There’s no one else at the old courts when I pull up along the asphalt. It’s a sad sight. Faded lines and frayed hoop strings. A few tufts of grass have managed to survive in cracks in the court, tiny spots of life in the midst of an unforgiving surface.

I grab the whiskey bottle and the basketball I keep in the back of my truck and walk out onto the court. The lights flicker on, contending with the rapidly dropping sun. One of them is permanently out thanks to a stray shot Finn took. As far as the town is concerned, this place is out of commission. No one has come around to fix it.

I start dribbling, ignoring the chill in the air as I weave across the court, pretending to dodge and block invisible opponents.

Then, I start shooting. Every shot I miss, I take a sip of whiskey. The more I drink, the more I miss. The more I miss, the more I drink.

Eventually, I stop. I’m breathing heavily. Lazy heat is swimming in my bloodstream thanks to the alcohol.

My body is already exhausted from practice earlier. I’m emotionally drained too, from the encounter with my mom.

I sink down in the center of the court, not caring the ground is cold and hard. There’s no way I can drive. No way I could do that to Sydney or live with myself if I took a stranger’s life the way someone took my dad’s. I’m going to have to call someone to come pick me up.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here, when another car pulls up. I roll my head to one side so I can look and see, too lazy to actually turn my whole body around.

Finn climbs out, followed by Mark. Jordan. Grace. McKenzie. A second car arrives, spilling out more of my friends. Finn approaches me first. “Figured you’d be here.”

I grunt, trying to decide how I feel about them all being here. I wanted to be alone. But I’m sick of it too.

“Started the party without us?” he asks, spotting the bottle.

I wouldn’t call this much of a party. Graham’s study thing was livelier. “I guess.”

More of the group filters over. Jordan sets up a speaker and pop music starts blaring. It’s better than sitting alone in silence, but I’m not really in the mood to party, either. Most of my friends respect that, smiling at me but not approaching.

Most of the guys start playing a pickup game. Grace comes and sits beside me. A few of the other girls follow her over.

“Hey,” Grace says.

“Hey.” I run a finger along the edge of the whiskey bottle.

“I’m worried about you, Holden.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk on a Monday night.”

“I had a shitty day.”