James pressed his hand into his jeans pocket and fished out some coins. He knew the likelihood that he’d find whoever had sent the message and was pretending to be Robbie in this crowd was next to impossible. But he was here and was determined to at least take the advice and not let it pass him by. He meandered through the market and found their favorite coffee stand. The face of the Asian man behind the counter lit up when he saw him. “Haven’t seen you a in long time. Two mochas?”

“Just one today, Tommy.” James smiled and cleared his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to share the story again. That was the problem, always running into people who didn’t know. James took the warm cup and headed outside to a bench looking out across the water to Yaletown and their little condo in the sky. Buskers and pigeons filled the boardwalk with colorful performance and fluttering wings. James sat there for over an hour, lost in his thoughts of the past and of the future. He’d been playing that morning over again and again, as he’d done so many times during the past three months. The morning of the car crash. It had all started so routinely. A kiss, a cuddle, some coffee, and toast as they watched the The Early Show. James could still see him grabbing his coat as he headed out the door. What he couldn’t remember was if he’d told Robbie. If he’d told him the most important thing in the world… if he’d told him that he loved him.

“OKAY, I think it’s time we cut you off,” Jess said as she pulled a credit card from her purse and handed it to the bartender. “James, I know it’s been hard. I’m not denying that, but at this point, you’re not even making sense.”

“I’m telling you. He’s been messaging me, or someone is,” James pleaded, but even he could tell his case was weak, especially with the heavy alcohol slur, “letting me know where he is.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him on the stool. “Listen to yourself, James. Seriously, I love you, but this has got to stop, okay? I know you miss him, we all do. This isn’t helping.”

“I’m telling you the truth! Robbie is trying to talk to me!” James yelled and slammed his fist down on the bar, knocking over several glasses.

“I’m sorry,” Jess apologized to the bartender as she signed the bill and stuffed the card and receipt into her purse. “James, if you want to ruin your life, that’s up to you. My brother loved the old you, not the drunk you’ve become.”

“The old me doesn’t exist,” James spat as he held onto the bar to steady himself. “How could it?”