Prologue
Nick
I knew drinking was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t do it, especially considering I started at sixteen. You know what they say: wrong crowd, wrong time. Maybe I should have said no when I was offered my first drink, but I wanted to look cool. I wanted to fit in, so I said yes. What I didn’t know when I took that first sip is that I had an addictive personality. I didn’t know that once I started, I’d never stop.
If I did, I don’t think I ever would have started. I would have said no. But I didn’t, and now I’m sitting all alone at midnight, drunk out of my mind because I can’t sleep without drinking. There was always an excuse. Just one more, and then I’d stop. It’s only beer. Tomorrow I’ll be fine and won’t drink. That never happened though, because beer turned into whiskey, and one more turned into five more. Tomorrow there was always another reason to drink.
My head was pounding from a day full of drinking. My eye was swollen and throbbing from the fight I barely remembered starting. Some guy at the bar said something that rubbed me the wrong way. I said something worse back. It escalated like these things always did. With fists and broken glass and me getting thrown out the back door, bleeding and stupid.
I was just about to fall asleep when a loud bang came from my door. I didn’t know who it was and didn’t really care to findout. But the banging got worse, louder, and faster, and then… “Nick, open the fucking door!”
My eyes flew open, the light too bright for the splitting headache I was trying to drink away. Of course Sean would be here. He was one of my older brothers.
“Nick!” Another voice. Deeper this time. Angrier. Connor, another older brother. “We’re not leaving. Open the goddamn door!”
I groaned, my stomach twisting, mouth dry as sandpaper. I swung my legs over the edge of the couch, knocking over an empty bottle. It clattered to the floor, the sound bouncing between the walls. I stumbled toward the door, hand grazing the wall for balance. My knuckles were scraped, my shirt stained with blood. I could feel my eye swelling shut. I barely recognized the reflection that passed by in the hallway mirror.
When I unlocked it, the door flew open before I could even step back. Sean and Connor shoved their way in. Sean looked tired, not the usual tired from being an ICU doctor, but drained. His jaw was tight, eyes red. He wasn’t yelling. He just looked so damn hurt. Connor never said much. He was always the grumpy brother, the one who only talked when he felt like it. But when it came to me, he had a lot to say.
Connor stormed in behind him but stopped short when he got a good look at me.
“Jesus Christ, Nick,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “What the hell did you do?”
Sean stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the dried blood along my cheek and then to my swollen eye. “Did someone hit you?” he asked. But then he sighed like he already knew the answer. “Or did you start something again?”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t care enough.
Connor ran a hand through his hair and scoffed. “You’re a grown-ass man, not fifteen. You still getting into bar fights like you’ve got something to prove?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered.Liar. My voice was hoarse, weak. A slight slur that never really went away before the next drink.
“No, you’re not,” Sean said. “You haven’t been fine in years, Nick. But this? This has to stop.”
“I didn’t ask for a lecture,” I said, slumping back onto the couch. “If you came to play hero, save it.”
Connor’s fist slammed into the wall, inches from my head. I flinched, but even I knew how delayed my reaction was.
“We didn’t come to save you, Nick,” he growled. “We came to tell you something. Something you don’t get to drink your way out of. Something you should be fucking sober for.”
Sean sat down across from me, elbows on his knees, voice quieter. “It’s Tyler.”
Tyler was the oldest of us Easton brothers, the one who always took care of us and dealt with our shit. I sat up straighter. “What? What happened?”
“He has cancer.” Sean’s voice broke on the word. “In his leg. It’s rare, but the doctors have high hopes.”
The room spun. I wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or the words. Maybe a mixture of both.
“No,” I whispered. “That can’t… Tyler’s the healthy one. He runs, he eats vegetables, he drinks those green shakes—”
“He’s sick, Nick,” Connor said, and for the first time, I heard it. Not just anger, but pain. “And he needs us. All of us.”
I shook my head. “What do you want me to do?”
Sean looked at me, not as a doctor, not as a big brother, but as someone begging. “Get clean. Be there. Because if this isn’t your wake-up call, I don’t know what is.”
Connor nodded. “Don’t make us lose you, too.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. My throat burned. My hands were shaking. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the truth. At this point, I’m not even sure if I know the truth anymore.
