I check my watch again, remembering opening day a few weeks ago when Colin bought us matching ones as a we did it gift. Colin and I have been talking about owning a club together since we were kids, and it’s wild to think we made it happen. Dreams come true and all that. He had our watches made custom, with the logo for Saint Clare’s on the watch face, my band platinum and his gold. Colors as opposite as we are.

But while we’re opposites and butt heads, we know each other inside and out, and I love my brother more than anyone. I also know that he is never, ever late, and it’s making me worried. I don’t want to worry. Worrying leads to wrinkles, and I’m already thirty. Thirty in gay years is practically ancient—I don’t need to look it as well.

I slide my phone from my pocket and open my recent calls, then click on his number.

Colin has a thing where he won’t answer his phone before it’s rung three times, so I relax, prepared to wait … It takes me a second or two of nothing to pull my phone away from my ear again. The call’s dropped out, and I’m back on his contact page.

I hit his name again, but after a second of trying to connect, it fails.

Well, that’s concerning.

I shove my phone into my pocket, glaring down at the full club. Word of mouth helped the buzz spread quickly, and we’ve been marketing our asses off for months. Colin did the behind-the-scenes stuff, and I brought the promotional ideas. It’s why we work so well together and why this place has been at capacity every weekend.

I pace over to the large window overlooking the street below. Seattle has great nightlife, and when this building came up with awesome lease terms, we jumped at the opportunity to finally open Saint Clare’s. From where I’m standing, I can make out a fraction of the red-front facade of Rev, the nightclub down the road. All the sight does is piss me off after everything they’ve put us through. Our liquor license was delayed, they’ve reported us continuously to the fire marshal, and our original shipment of lights went missing. All that, on top of sending us packages of actual shit, calling in bomb threats, and having seedy-looking guys with guns lurking out the front of our place, has been too much to handle while trying to open our first business.

It’s soured me to opening another one if this one does well.