“It’s the least I can do,” I mumble, catching Aubrey’s eye to pull the tap and fill orders herself for a minute while I’m with Jenny.

“No, I’m serious.” She reaches out and puts her hand on my arm. “I tore up the check.”

It’s then I see it. The shiny diamond solitaire on her ring finger. The one that’s different than the silver wedding band that Dickman had given her.

“Jenny?” When I look up to meet her eyes, she’s fighting tears through her smile and that’s exactly how I feel. I’m happy for her but sad for Dickman, and I honestly don’t know how it makes me feel. “Is that what I think it is?”

She nods and sniffs away the emotion. “I needed to tell you but was afraid as well. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Tell me he makes you happy. That’s all I need to hear. That he treats you well and that you’re happy.”

“I am. I truly am when I never thought I could feel this way again, so thank you for everything, but you really need to stop sending me checks. I know it helps you cope, helps you deal with the survivor’s guilt, but you don’t owe anyone anything. You were the one holding their hands, trying to save them, and for all of us, that’s all we need to know. That their best friend was there with them since we couldn’t be.”

“Yes. Okay.” It’s the best I can do with words, as the emotions overwhelm and battle their way through the goddamn steel walls I hide them behind. “Thanks. I need to uh”—I motion to the backroom—“get some stuff done.” And with a quick hug and her lips on my cheek, I charge for its privacy. For its peace. For a place where I can let the fucking emotions overwhelm me.

One life dies.

Another life moves on.

It’s the cycle, but it’s so fucking hard to accept. To know that she has to move on, to be happy—hell, he’d want her to be happy—but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept that three years later she’s found someone. Someone who isn’t Dickman.

I toast when the crowd toasts, sipping my water instead of the shots being shoved in front of me.

Because I can’t drown this one out. I can’t bury it under alcohol. It will still be there. It will still hurt.

I know from experience.

“Hey, man? You okay?”

I glance over to Nix and nod. “I think for my own sanity, I need to cut out early tonight.”

“Not in the mood for celebrating?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.