Bass thumps and synthesizers wail as the awful club song Anders had picked as his ringtone jars me from a deep sleep.

"Anders." my voice holds more gravel than usual and I clear my throat, trying to shake myself awake. "What's going on?"

"Naaaate, come downstairs and have a drink with me."

"I'm in bed, Anders, and from the sounds of things you don't need another drink. Come upstairs, okay?"

"Don't be like that. You're always like that. Always trying to ruin my fun. I'm just having a good time. I need to have a good time before I become a working stiff like you and go to bed at 8pm and never have any fun."

"I have fun."

"Then come downstairs. I miss you. You don't have to wear pants."

"I have to wear pants

"No you don't. The sign on the door says nothing about pants." The phone went dead.

I groan and climb from my bed. 1 am. Work will be hell in the morning, but at least I don't have a court appearance scheduled. I'll have to grab an extra cup of coffee and hope I don't pass out in the mountain of post–trial paperwork on my desk. I pull on jeans and the first shirt I can find, then shove my feet into my shoes and head downstairs.

The Crown and the Lion is one of the worst establishments I've ever frequented, but their drinks are cheap, their food isn't awful, and my apartment is upstairs, so it somehow turned into my default bar of choice. I'd even worked there for a while, back when I was in law school. Bartender at the seediest establishment in town wasn't even in the same vicinity as any Rendon Howe pre–approved life plans, but after my family was disgraced and whatever money we'd had left disbursed to the crown as reparations, I hadn't been left with much choice. I'd taken the job, used the tips to pay off some of my loans, and tried to look at the positives. I was alive, I was still working toward a career, and spending nights tending bar allowed me to meet some of the people I'd no doubt be defending in court, someday. Besides, the bar was where I'd met Anders.

I'll never forget that night for as long as I live. It was pouring down rain, but my childhood friend and more, Aedan Cousland, who worked nights as a bouncer, had gestured for me to meet him out back for a smoke break. I didn't smoke, but I often joined Aedan just to get away from the noise and lights and chaos of the bar. I'd yelled to Mhairi, the other bartender on shift that night, to cover me then followed Aedan out back.

Most nights, the back alley was deserted save the rats rooting about in trash piles, but not that night. That night, as Aedan and I stepped into the orange glow of the dirty light above the bar's back entrance, I heard a shout, then the sound of metal scraping against metal. I peered around the dumpster to see a man on his knees on the ground and a dark–haired female police officer snapping a set of handcuffs into place.

"Not that you'll believe me, you never do, but I didn't do it!" the man yelled. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not that broken up about it, but—"

"Save it," the officer said. "Let's go."

He didn't fight as she hauled him to his feet, metal of the cuffs digging into his wrists, then shoved him into her patrol car, not bothering to mind whether his head was clear of the door. I winced at the thud that resounded down the alley as head struck steel, but the man didn't so much as flinch.

Aedan finished his cigarette as the car drove off. "You should consider a move, bro. Neighborhood's going to shit."

I still can't tell you what made me drive to the police station that night, but before I knew it, I was pulling up in front and hoping the Howe name still held some small amount of weight in this town.

"A man was brought in earlier," I told the desk sergeant. "Around midnight. Tall, about as tall as me, I guess. Decently built. Blond hair. Ponytail. Nice clothes."

"I know the kid. Rylock brings him in every other day, seems like. You a friend of his? You don't look like his usual friends."

"I'd like to post his bail."

"You don't want to help him." The officer from the alley—Rylock, I assumed—approached the desk. "Kid's dangerous."

"Dangerous? What did he do?"

"This time? Punched a couple of cops then took off. Would have tried it with me too, only he knows better. I'm his meal ticket."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Kid like that, pretty face and expensive clothes, he knows he won't last on the street. Whores himself out once in a while to get a bed, then winds up in trouble with one client or another and needs a place to be. Does just enough to get himself here, but never enough for me to hold him. I bring him in, he spends a night, couple weeks later we do it all over again. Wish I could hold him, just once. Kid's a menace. Streets are better off without him."

"Sounds to me like he just needs somewhere more permanent to spend his nights," I said. "How much is his bail?"

Anders sits at the bar with a drink in his hand. He's dressed in the blue shirt I'd bought for him a few weeks ago because it made his golden hair shine and the amber in his eyes pop. He topples from his stool as he tries to stand and I rush forward to catch him before he hit the floor.

"There you are," Anders slurs, draping himself across my chest. "Come have a drink."

"How about I finish this one you've got and then we go upstairs?"

Anders grins. "Upstairs, eh? You want me, don't you? You miss me. You want to . . ."

I cut him off. The whole bar doesn't need to know what we are or aren't going to do when I get Anders upstairs. "Of course I do. I miss you. I want you to come upstairs with me."

"Good," Anders says. "Good."

I pay the tab then wrap an arm around Anders and help him toward the door. Anders flings one arm around my shoulder and jams his mouth against mine. The kiss is sloppy and comes complete with the aftertaste of lime and tequila.

"Not here. Wait a bit, okay?"

"No," Anders says. "I want you now. Right now, right here. I want everyone to know how much I love you. You know I love you, right Nate. You know there's no one else for me but you?"

"I know, Anders," I say as I usher Anders out the door and up the stairs. "I know."