First, it had been my father. A decent man when he was sober. A monster when he wasn’t. Then my brother had fallen under the spell of alcohol at a young age, first using it to self-medicate at the tender age of nine. By the time he’d reached the legal drinking age, he was a full-fledged alcoholic. And now I had another man slurring and staggering around my living room. Unlike the first two, this one wasn’t blood. But he held both my future and my brother’s in the palms of his hands. If it hadn’t been for that fact, I would’ve escorted him down to the limo I hoped had brought him and instructed the driver to take him home. Banking on the fact that so far he had been capable of semicoherent speech, I asked, “What’s going on?” “Your brother needs to leave. Now. Tonight.” “He can’t. He’s still in the hospital. They haven’t released him yet.” “Shit.” Kam looked around my place, seeming confused, as if he didn’t know where he was. He wobbled to the couch and flopped onto it.
