Page 27 of When We Are Falling

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off. “If you want privacy, I’ll stay outside with Bandit.” He pulls out his vape with a defiant look, then takes a slow drag, the soft glow of the device illuminating his handsome face in the dark.

I glance at David, whose agitation seems to be growing by the second. “Come inside, both of you.” I’d rather Ethan wasn’t here, but it’s pretty clear he’s not going anywhere.

Ethan takes another drag from his vape before following us in. Tension rolls off him, but thankfully he keeps it in check. Inside, the bar’s familiar scent of wood and the remnants of beer is comforting in its own way.

“David, sit down.” I guide him to one of the wooden bar stools and then turn on the light over the bar, blinking against the white brightness that shines directly overhead, an oval oflight in the darkness. He sits, still twitchy, eyes darting around the room. I turn to Ethan, who’s watching us closely, Bandit sitting obediently by his feet.

“Ethan, you too.” I motion to a table against the wall, as far away as possible from where I’ve sat David. I walk beside him and wait as he takes a seat, his gaze never leaving David.

“What’s going on, Blake?”

A brief pause, gathering my thoughts as Bandit settles on the ground at Ethan’s feet. “David’s an old friend. Just give me a chance to work out what’s going on.”

He looks at me for a long time, like he’s really seeing me, all of me, and it’s disconcerting. “Take your time,” he finally says. “I’ll be right here.”

He sits upright in his chair, all broad shoulders and strong frame, almost possessive in his unyielding promise of support. His silent strength radiates through the room, while the dim light casts shadows across his face.

I wish he wasn’t here, complicating things with his stubborn protectiveness, but there’s something about his presence that steadies me, grounding me in a way I can’t quite explain. Walking back to David at the bar, his eyes darting nervously around the room, I settle on the barstool beside him.

For a few seconds, our shared past looms between us. The impossible pain of losing our birth families, the ones who were supposed to love and protect us, seared deep in our souls, the belongings stuffed into plastic bags as we were shuffled from one foster home to another. The feeling that there was no one in our corner, not a single person we could rely on not to leave.

It’s a mark we both wear, the deep-seated knowledge that we never really belonged, that unconditional love was something foreign to us. The weight of those years lingers. It’s a part of us, an invisible scar that binds us together.

Reaching out, squeezing David’s hand. “Hey, do you want some juice or water?”

He looks up at me, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. “Water, I guess.” He scratches his arm again, filthy nails digging into healing scabs.

Did I play a part in this? Did I get him using again because I didn’t support him properly when he came to me about Sylvia? Resolve to help him no matter what builds inside.

I go behind the bar, grab a glass and fill it with water, before handing it to him. “I’ve been trying to call you. But you haven’t called me back.”

He looks at the bottles of liquor stacked against the far wall. “I’ve been busy.”

“David,” I say, my voice softer now so Ethan can’t hear. “Are you using again? Drinking? Because we can get through this.”

His reaction is immediate. His eyes flare with anger, and he slams the glass down, water sloshing over the sides, running in a sad river over the smooth wood of the bar. “Why are you assuming the worst in me?” His voice is rising. “I just want you to remember about the locked room and you’re fixated on everything I’m doing wrong!”

He stands abruptly, the stool toppling over, hitting the floor with a loud clatter. My heart races, but before I can react, Ethan is there. He positions himself between us, his gaze locked on David, muscles tense and ready. Bandit is at his side, a low growl rumbling from his throat.

“Calm down, man.” Ethan’s voice is controlled but tension radiates through him.

I’m horrified that Ethan’s even here at all. He has no idea I was in foster care, and now he’s seeing this—my past laid bare in the most chaotic way possible. To make things worse, I don’t know what to do to deescalate the situation. David’s agitation, Ethan’s protectiveness—it’s a volatile cocktail.

My instinct is to try to reach Ethan first, get him to back off so I can get through to David, get him the help he needs before he disappears again.

“It’s okay.” My soothing hand rests on the tense of Ethan’s forearm. “I can handle this.”

But Ethan doesn’t move, my past facing off against my present. “Blake, he’s not in the right state of mind. He needs to leave or calm down.”

David’s hands shake as he glares at Ethan. The soft brown of his eyes are filled with so much hurt, so much torment. “I’m not crazy. I just need her to remember!”

“David, please,” I say gently, stepping around Ethan. “I want to help you. Let’s have a drink of water and I can fix you something to eat if you’re hungry.”

His eyes flicker with both desperation and frustration. “The locked room,” he says, his voice breaking. “You have to remember what she did to you in there.”

I glance at Ethan, who gives me a slight nod, as though indicating he’s got my back. A deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “Okay. We’ll talk about the locked room. Just sit down, please. Some food and water will help, I promise.”

“So you remember?”

---