promised Evan and Janie he would quit drinking? Three weeks? Four? The constant hammering in his head prevented him from coming up with a solid answer.

Eyes closed, he knocked the pillow aside. The day wouldn’t wait for him to recover from a hangover. He’d made his choice, and now he’d have to suffer the consequence—and suffer he would. Mentally preparing himself to open his eyes, he counted to ten. When the beams hit his pupils, he blinked several times until his eyes adjusted.

He grumbled a few words, unintelligible even to himself due to dryness of his mouth. His tongue was ten times its normal size, or at least that’s how it felt. He rolled over onto his side and propped up on his elbow. Stretching out his other arm, he fumbled for the bottle of water on his nightstand. He twisted off the cap and downed the entire bottle.

The tepid water did nothing to relieve his case of cottonmouth. With a sigh, he laid back down, letting his arm hang over the bed. He let the bottle slide from his hand and fall to the floor. It made a soft thump on the carpet, but in Jared’s current state, the thud magnified to the sound of a jet engine crashing a roof.

Enough is enough. He couldn’t continue this way. Somehow, someway, he had to find a way to move on. To fight the memories without the aid of alcohol. It sounded so easy. So simple.

“Ghrrumph,” he snorted. If only.

His phone rang from somewhere on the floor. Though tempted to let it ring until his voicemail answered, he couldn’t ignore Evan. His three best friends—Evan, Wyatt, and Janie—each had a personalized ring tone, so he pushed against the dizziness that rolled over him when he sat up, and again when he leaned over.

The phone continued ringing from the pocket of his jeans he’d worn last night. Jared gripped the bed’s edge to keep from toppling over as he reached for the pants. He grabbed his cell and answered it. Tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

“You there?” Evan’s voice came through the line.

Jared swallowed and tried to talk again. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“Can you still make the tux fitting today?” A trace of irritation edged Evan’s words, and Jared had a suspicion his friend wasn’t oblivious to his activities last night.

“Yes.” Jared held the phone away from his head to check the calendar app. “Ten o’clock, right?”

Evan confirmed the appointment time. “It’s quarter after nine now.”

“I’ll be there, don’t worry.” He ended the call then stood up.

After stumbling a few paces, he found his balance and plodded into the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of generic headache meds from the top of the fridge and emptied two pills into his hand. Popped them into his mouth and chased them with a fresh bottle of water from the fridge.

The sequence happened often enough that it could almost be called a habit. Guilt seeped into him, knowing this path had to stop, but he couldn’t think about that now. He had less than forty-five minutes to pull himself together, clean up, and get to the menswear store.

He covered his mouth through another yawn as he prepped the coffee maker. Letting it brew, he returned to his bedroom and grabbed a clean pair of clothes before heading to the bathroom. Hot water wasn’t a luxury he could afford in his condition. He needed the ice-cold treatment to break the morning-after fog.

The rich aroma of freshly brewed dark roast coffee greeted him after his shower. He poured a cup, inhaled a deep breath as if he could take in the caffeine through his lungs. Steaming liquid, undiluted with sugar or creamer, burnt the tip of his lip. He blew into the cup twice before taking another sip.

Once the remainder of it cooled down enough to guzzle, he downed the rest in a single gulp. He returned to the bathroom and ran a comb through his short hair. The cropped cut made his sandy blonde hair appear more of a light brown.

His normally vivid blue eyes were dulled by the bloodshot white surrounding them. He grabbed a bottle of drops from the sink counter and squirted each eye. With any luck, they’d clear up by the time he faced Evan. He wasn’t in the mood for the disappointed brow-raises.

If he wanted that, all he’d have to do was look in the mirror. No one could be more upset with his behavior than he was, but he didn’t know how to change. He envied Wyatt, Evan, and Janie. They’d moved on with their lives and had found happiness and purpose.

Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he find that ever-elusive peace? Because you haven’t sought out the Prince of Peace. He shook his head. God wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Why should He? Jared had nothing to offer Him—or anyone else.

He was the reason Mike was on that helicopter. If he hadn’t goofed off the night before the mission and sprained his ankle, Mike never would have been on that flight. Sure, he could admit he hadn’t directly caused Mike’s death, but that admission did nothing to assuage his guilt. He was still responsible for Mike being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That burden sent him to a dark place he couldn’t escape. He hated his weakness, despised himself every morning he woke up feeling like he’d had a losing collision with a freight train. Yet in the veil of night, he found comfort in the arms of a bottle.

