Chapter One "Ryan." Someone called my name. I was leaving the Juniper Pig and stepping into the parking lot, heading for my car. The voice that came through the dark was sharp and husky, a knife swipe through the night, and I jumped. I couldn''t tell if a man or a woman had spoken. After work I''d stopped by the Pig, the microbrewery I''d owned a small stake in for the last sixteen months. I was one of three partners, and my contribution had been the smallest, but we took turns going by in the evenings to see how things were running. And that night was my turn.
I hadn''t wanted to stop by the bar. Amanda was waiting at home with our baby, Henry, and thinking of seeing them made my stomach flutter with anticipation and joy. My time away from them felt longer than the hours that passed on the clock, and returning to them every evening was sweet relief. Since Henry had been born, I''d been trying hard to curb my tendency to overwork. But it wasn''t easy. Since my dad died while I was in college, leaving my mother and me high and dry, I''d been compelled to keep going forward, to keep pushing at work. I hoped Henry would change that. I hoped I could slow down.
But a shadowy figure came toward me in the darkness, freezing my progress. The person was short, the face in shadow. It was early April, the air still cool, the days still lengthening. I waited, watching. I''d just posted to my Instagram account, sharing a photo of the beer I''d just sampled, one of our brewers'' latest concoctions, the HopPig IPA. "Who is that?" I asked. "Ryan?" Dawn Steiner? Her deadline loomed that week, just two days away, but I hadn''t seen or heard from her since that morning almost a month ago. And I''d made almost no progress on finding the money for her.
Had she decided to come looking for me? But then I saw who it was and slipped my phone back into my pocket. "Is that really you?" I asked the figure still standing in the shadows of the building. Relieved. He stepped closer, moving into the crisp light that spilled from the windows of the Pig. "It''s me," he said. "Indeed." Blake Norton. My best friend from college.
And also my most challenging. He was loyal, fun, and charming. He was immature, reckless, and juvenile. He was Butch Cassidy crossed with Bluto from Animal House. I hadn''t seen him in six months, even though we lived in the same small city, Rossingville, Kentucky. He held out his hand, and we shook. Blake looked thinner, healthier, like maybe he''d dropped fifteen or twenty pounds. His face was less puffy.
I wondered if he''d stopped drinking and started exercising more, if he was on one of his periodic health kicks. He was shorter than me by two inches, and he wore a neatly trimmed beard. His shoulder-length hair was off his face and combed into place for a change, and his flannel shirt appeared to be free of stains, the sleeves rolled to his elbows with a measure of precision. "Why are you skulking around in the parking lot?" I asked. I realized I was happy to see him. Years of friendship, countless memories big and small, and an endless supply of fierce loyalty brought a smile to my face. "Skulking." He smiled as well.
"I could always count on you to come up with a ten-dollar word like ''skulking.''" "I got one of those calendars for Christmas," I said, "the kind that gives you a new word every day. Today''s was ''skulking.''" Blake shook his head. "No, you know all the fancy words. You always have. I remember you were an English major when we started college. You switched to marketing later, but I know what your real passion was.
" "You know why I switched to something more reliable as well as I do," I said. "I minored in English. And before Henry was born, I read a lot. And you''re still not answering my question." Blake turned to the side, his brown lace-up boots scraping against the gravel of the lot as he did. He looked at the Pig, then faced me again. "I shouldn''t go in there. Too much temptation.
" "You quit drinking?" I asked. "I stopped drinking. I''ll never quit." He shrugged. "It''s been about six weeks now." "That''s good. I''m glad to hear it." "Yeah.
It is. I even joined a gym." He held up his right arm and flexed, even though there was no way to see anything beneath the shirt. "Bright-eyed. Bushy-tailed. That''s me." "A gym? You couldn''t run twenty feet in college." "Ten if I was lucky.
And that was only if someone was giving away beer or pizza." I laughed. "True enough. Well, I''m happy for you." Cars passed on the street, their headlights making us squint. The air smelled like rain, and some thick clouds obscured the early-emerging stars. I wore a denim jacket but felt a shiver as the wind kicked up. Blake pointed across the street to the coffee shop.
