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All the while, I struggled to keep my mind from disappearing down a dusty road in Afghanistan.

And Sid’s hand remained on my shoulder.

***

“Hey, can I, uh …” I held up my glass to the bartender. “Can I get another one of these?”

The man in the crisp white shirt and black vest eyed me warily, but took the glass without question. He filled it with ice, then whiskey, and slid it back over .

“Thanks,” I barely murmured with the brim already on its way to my lips.

Before it could reach its destination, the glass was swiftly taken from my hand, and when I turned to see who the thief was, I was met with Sid’s disapproving glare.

Fuck .

“How many of these have you had?” he asked, holding the glass up and swirling its contents in my face.

“Not enough,” I quipped, moving to take it back, but he pulled it from my reach. “Don’t be an asshole, Sidney.”

“You’re about to make yourself look like one if you don’t stop this shit.”

I scowled. “The fuck are you talking about?”

He scoffed. “Your speech, moron.”

“What speech ?”

“You’re the best man, remember? Or are you so fuckin’ drunk that you forgot?”

My frown deepened, and anger began to clear a path through my veins. “ Right . And that’s exactly why I need that drink, so hand it over.”

Sid had done pretty good for himself. The Army had set him up with a nice prosthetic.

State-of-the-art robotics. With all his physical therapy, he was moving almost as fluidly as he had when he possessed two actual legs.

All of that to say, he dodged my attempts to swipe the glass pretty swiftly for a guy missing a limb, and with every failed attempt, my rage rose.

“Give it a rest, Serg,” he warned under his breath.

“Oh, yeah? And who the fuck are you to give me orders? ”

He cocked a brow, a challenge flashing in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re gonna play that game with me right now, huh?

You’re gonna act all high and mighty? Well, how ‘bout this, Sergeant ? My superior officer wouldn’t be acting like a fuckin’ drunk asshole at his little sister’s wedding.

My superior officer wouldn’t be making a fool of himself in front of all these fuckin’ people. ”

“I don’t give a fuck about all these people.”

Sid laughed, his smile mocking. “Oh, don’t fuck with me, Max.

Yes, you do. You give such a huge fuck about what they all think about you right now, and that’s exactly why you think you need this, but, dude, you don’t .

” The grin dropped from his face as agonizing sincerity welled in his eyes. “You don’t need this.”

He was begging me without saying it. He was pleading for me to reach out and ask him for some kind of help, but what the fuck did he expect from me? Did he want me to be more like him? Resilient? Optimistic? Hopeful ? How could I suddenly be something I never knew how to be?

So, when he placed the glass on the bar and turned to leave, I didn’t waste a second in picking it up again and pouring its entire contents down my throat before he could glance over his shoulder.

I didn’t bother to witness the disapproving glare of the bartender as I laid the glass back down to silently ask for another drink.

What the fuck did he care anyway? He was getting all of my cash in tips.

Then, with my drink refreshed, I stumbled sloppily to the table I’d been assigned to, only to find my champagne flute filled nearly to the brim .

It’s now or never , I thought, making a quick decision to leave the whiskey at the table as I approached the DJ booth to ask for a mic.

The music volume was lowered. The guests were confused momentarily before turning to look at me. Somehow, among all of those sets of eyes, I found those of my father, peering out from the throng on the dance floor.

Imagine that. My father, the tyrant who couldn’t forgive a dog’s accident in the living room … dancing .

I cleared my throat as I brought the mic to my mouth, and without thinking, I began to speak.

“Hey, uh …” I addressed the crowd with a sweeping gesture of the champagne glass.

“Some of you probably don’t know who I am, and some of you do, but anyway, my name is Max.

I’m Ricky’s best friend … or his best man, but I guess also his best friend maybe.

Not sure that I am still, but … well, he chose me to be his best man, so”—a chuckle barked from my rough throat—"I guess maybe I am, but only maybe. Anyway!” I lowered my gaze to the floor and shuffled my weight from one foot to another.

“Uh … Lucy—Ricky’s beautiful bride—is also my little sister.

So, I guess you could say the only reason they’re even together, the only reason we’re all here right now is, well … me .”

I blew out my breath, oblivious to the uncomfortable silence that had engulfed the room, and began to pace one, two, three steps in one direction and back, keeping my blurred vision on my feet.

