EVERYONE TOOK A SHOT of warm liquor. Everyone except Kael, that was. There were shouts of “To Austin!” and “Welcome Back Bro!” Austin gave a mock bow to acknowledge his friends as they celebrated his return. I wasn’t sure if any of them knew that he had been arrested. Looking around at these guys … well, I wasn’t sure if any of them would even concern themselves with something as trivial as a night in jail. But maybe I was being hard on them.

We all migrated back to the kitchen to cheers Austin’s return to Ft. Benning. I put my shot glass in the sink and gathered up a few more. A guy in a bright blue T-shirt that said Bottoms Up! grabbed his glass back from me and went for a refill. Definitely a soldier. He was with a younger-looking guy wearing a brown MURPH tee. Also a soldier. I kept forgetting just how distant I had become from life on post. Sure, I still saw soldiers at work and at the grocery store. I still smiled at them while going through the gate to The Great Place, but I didn’t have any friends who were soldiers. Not one.

Not unless you counted Stewart. She was the closest thing I had to an army friend. But even though I liked and respected her, even though I felt close to her, I couldn’t really claim her as a friend. As Mali liked to remind us, clients were not our friends.

I turned on the hot water and rinsed out a few shot glasses just for something to do. I was glad Austin didn’t see me. He would have made some crack about my being responsible. It wouldn’t have been a compliment. God, it was so weird having him back, being at my dad’s, being surrounded by all these people. No doubt about it: This was Austin’s world and I was just visiting.

I wasn’t the same person as I was before he left, though. It felt good to remind myself of that. And Austin, as much as he gathered people around him, he latched onto them, too. Which was risky in his case, because he was often the one to run, like our mother. And he often left broken hearts behind, also like her.

I walked over to Kael, Austin, and Mendoza.

“Another?” Mendoza asked.

“No way.” I shook my head and held up my hand, the universal symbol for no, thanks.

My stomach still burned as the tequila settled inside of me. The flavor was strong—pretty good, but so strong compared to the cheap vodka diluted with orange juice that I usually drank.

“Come on. Anyone?”

Austin’s eyes were on Kael, who was also saying no. He didn’t need to put his hand up or shake his head. Apparently “no” is all the answer you need when it comes from a guy.

Austin turned to Mendoza and refilled his glass. “He’s trying to get as many shots in as possible before his wife calls for bedtime,” Austin heckled him.

By the way Mendoza smiled when my brother teased him, I could see their bond. He was a nice guy, this Mendoza. I could feel it. It was never easy to predict the people I would meet through my twin, because he never had a type. Soldiers were usually involved, but that could be more of a geographical thing. Mostly strays. Mostly friendly. But every pack had a few wild cards.

“Well, she did let him come out this week,” another male voice taunted. I turned around to see the guy in the Bottom’s Up! T-shirt holding his shot glass in a way that was slightly menacing. He had a square face, tiny lips, and a bad crew cut.

Mendoza laughed still, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not like it did when he had joked with Austin. The guy in the T-shirt snickered, pointing a Bud Light bottle at Mendoza. “How many kids you got now anyway?” This question was delivered with a straight face.

“Three,” Mendoza replied, humorless now. Something shifted in the room. I could feel it. Kael stiffened next to me. Austin inched closer to the two jerks.

“Three? That’s it? I thought I saw you driving out of the commissary with like ten—”

“You’re not funny, Jones. Neither are you, Dubrowski. Comedy’s not your thing. Now, move along, or get out,” Austin snapped, pointing his chin towards the door. His eyes may have been glassy, but he was fully present. He wasn’t having any of their shit.

The room was silent, except the obnoxious intro music to the video game that was playing on a loop in the background.

“Chill, we’re leaving anyway,” Bottom’s Up! said.

No one made a sound as Jones and Dubrowski sat their beers on the counter, opened the back door, and left. Mendoza and Austin stared at each other for a second. I tried not to look, but I caught a glimpse of it.

“Who were those guys?” I asked Austin when the door shut.

“They’re in my new company,” Mendoza answered. “I thought they were cool and felt bad because they’re so young and just got home and don’t have any family here, you know?”

“Quit being so fucking nice!” Austin slapped Mendoza on the back and we all laughed. “See where it gets you? Now let’s have a drink and not waste any more time or tequila on those pricks.”

“This isn’t just any tequila my friends.” Mendoza held up the bottle. “It’s an Anejo, aged to perfection. Smooth as butter.” He showed me the label and I nodded, reading what I could as he watched me, before moving it to Kael.

Anejo or not, I knew I shouldn’t drink much more. Even with my mother’s tolerance for all vices, I could tell the alcohol was settling into my bloodstream. My cheeks were red—I could feel them.

But Kael was less blurry somehow.

You know those moments when someone just looks different to you? Like you swipe and a filter covers the picture? Everything about them becomes a little deeper in color, a little more vibrant?

Kael was leaning against the counter in my dad’s kitchen of all places, answering trivial questions from my brother, when it happened. There was something about watching him with there with Austin, the way the way he was standing with his back straight, his eyes a little more wild than usual. He was still the definition of composure, but there was something emanating from him in that moment.

Something strong and dark. I had to see more.