Cael slumped on his sofa, comfortable in his sweat pants and old t-shirt, his boots kicked off at the door. Crushed, empty beer cans laid haphazardly on his coffee table. Not long ago, he had switched to whiskey, straight from the bottle. It took a lot of alcohol to get him drunk, but he was well on his way.

His alcohol soaked mind ignored the movie on the TV, instead sliding dangerously to his past. His thoughts wandered not to the good memories, and there had been plenty, but to the memories that threatened to choke him if he gave them too much room.

He had been five years old when three men, dressed in fancy military uniforms, had knocked on the door. His mother had begun crying as soon as she saw them, while he had clung to Kathy’s hand, not understanding what was happening. He remembered looking up at her, seeing confusion on her face as well. The men had barely begun to talk when their mother wailed, dropping to the floor in a ball.

One of the men asked Kathy if there was someone who could come and she had mentioned one of their mother’s friends. Soon, the house had been filled with friends and neighbors, all who clucked over their mom, shooing he and Kathy out of the room.

Kathy and he had hid in his room upstairs, the sound of their mother’s cries ringing through the house. After a while, one of the neighbors came to get Kathy, talking to her in a soft voice outside the room. He had been curious, but fear kept him stuck on the bed. Afraid that Kathy might fall to the floor like their mother, he grabbed his bear and held tight.

Days later, he stood with his mom and sister, looking at the flag draped casket. They told him that his daddy had been killed. Looking at the framed picture sitting next to the casket, his father dressed in his military uniform, he had tried to remember everything he could about him. But, the memories, while good, were few. His dad had been overseas from the time he began kindergarten. Mom had told him stories of how brave his father was and how she fell in love with the handsome soldier, but they did little to help him remember.

Though it made him nervous to see her so distraught, he had snuck a glance at her that day, her face white and pinched, her eyes swollen and red. Unsure what he should do, he had looked to Kathy, who held his hand, and her face looked a lot like their mom’s. He had wanted to cry, to be just like them, but it just seemed that his dad would be coming home soon, like he promised. He could not understand the finality of what had happened.

After the service, some men folded the flag and handed it to his mom. He had thought that was cool, the way they worked together to get the flag folded in a perfect triangle, but his mom must not have. She took the flag and then fell out of her chair, wailing again. People rushed around her, pushing he and Kathy to the side.

He took another long swig of whiskey, his memories from that moment, and from the next year, were the same. His mom on the sofa or in bed, either crying or sleeping. Kathy got him up in the mornings and ready for school. She made sure he took a bath at night and had food to eat. Barely a teenager herself, she managed to handle everything.

He kicked his sock-covered feet up on the coffee table, empty beer cans scattering in all directions, many dropping to the floor.

He remembered walking home from school one day, Kathy by his side, and turning on their street only to see flashing lights in their driveway. People coming in and out of their house. A neighbor running to intercept them. Kathy dropping his hand as she tried to run forward. A man holding her back.

He tilted the bottle up, draining the last dregs, as the visions continued passing through his mind. Another funeral. Whispers from those all around.

Years later, Kathy showed him their mother’s death certificate. Accidental overdose. She had explained that because their mother had not left a suicide note, it was declared accidental. Alcohol and prescription sleeping pills.

He and Kathy never talked about it again, but in his eyes, their mother had abandoned them from the moment she learned their father had died, even though she lived in the same house. He had never been able to understand why she could so easily forget she had two children to care for and love. The idea that they had not been enough ate at him.

Standing, he staggered into the kitchen, looking for another bottle, only finding a forgotten, half empty bottle of whiskey in the back of a cabinet. Weaving back to the sofa, he fell onto the cushions, his head muddled from alcohol and memories.

Granny…old and tired. Saying she could take an almost grown granddaughter who could get a job and help out, but had no room for a little boy. Too much work raising a boy at her age. Once more, he felt the sting of not being enough for someone to care for.

His eyes lifted to the TV as a new, late-night movie began. Hitchcock’s The Birds. Fucking hell. The reminder of his time with Red…Regina…hit him. Snorting, he grimaced. He no longer had to think about why she left that morning…this time, not because I wasn’t enough, but because she already had someone.

As the opening credits rolled on the movie, he leaned forward and threw the bottle in his hand toward the screen. With his powerful arm, he heard the bottle and the TV shatter just before he slumped over, passing out on the floor.

“Jesus, it stinks in here.”

Zander moved into the room, Jayden and Jaxon right behind him. They looked down at Cael, lying on the floor, beer cans surrounding him. A quick scan of the room also exposed the busted TV, while the smell of whiskey filled the air.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Jaxon cursed. “I like to tie one on, but never like this. And Cael, especially, never gets stinkin’ drunk.” He moved to open the windows in the living room and then in the kitchen to get a cross breeze. Jayden turned back to the front door, propping it open as well.

Zander squatted next to Cael’s snoring body and rolled him over. “Let’s get him in the shower and then get some coffee in him.”

Considering his size, it took all three to get him up. Waking, he grumbled as they maneuvered him down the hall and into the bathroom. Leaving his clothes on, Zander held him in place with his hand pressed on his chest, forcing his back against the tile, and turned on the water.

As cold water sprayed from the showerhead, hitting Cael’s face, he jumped, cursing as he sputtered. His hands came up, but Zander slapped them back down.

“Quit your bitchin’ and stay there until you don’t stink anymore. When you can see clearly enough to walk, get dressed and get some coffee in you.” With that, Zander walked out and headed back to the kitchen.

Looking at the mess, he shook his head. “Jesus, what the fuck was he doing?”

“Could be Cindy or…you think it’s that woman?” Jayden asked.

“Fuck this,” Jaxon said. “All for some woman?”

