“Are you talking about Misty?”

He shakes his head. “Not this time.”

Considering my best friend hasn’t dated anyone since college, I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but it’s clear he’s a mess and needs to sleep.

“Did something happen?”

His eyes meet mine, and he leans against the railing, head resting on the side of the house. “Did you know that whiskey does not make you forget? I remember. I remember it all, and I remember that I shouldn’t remember.”

Whiskey and I were very good friends for quite a while after I found out Yvonne was pregnant. I would’ve done the right thing by marrying her because we were heading that way regardless.

She didn’t love me enough to try.

She didn’t want a family with me because of her career.

I found myself circling the drain, wondering how the fuck I kept doing this to myself.

“What do you remember?” I ask, hoping to get a semi-coherent answer from him.

Jack snorts. “Well, I wanted to forget.”

Guess that’s not going to happen.

“How about you come in, and we’ll get you a vitamin drink and a bed? Sleep might help you forget.”

“I want no bed!” he declares. “I want to forget the bed. The bed is bad.”

It’s clear there is a lot more to this, and I’m not going to get any of it with him drunk off his ass. “Okay, well, you can’t be out here, and if you wake Melia, I’ll kill you.”

His face falls and then he whispers. “She’s not insane.”

“Who?”

“Melia. She’s the best.”

“Yes, and she’s sleeping, so let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

Jack nods, takes a step, and catches himself on the banister. “Oops. I’m falling again. I’m always falling and I never get up.”

“Come on, buddy,” I say as I wrap my arm around his chest, trying to steady him as we walk.

We get inside, and I take him straight to the guest room. I smile when I see Jess’s over-loved and oversized sweater in the corner from the last time she stayed the night. At night, she’s usually freezing and wraps herself up in it. I can’t bring myself to point out that the holes don’t help with warmth.

“You’re always happy,” Jack says as I get him to the bed.

“Yeah?”

“You have Jess. I want that. I thought . . . I thought it was possible one time.”

This wasn’t exactly the night I had planned, but I can’t remember the last time Jack was a mess like this. Not since . . . and then it hits me.

The date.

It’s the anniversary of his mother’s death.

I sit beside him on the bed. “You’re sure this isn’t about a fire or someone you lost?”