“Because, see, Ricky and Lucy weren’t supposed to be together, but before I was shipped off to join the Army”— one, two, three —“I asked Ricky to keep an eye on my sisters, to make sure they were okay while I was gone, but”— one, two, three —“I guess I forgot to also tell him to keep his fucking hands to himself—"

“ Max ,” Lucy warned, emerging from the crowd.

I looked up as I paced back toward the DJ booth— one, two, three —and held the glass of champagne up to her.

“No, no, no, Lucy, it’s fine. ‘Cause this story— your story—has a happy ending, right? Because if I had told Ricky to keep his hands off you—or Grace, I guess, since, you know, you two look the fucking same—then this wouldn’t have happened.

And, yeah”— one, two, three —“I was pissed when I first found out. ‘Cause doesn’t that go against some unspoken oath or something? Bro code or whatever the fuck they call it? Like, Rick”—I glanced toward the crowd, sweeping my gaze quickly through the mass of tense faces—“wherever the hell you are, didn’t you feel at least a little like an asshole, screwing my sister behind my back, while I was out there, being shot at? ”

“Maxwell.” My father’s voice drew my attention, and there he was, stepping out to stand beside my irate sister. “I would strongly advise you to reconsider whatever it is you’re about to say. You’ve caused enough damage here.”

One, two, three , and I stopped to stand before Dad. A humorless, huffed chuckle scraped over my throat and into the microphone.

“See, that’s exactly what I was about to say, Dad,” I said, my voice low and monotone, barren of emotion.

“That, out of all of my failures, of all the things I had ever done wrong”—I raised the glass and my pointer finger to him—"which, according to you, has been everything—am I right?” One, two, three .

“Of every little thing I have fucked up, I guess the least of them was to not tell good ol’ Ricky—wherever the hell he is—to keep his fucking hands to himself.

Because if I had , I guess there’s a pretty good chance none of this would’ve happened.

And that would’ve been a damn shame. ‘Cause this is truly a great wedding, Luce. Seriously. I mean, maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t die—right, Dad?

I would’ve missed this entire shindig, and whatever the hell that shit was we ate for dinner, and, uh”—I looked up toward the chandelier, peering at the dozens of dangling crystals—“that thing. That’s really pretty. Sparkly.”

“Hey.”

I turned so quickly to my right that I tripped over my own feet, and there was Sid. Ricky behind him.

“Ah, there he is,” I said. “The guy with the grabby hands. But really, Rick, I’m happy for you—"

“I think that’s enough of this now, man,” Sid said gently, taking the mic away without any effort at all.

He passed it behind him to Ricky, who hurried off to give it back to the DJ.

I glared at Sid, even as I shouted, “To Ricky and Lucy!”

But her name didn’t sound quite right, did it?

There was a slur in there, a slowness. And before Sid could grab another glass from my hand, I knocked back the champagne until the flute was empty.

I stumbled again, nearly falling backward, and the glass slipped from my hand to shatter on the floor.

Sid reached out to grab my shoulders and steady me back on my feet, but I wasn’t on my feet.

Not quite. The room was spinning. The one chandelier was now three—no, there were four.

I blinked heavily at the ceiling and drawled, “What the fuck was in that—"

Then, before I knew what was happening, my guts emptied all over the floor and my shoes and Sid. Somewhere, I heard people groaning with disgust. Somewhere, I heard someone—one of my sisters maybe—screaming as someone else—my other sister perhaps—began to wail, crying.

I remembered that they had called me a hero once upon a time. But what kind of hero ruined his sister’s wedding?

“You’re all right, man,” Sid said, rubbing my back, even as I became acutely aware of just what a mess I’d made of his dress shirt, tie, and pants.

“Oh God,” I groaned, my mouth dry, like I’d inhaled a bag of cotton. “Fuck. I-I’m—"

Before I could continue, I was shut up by a sharp, blinding pain blooming across my jaw. The blow nearly knocked me to the ground, but someone—was it Ricky?—caught me before I could hit the floor.

“Yo, what the hell, man?!” Sid shouted angrily.

“ You .” My father seethed, and my head wobbled on my neck until I was facing his finger, pointing directly at my face.

“I want you out of here now. Do you understand me? Get the hell out of here. You miserable, lousy, dishonorable piece of shit. You are an embarrassment to this entire family—do you realize that?”

I barely nodded as I choked out, “Yes. I do. ”

He guffawed, his laugh barren of mirth. “Well, at least we finally agree on something.”

Then he looked at Ricky and Sid and said, “Drag him out. I don’t want to see his face in here again.”