A couple of hours later, Joel teetered half-on and half-off a barstool at the farthest end of the bar. He still wore his suit coat from the meeting but had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. A series of empty shot glasses were lined up to his side.
The first two he’d drunk in quick succession. The slam of the glass onto the gleaming wood was an unsatisfying echo of what he’d like to do to Charles. The third went down slower and carried a hint of the difficulty he’d face when he told his sister about losing his job. It had taken them a few years to reunite after they exited foster care, and Joel’s determination to do right by her, and now her kids, warred with his panic.
The fourth tasted terrible and almost won the battle to come back up. It represented his denial. His foolishnes