Zander stood with his hands on his hips and sucked in a deep breath. “Got no idea. But something’s happened. He never gets outta control. Never.” Looking at the twins, he said, “Find some coffee and get it going. I’m calling everyone.”

Thirty minutes later, Cael walked into the living room, now wearing a clean t-shirt, with his bare toes sticking out from underneath clean jeans. His hair stood on end where he had run his hands through the wet strands. He had not shaved, but his weekend stubble was a normal look for him. He scanned the room through bloodshot eyes and moved straight to the coffee mug, being handed to him by Asher. A bottle of aspirin sat on the counter as well. Popping the top, he shook out two and swallowed them.

Leaning his hip against the counter, he took a long sip from the black coffee, the bitter taste hitting him instantly. He hoped the caffeine would soon kick in as well. Peering out into his living room, the mess was still evident. He knew his friends cared but one of Miss Ethel’s lessons was that if you made a mess, you cleaned it up. The idea was that you would be less likely to make the same mess again. Looking at the scattering of empty, crushed beer cans lying about the room, the broken whiskey bottle and the smashed TV, he sighed heavily.

Jayden and Jaxon were sitting on the sofa while Asher, still in the kitchen, leaned forward on his forearms on the counter. Rafe rested his back against the door and Zander sat in the other chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, looking casual, but he knew him well enough to know he was feeling anything but that. Zander’s t-shirt still had wet spots from the shower spray.

Nodding toward the busted TV, Zander quipped, “Didn’t like what was on? You can always just change the channel, you know?”

Slumping down on a kitchen stool as the others chuckled, he said, “Okay, let me get this out of the way first. I’m sorry as shit you all had to come over and see me like this. I know we were supposed to work on my house today and having to sober me up was not in the plans.”

Zander shook his head and said, “Man, you don’t gotta apologize to us. Hell, you don’t even gotta tell us what the fuck is going on. We’re here. We’re gonna work on your house and you can clean up this mess.”

Jaxon grinned, “We just don’t want you around any power tools today. You got a hangover, you’re liable to shoot one of us in the ass with your nail gun.”

Everyone laughed and even he had to join in. Holding his aching head, he said, “Fuck, that hurts.” Too tired to talk at length about his situation, he just nodded and said, “I’ll get going in here and let you all start in the back.”

The guys filed out of the room and he finished gulping the coffee before pouring another one. He rounded the counter and opened the cabinet with cleaning supplies. First grabbing a large garbage bag, he shook it open as he walked into the living room. Bending he gathered up the multitude of beer cans, not bothering, nor wanting, to count them. Next, he gathered up the large pieces of broken whiskey bottle, glad it had not shattered. Staring at the TV, he grew disgusted with himself. Fuck, that was a good TV.

Getting the vacuum, he sucked up the shards of glass and then continued to run it over the entire floor. Unplugging the TV, he hauled it to the street, placing it next to his trash can. Seeing one of his neighbors in their yard staring at him, he waved. “They don’t make ‘em like they used to.” The neighbor’s wide eyes stayed on the shattered TV as they nodded before hurrying back into their house.

Returning to his own house, he grabbed the cleanser and sprayed his coffee table, sticky with spilled beer. After scrubbing he stood back and surveyed his progress. Satisfied that he had returned his living room to its former appearance, sans the TV, he moved back into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator he scanned the contents , but had no desire to make a bunch of sandwiches. Pulling out his phone, he called for pizza instead.

Ready to face everyone again, he headed to the back of his house, where he found them hard at work. The two-story addition now had the drywall finished and the men were working on installing the windows today.

“Thanks guys,” he said, looking at what they had accomplished in the last hour. The master bedroom’s large windows were in place, as was the smaller one in the master bathroom. “Pizza will be here in a few minutes. I want you all to eat before you leave.”

By the time they finished putting away their tools, the pizza had arrived and they headed downstairs, finding the living room no longer resembling a trash heap.

Asher took a bite of pizza and then said, “Okay, no one else will ask, but I’m just gonna put myself out there. What the fuck happened to you last night?”

Leaning back in the deep cushions of his sofa he heaved a great sigh. “I found her.”

“The woman?”

Nodding, he said, “Yep.”

“Okay,” Asher continued. “So, what happened that had you pickling your liver last night?”

“She’s seeing someone else.” He observed their wide eyes and added, “And the guy is married.”

“What the fuck?” they all expressed in one way or another, their attention riveted on him.

Explaining what he saw and how it all went down, he finished with, “Basically, she was cheating on this guy with me. She probably figures cheating on a cheater doesn’t matter.”

Jayden chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, “But you don’t know for sure?”

“Huh?” Halting mid-chew, he stared at his friend, rearing back.

Shrugging, Jayden said, “So, he kissed her. Maybe he just works with her.”

“You kiss the people you work with?” he shot back.

“I got all men in my garage…think if I tried to kiss them, I’d get punched,” Jayden laughed.

Asher shook his head, adding, “Look, I think what Jayden’s saying is that you don’t know for sure.” Throwing his hands up in defense, he continued, “You know what you saw, but maybe it’s not what you interpreted. Maybe it is…but don’t you at least owe her the chance to explain?”

Jaxon lowered his brows, saying, “He doesn’t owe her shit, guys.”

“Okay, then he owes himself the truth. At least, he’d know for sure.”

Looking over at Zander, he cocked his head to the side. If anyone would give him the best advice, it would be him.

Zander’s eyes held both intensity and fondness as he leaned forward in his chair. “Everyone deserves a chance. Assumptions are never good, especially when they concern something as important as the person out there that might be your other half. You admitted you felt something deep for her. Go back, Cael. At least give her a chance to let you know if she’s what you hoped she’d be or not.”

Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded slowly, both hope and fear warring inside.