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As much as Ethan appreciated the gesture, all he was reminded of were his Mom’s incessant messages and his sister’s words being echoed back in Joyce’s concern.

Ethan chewed his cheek. He wasn’t some helpless, lost puppy who needed to be taken care of, and people needed to stop treating him like one.

Ethan sighed. “I’m fine, Joyce. Really.”

Her voice softened. “Honey, life is short. Look at what just happened. One day you’re barking orders and the next…” She snapped her fingers. “Poof.”

Grim, Joyce. Grim.

Ethan didn’t have much of a response, mostly because she was right.

She stood up and grabbed her purse. “I mean it, though. Get outta’ ya’ comfort zone. Go out to a bar. Talk to someone. Just give it a try.” She paused at the door and looked back at him, eyes somber behind her glasses. “We could all drop dead tomorrow. Don’t wait until it's too late to start livin’. Plus, you’re a cutie pie!” She winked and gave him a wan smile as she closed the door behind her.

Ethan sat alone in the office. The silence was loud, but Joyce’s words were louder. He thought about Jake, about the empty office across from him. About how a person’s life could be packed away, stowed into boxes, just like that. He thought about his little apartment, Teddy, and how every weekend bled together into the same blur of Netflix and microwave dinners.

Is this really it? He thought, too scared to know the answer.

Joyce was right. Enough was enough. He’d been here an entire year and not once had he ventured out into some kind of social setting.

Tomorrow night, he decided, he was going out.

If Jake’s death had taught him anything, it was that people’s memories of you were all that remained after you’re gone. What scared Ethan more than death, though, was the thought that when he was gone, nobody would remember him at all.

One night. One drink. Just say hello to someone.

Ethan grabbed his jacket and paused at the door. He gave one final look back at Jake’s empty office, a hollow room now stripped clean of any trace of Jake McKinney.

Whatever was waiting for Ethan out there, whether he’d fall flat on his face or actually make some kind of connection with someone, it had to be better than this.

Shutting the door behind him, he made his way through the quiet of the office with an ember of hope and out into the cold night air.

Steam billowed around Ethan as the hot water trickled down his body. He was lingering in the shower far longer than he needed to—stalling—and he knew it.

Giving in, he turned the water off and watched as the last of it circled down the drain, willing his self-doubt to go along with it.

Come on, Ethan. One drink. Say hello to someone.

He stepped out of the shower and wiped the fog from the mirror. Pausing, he stood back and looked at himself, paying more attention than he usually would.

Almost everyone in the city worked out. He also did his best to keep in shape, running a few miles during the week with a consistent enough routine to show for it. His skin was a little more pale than he would have liked, sure—but who in Seattle wasn't?

Hair lightly dusted his chest, trailing down his stomach. He wasn't a Greek god by any means, but he looked good. Desirable.

Ethan ran his hands through his damp hair, pushing it from his face, the light catching his forest-green eyes. For a moment, his chest tightened as he looked back at his reflection, trying to see what someone else might see. Would they think he was attractive? Or would they see right through him to the anxiety raging inside? He dragged his hands across his face, groaning through his frustration.

This is supposed to be fun, remember?

Imagining someone doing this for enjoyment almost made him laugh. Ethan grabbed a towel, quickly drying himself off before his mind could spiral any further. Sliding on his jeans, he felt the catch of the rough denim against his bulge as he tugged them into place.

He at least had that going for him, he thought.

Searching his closet, Ethan pulled down some options from an array of similar-styled t-shirts and tossed them on his bed. Teddy jumped up, curling next to the dark, fitted button-down.

“Good call,” he laughed, grabbing it and throwing it on.

He slapped some product through his already messy hair and called it a day. It didn't really do much, but it at least felt like he'd made some sort of effort, and he'd take any boost of confidence at this point.

The nightstand beside him vibrated, and he looked over and grabbed his phone. A text from Mom: Thinking of you, sweetie. Call me when you get a chance. Love you.