"I was hoping we could talk. Just a few minutes. I know they don''t sell anything stronger than caffeine over there." I checked the time on my Apple watch. Amanda expected me. And I really wanted to get home before Henry went to sleep. Being home for his bedtime mattered to me. A great deal.
Taking part in the bedtime ritual helped ease my sense of missing out during the long hours I was away at work. "I can''t," I said. "Really, I just can''t. Amanda''s been with Henry all day, and I already got delayed here. One of our servers is going through a breakup, and he wanted my advice. That took longer than I expected. You know how seriously college kids take breakups. How about lunch tomorrow? That would work a lot better.
" "I know, I know. You''ve got a family now. And you''re dedicated. And juggling a lot. I get it. And I know these kids who work here look at you like you''re their sensitive big brother. I''m sure they bring you their problems all the time." "It happens.
They''re away from home. They have crises." But he started shaking his head. "But I kind of need this. It''s an emergency." "An emergency? What are you talking about?" But he simply pointed across the street. And smiled, a look I recognized and remembered well. The look said, Come on.
You''re going to want to hear this. It was certainly tough to say no to an old friend. And it was tough to say no to Blake. Sometimes it felt like he could convince anyone of anything. And while I''d learned over the years to recognize when he was stretching the truth or attempting to lead me down some path I shouldn''t take, a part of me always felt a little thrill at the thought of taking the ride. Blake knew me so well. And he knew so much about me. What emergency was he contending with tonight? Six months since we''d last talked and he looked like a man transformed? "Ten minutes," I said, pointing at the watch.
"Talk fast when we get there." He nodded, and we went to the curb, waiting for a break in the passing traffic, and then crossed the street side by side like when we were in college, doing every damn thing together. Chapter Two The place was called the Ground Floor, and the weeknight crowd was light. Most of the students from the state university in town went to a coffee shop near campus, one run by some recent graduates. The bell dinged over our heads as we pushed through the glass door, and Blake stepped aside, allowing an elderly couple to pass. They thanked him, and Blake gave them his brightest smile. "You two go straight home now," he said. "And don''t do anything I wouldn''t do.
" "We''re too old for that," the woman said, placing her hand on Blake''s arm. "I doubt that," he said, leaning in a little. And they all laughed. The Ground Floor catered to a professional crowd, one that came in early in the morning and during the afternoon and then drifted away when the sun went down. But I stopped in there from time to time since it was across the street from the Pig, and it seemed neighborly to support each other''s businesses. And I also knew the Ground Floor because my small PR firm had helped the shop with a branding campaign two years earlier. One of our designers had redone their logo, giving it a more modern look, and while I hadn''t worked on that job, I figured anyone who gave business to our slowly growing outfit deserved to receive my coffee patronage. At the counter I ordered an Americano while Blake opted for a blend, and we settled in at an isolated table in a corner of the room.
Al Stewart''s "Time Passages" played overhead, and the steamer hissed as it blew froth behind the counter. I loved the rich smell of the roasting beans, the lingering scent of the pastries baked that morning. I pulled out my phone and texted Amanda, telling her I was delayed but wouldn''t be long. It took a lot of willpower, but I ignored the flurry of notifications that came up, real-time responses to my beer photo from the Pig and a post from earlier in the day, a shot I''d taken of Henry being bathed. Be there soon. And as soon as I hit send and heard the swooshing sound of the text heading her way, I wished I''d just told Blake no, that I''d stuck to just going to lunch with him. But he''d used the word "emergency." Why? I had my suspicions.
When we''d met in college, we quickly settled into roles. Blake was wild, and I was serious. I studied too much, and Blake would get me to loosen up. Then Blake would go too far, and I''d rein him in. Blake would have a crisis-a girl, a professor, his parents-and I''d advise him on the best way to handle it. I expected a crisis. An irritated boss. A new relationship gone wrong.
I waited a moment, hoping Amanda would respond. But she didn''t. I''d tried calling her an hour earlier but hadn''t gotten an answer. Sometimes she tried to.