Chapter One
Tanner
“Special of the week is a red from Sparrow Farm.” I zoom the bottle along the bar to the cluster of staff I’ve gathered together. “It’s a Frontenac blend. Full-bodied, cherries and vanilla, and some other fruity stuff I can’t remember. Have a taste if you want and check the board for the notes.”
The spiel is about as good as it gets when it comes to me waxing lyrical about wine. And I’m fooling no one, not even my boss, who rolls his eyes on his way out the door. I don’t give a shit about wine, and he knows it. A few months back, I couldn’t tell one grape from another, or explain how tannin levels affect the palate. I still have trouble with both, but I’m getting better, because I want to be. Somewhere along the line in the last few months I’ve learned that matters—the will to be a better human, not just at wine, but at life.
It’s a work in progress, but I care enough to keep at it.
Most days, at least. And today is one of those days. I slide more bottles on the bar and take my best shot at teaching my crew how to hawk them to the locals and tourists who patronize the inclusive wine bar I’m lucky enough to run. Vino and Veritas. Vino is me—dark leather, rich wood, and rainbows in the window. Veritas is the adjacent bookstore, but I know even less about books than I do about wine.
When the wine briefing is over, I clear away the empty wine boxes, turn the music on, and fetch the cash floats for the registers. The list of jobs in my head gets checked off, task by task, and I settle into the routine I need to keep my brain quiet. I’m good at organizing people. At checking they have everything they need to do the job my boss pays them to do. When I get it right, I can almost avoid the actual bar altogether, but the problem with “right” is that it’s never too far from being catastrophically wrong. Dodging folks isn’t good for me—even strangers who want ten-dollar glasses of Chablis to go with their hipster spiced nuts. They’re nice people, and they want to talk to me, so I do my best to show up.
Smoky jazz music fills the bar, blending perfectly with the wood and leather interior. The space is the living room I’d have if I ever find the inclination to decorate my apartment. It’s cozy, warm, and welcoming to anyone who ducks inside to seek shelter from the chilly fall days.
The rhythm of the night takes hold. Feeling weak, I keep my distance from the bar for the first hour of my shift, collecting glasses instead, and taking out the trash, all the shitty jobs no one else wants to do, but eventually it’s time to rotate staff breaks, and I take my place with a suppressed sigh.
Regulars call my name. Lucky for me, one of them is my brother, checking in on his way out of town.
I bring him a soda. He doesn’t drink wine either. “Heading out?”
Gabriel ignores the glass in front of him, letting me know his appearance has nothing to do with refreshment. “I’ll be back before Christmas. Just wanted to let you know you could, you know, like, call me if you need anything. On the phone, Skype, whatever.”
I snort out a laugh that feels hollow in my chest. My brother is a horrible communicator. He’s saying this shit because I am too, but I never used to be, and he still doesn’t know what to do with that. “I won’t need anything. I’ve got six-day work weeks through the next month, and I sleep all day on Sundays.”
His frown deepens. “You live a blessed life, bro, but do you have to be a dick when I’m trying to be nice? It’s not easy to walk out on you for months at a time.”
Guilt rattles me, a beast that can’t be tamed. Nothing about being my brother should be this hard. Mykidbrother. Gabi is younger than me. It’s eighteen months, but still. It burns that he feels so responsible for me. That I’ve given him every reason to worry, and it’s not over. “All right, all right.” I step away to pour fruity red wine for another customer and make change, hoping Gabi’s expression will lighten by the time I get back.
It doesn’t, and the sigh I swallowed when I shuffled behind the bar escapes. “Look, I’m sorry. But I’m fine, honest. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy around here, and I promised Eve I’d help her move into that girl-tastic yoga commune next week. She mentioned plumbing issues. I don’t think she was kidding.”
A bare hint of a smile warms Gabi’s earnest features. Eve is his nearlygirlfriend and one true love, and I’m well known for avoiding her as much as I do him. I adore her, but…she’s a lot. For me, at least. Typically, Gabriel has the decency to sigh and leave me alone. Eve stands her ground. She leaves me nowhere to hide, and I’m not always in the mood.
Scratch that, I’m never in the mood. It’s only her kick-ass mac and cheese that pulls me in. That, and the house full of chicks she’s about to move in with. I have zero interest in romance right now, but despite my best efforts to live a quiet life, I’m still a red-blooded bisexual.
I’m also weak enough to crave my brother’s embrace, even if I’m not man enough to tell him I don’t want him to go. That I’ll miss him, like I always do.
I lean over the bar and hug him. He hugs me back and presses his forehead to mine like he did when we were kids and I was the one taking care of him. “Call me,” he says. “Doesn’t matter why, when, whatever. Just do it, okay? I need you as much as you need me.”
He makes it sound like we’re star-crossed lovers, but he’s depressingly right. Our parents have been gone a long time. There’s no one else, and the guilt in my gut kicks up a notch as I recall, unbidden, how close I’ve come to leaving him on his own.
Gabi leaves. I wish he hadn’t, and I wish he hadn’t stopped by at all. I keep moving, fighting shadows. The low lighting of the bar cloaks me, and I remember why I like working here. My team keeps me company even when I forget to speak, and it’s past nine o’clock before I give in and take a minute upstairs in my office.
Silence envelops me, but it’s not literal. As the night draws in, I can still hear the buzz of drinkers and the music. But up here on my own, the pressure of being “on” fades. I suck in a deep breath and drop into the chair at my desk. Wine notes and delivery schedules litter my workspace. Tidying it up has been on my list of things to do forever, but I like it messy. It reminds me I have something to occupy myself with if I need too many of these precious minutes. That I never need to be truly still, even if I’ve convinced myself I like the quiet.
My phone buzzes, breaking my dirge-like internal monologue.
I rummage around on my desk for it, then wish I hadn’t as Eve fills my screen with her bright eyes and kind smile. I hate ignoring her, but I do it anyway, and that makes me feel like shit.
So call her back.
I don’t. I bury my phone beneath more paperwork and go downstairs.
“Yo, Tanner.” Rainn, my favorite part-time bartender, is looking for me. “There’s a bunch of fire trucks outside. Looks like that hostel went up. You’d better check it out.”
Rainn doesn’t waste words, so I take him seriously, and duck under the bar to make my way to the front door.
Flashing lights greet me, along with the kind of milling crowds you always get around a disaster. Grief vultures. I sniff the air and smell smoke, and sure enough, Rainn was right. The backpacker hostel opposite V and V has gone up in flames.
