Chapter 1

The pen hovered over the signature line, my hand shaking just a little. Seven years, and this apartment was supposed to be it, the big step.

"Just sign here, Mr. Hayes," the leasing agent said, her smile professional.

Chloe shifted beside me, her phone buzzing for the third time in five minutes.

She glanced at it, her face tightening.

"Ethan, I..."

I knew that tone.

"Don't," I said, my voice low. "Don't you dare."

"It's Liam," she whispered, like that explained everything, like it always did. "He's... he's really bad this time. He needs me."

The agent looked between us, her smile faltering.

This was the eleventh time, the eleventh damn time something like this had happened when we were about to commit to something real.

A vacation. Meeting my parents for a holiday. Now, a home.

"Chloe, we're signing a lease," I said, trying to keep my voice even, but the frustration was a hot coil in my stomach.

"And Liam is having a crisis!" she snapped, her eyes flashing. "Are you really that selfish? It's just a piece of paper, Ethan. Liam could be..." She didn't finish, just grabbed her purse.

"I have to go."

And just like that, she was gone, leaving me with the bewildered agent and two unsigned leases.

My heart felt like a lead weight.

I mumbled an apology to the agent and walked out, the papers still in her hand.

Outside, the city noise felt too loud.

A kid, maybe five years old, dropped his ice cream cone and started to cry. His mom knelt, wiped his face, and gave him a hug.

A simple, kind gesture.

It reminded me of Chloe, way back when. The charm, the easy affection.

Now it just felt like a distant, hollow memory, something I'd imagined.

I walked for blocks, not really seeing where I was going.

Eventually, I found myself outside a dark, nameless bar. Seemed about right.

Inside, it was dim and smelled of stale beer. I ordered a whiskey, neat.

Pulled out my phone, scrolled through social media.

And there it was.

Liam' s latest post. A picture of him, looking pale and artfully disheveled, with Chloe' s arm around him, her head resting on his shoulder. She was smiling softly at him, that look she used to give me.

The caption read: "My angel, always there when the darkness closes in. #TrueFriendship #SavedAgain."

My angel.

I stared at the screen, the whiskey burning my throat.

He wasn' t having a relapse. He was having Chloe.

I took a selfie, probably looking as wrecked as I felt, the bar's dim light making me look like a ghost. Posted it with no caption.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. Chloe.

"Seriously, Ethan? A sad selfie? Are you trying to make me look bad? I'm dealing with something real here."

Not, "Are you okay?"

Not, "I'm sorry."

Just anger. Accusation.

I finished my whiskey, the burn doing nothing to numb the cold inside me.

She was right about one thing. I wasn't making her look bad.