Glancing out the picture window behind me, there’s no missing the pulsation of power lines as the wind picks up. Electricity bristles the air, leaving me antsy, so I click off the TV, grab my acoustic guitar from the other end of the couch, and make my way downstairs.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s Sunday by the dark, dead state of the bar. I can’t remember the last time we shut down for a Friday night. Hell, probably never. Just thinking about the money we’ll lose because of Mother Nature’s inconsideration has me itching for a drink.

Flipping on the bar lights, I grab a bottle of Jack by the neck and pull out a stool. I hear Mason’s voice in the back of my head from last weekend, chastising me, and I cringe at the memory.

It was the morning after last Saturday’s shit show and Mason had found me lying in the bathroom in my boxers. Some random girl was still asleep in my bed, naked. I barely remembered bringing her up there, let alone the round of post-show shots.

The fact Mason didn’t bitch me out spoke volumes. No, he had to go all therapy-guru on me instead and try to get me to open up.

Hard pass, thanks.

I know I messed up. Took it too far on Saturday. I know better than to mix, and I know better than to rely on alcohol to deal with my problems...

Yet, here I am.

Drowning my sorrows and loneliness and bitter regret down another bottle.

Is this how it started?

I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers tightening around the neck of my guitar.

It’s not the first time I’ve unwittingly tried to put myself in his shoes. My dad was a mean drunk, but he wasn’t always—not before me—and that’s the part that never fails to cut right through me.

If he wasn’t born the monster I only ever knew him to be, then what does that say about the rest of humanity? What does that say about me? Are we all one drink away, one heartbreak away, from becoming a piece of shit who knocks around their kid?

Lightning cracks through the open space, pinging off the glass bottles. The room flashes. Wind howls and I think of Will. Wonder where he’s at, what he’s doing. If he’s drinking his loneliness away like me.

Maybe he’s with that guy from last weekend.

I wince at the thought and set the guitar down before reaching for the pack of smokes in my pocket.