For a few brief hours, he didn’t care about anything. He laughed and cut loose. Freed his mind from the haunting memories and washed away the guilt.

Made poor decisions.

He left the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Disgusted with himself, he stomped to the kitchen and filled a travel mug with the remaining coffee. Grabbed his keys off the counter and walked outside.

His truck wasn’t in the driveway, and he stifled the urge to curse. Too drunk to drive and his designated driver nowhere to be found, he’d taken a taxi home last night—one of the few good choices he’d made lately.

Reluctantly, he pulled his phone from his pocket. He took the coward’s way out and rather than call Evan, he shot him a quick text that he’d be late.

Evan’s response came seconds later. —How late?

A few minutes. He stopped short of sending the text and deleted what he’d typed. How many lies would he tell before they caught up to him? Hadn’t they already? He wrote a new message and sent it. —I need a ride.

—I’ll be there in ten. No questions asked, Evan would come to his rescue and—once again—prove himself to be the better friend.

Which did nothing for Jared’s current mental state. Few people were fortunate enough to find the quality of friends he had in his small group. He’d lied to them, betrayed their trust, and hadn’t reciprocated the support they’d shown him.

“No more.” He’d made the same vow on multiple mornings, but this time felt different. For the first time, he spoke it with conviction.

His life had to change. He didn’t know how, but the first step was coming clean to his friends. The second step required abstaining from alcohol—any vices, really. Somehow, he had to find a way to deal with what had happened in Afghanistan.

If he didn’t change his ways, who’s to say he wouldn’t make worse choices down the road. Maybe next time he wouldn’t call a cab, wreck his car and hurt himself—worse yet, hurt someone else or take their life. He’d never set out with that intention, but the beer and whiskey made him do things he regretted, that he would never have done if sober.

He leaned against the garage door while waiting for Evan. His insides churned, stirring up change. All the while, a voice whispered that it was too late. That he was too far gone to come back, and that he didn’t deserve a good life because he took away Mike’s chance for one. Taunting him and reminding him of all his shortcomings and weaknesses.

What kind of future was there for a man like him?

Evan drove up in his brand-new car. May’s tornado had damaged his old one beyond repair, and he’d driven a rental until deciding on the make and model he wanted. The mid-size sedan shouted family man, and Jared’s jaw twitched with unwanted envy. Not that he had any desire to marry anytime soon, but he couldn’t deny that the idea of falling in love and sharing a life with someone held a certain appeal.

It was the settling down part that drew him. What he wouldn’t give to experience the sensation of settled. Turmoil defined his life, drawn into a tailspin by the constant warring of his heart, mind, and soul. If he fell in love, had someone to share his life with, would that help him find a measure of peace like it had for Wyatt when he reunited with ex-wife Meg, and then for Evan and Janie when they fell in love with each other?

Their peace comes from God, not each other.

He scrunched his nose. Why did his conscience always circle back to God? Twice already this morning, in less than an hour, it had crept into his thoughts, with his mind giving the same response. I’m not worthy.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” Evan stood with his arms crossed and resting atop the opened car door.

“Probably because I have.” He tried to shake off the stupor that held him in place.

Evan’s gaze darted to the empty spot in the driveway. “Where’s your truck?”

Unable to look his friend in the eye, Jared rubbed a hand along his jaw and trained his line of vision on the house across the street. “Jake’s.”

“As in Jake’s Tavern?” Evan’s tone conveyed little surprise.

“Yes.” He owned his mistake and looked at Evan. Took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “I meant it when I said I’d stop. And I mean it every morning that I wake up with a pounding headache and tell myself it won’t happen again.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I want to, but can’t seem to.”

The vow he’d made minutes ago for the umpteenth time crossed his mind. He still felt the same conviction that this time would be different, but how could he know? Hadn’t he been determined each time before?

Stepping out from behind the door, Evan came to stand in front of him. “You’re my friend, and I love you like a brother. I’ll be here to help any way I can, but the truth is, I can’t get you out of this. Take it from someone who’s been there. You can’t outrun, outwit, or out-drink the memories.”

Jared swallowed, well aware of that truth. “I know.”

“I think you also know the way out, but feel you don’t deserve it.” Evan squeezed his shoulder. “And the reality of it is, none of us do, which makes it that much more beautiful.”

Evan hit the proverbial nail on the head, but that didn’t surprise Jared. If anyone understood the battles he faced daily, it was Evan and Wyatt. It seemed so easy, but …