Page 29 of Operation Sunshine
“Vodka?” Ben asked.
“Water,” Ollie said. “Tonight.” He took a slow sip, then raised his glass to Ben. “Congratulations. You caught me on one of the rare grown-up evenings.”
Ben smiled faintly. “Lucky me.”
Ollie looked at him sidelong. “You checking up on me, boss?”
Ben shook his head. “Honestly? I was hoping to figure you out.”
“That’ll take longer than one glass of fake vodka.”
Ben leaned forward, his arms on the bar. “Then start somewhere.” He paused for a second. “You always drink. You make jokes that are too sharp to be meaningless. And you’ve got this thing where you pretend not to care, but I’ve seen you restock the bar as though it’s a sacred ritual. So. What gives?”
Ollie blinked. “Huh. You’ve been paying attention.”
Ben gave a small shrug. “I’ve been where you are. Notexactly—different vice, different grief—but I know the signs.”
Ollie stared into his glass, swirling the ice slowly. “You think I’ve got a problem.”
Ben hesitated. “I think you’re carrying something, and drinking helps you carry it.”
Ollie didn’t answer right away, but stared down at the bar top, tracing a water ring with his finger.
“I had a brother,” he said finally. “Theo. He was annoying and brilliant and better than anyone I ever deserved to know.” Ollie swallowed. “He died five years ago. Heart thing. Came out of nowhere.”
Ben’s chest constricted. “God. I’m sorry.”
Ollie gave a shrug. “I was supposed to see him that night, but I cancelled. I told him I was working, but really, I was at some guy’s flat getting drunk and talking shit about the future.” He paused. “By the time I called him back, it was too late.”
Ben didn’t fill the silence but waited.
Ollie exhaled slowly. “I don’t drink to forget him. I drink to stop thinking about what I could’ve done differently. About what I’ll never be able to fix.”
“And you think the alcohol helps?” Ben asked, his tone gentle.
“It doesn’t make it better,” Ollie said with another shrug. “But it blurs the edges and makes the guilt quieter. For a while, at least.”
Ben nodded. “I get that.”
Ollie jerked his head up. “Do you?”
Ben sipped his espresso. “Mine wasn’t a brother. It was… me. My choices. The things I gave up. The man I thought I could be.”
Ollie tilted his head. “You lost someone?”
“I lost time,” Ben told him. “Years of it. Pretending, hiding, being successful and miserable in equal measure.”
Ollie raised his glass. “To miserable men.”
Ben tapped his espresso cup against it. “To better choices.” After taking a drink, he cocked his head to one side. “Can I share something with you that I’ve learned about guilt?”
“Go for it.”
“Someone told me once they’d known people who’d done everything, and people who’d done nothing. Yet they all experienced guilt. That’s just being human. But realistically? What’s done is done, and dwelling on the guilt doesn’t do anyone any good.”
They drank. A long pause stretched out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
“You know,” Ollie said eventually, “you’re not what I expected.”
