Gunner smashes different mirrors and vases with a metal bat. His eyes are red-rimmed and droopy. He looks like he’s been through hell and back. He sets the bat down on the wooden floor and grabs a bottle of whiskey, downing it like he’s dying of thirst. Figures. Gunner has been drinking every single day since the night I told him about Ryan. Right before he goes to work, he drinks his whiskey and moves through the day like everything is okay.

Coworkers, shareholders, and other people don’t know he’s in his office drinking. And when we go on dates, no one suspects anything. He’s living a double life as a functioning alcoholic. Even though he hides behind his booze, I can tell when he’s drunk and when he’s sober. Right now, he’s drunker than Billy Bob Thornton in Bad Santa.

I see right through you, Gunner Joshua Underwood. You’re dying on the inside, like wilting flowers.

I want to yell at him, but I don’t want to kick him while he’s down. And right now, he looks like he’s in so much pain I can feel it radiating through my bones.

Once he drains the remainder of the amber liquor, he tosses it against the wall, bangs his hand on his head, and tears trickle down his cheeks.

The tears begin to run down my cheeks because I don’t like to see him so broken. I place my hand over my mouth, and Wolf looks up at me as if he knew I was in the room. His eyes widen and he mumbles, “Fuck,” under his breath as he rubs the back of his neck.

I slide into the pair of black loafers I see sitting near the door; they are a few sizes bigger than my small feet. I shuffle my feet trying to take long strides toward him. I drink in the sight of the broken glasses. What kind of room is this?

“It’s my relief room,” he answers my thoughts. “I come here to break shit when I want to let off steam. My psychiatrist is the one who suggested it.”

Once I stop in front of him, I tilt my chin up, wiping his tears with the pad of my thumb. He flinches at first before he finally accepts my touch. It’s my turn to touch his soul like he did mine. We stare into each other’s eyes for several seconds, but it feels like an eternity. The world stops on its axis, and we’re frozen in time.

His eyes are those of a man who’s torn and destroyed. I can also see rage swimming in the depths of them. “Go back to bed. You don’t need to see me like this.”