Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Jack

I was already fifteen minutes late when the first fat drops of rain splattered against my forehead. Perfect. Just perfect. The early summer sky had threatened all day, but naturally, it chose this exact moment to make good on that threat. I picked up my pace along Hudson Street, my leather shoes clicking against the sidewalk as I dodged around tourists and locals.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—probably Liam or Brad wondering where the hell I was. I’d texted them earlier about the client meeting running long, but that had been almost an hour ago. The rain began falling harder now, and I broke into a run, clutching my suit jacket closer to my chest. My mother would have a fit if she saw me running in a thousand-dollar suit, but better that than showing up looking like I’d taken a swim in the Hudson.

Steel & Steam loomed ahead, its industrial facade somehow both imposing and welcoming. The neon sign cast a bluish glow onto the wet sidewalk, and warm light spilled from the windows onto the gathering puddles. I yanked open the heavy door, and the familiar mixture of whiskey, leather, and wood polish filled my nostrils.

The place was packed for a Thursday night. I scanned the crowd, squinting through the artfully dim lighting at the sea of young professionals unwinding after work. The exposed brick walls and copper fixtures seemed to amplify the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses.

“Over here, Jack!” Liam’s voice cut through the noise. I spotted him and Brad at our usual corner table, both nursing what looked like craft beers. Liam had loosened his tie, and Brad had rolled up his sleeves—clear signs they had been here for a while.

I made my way over, doing my best to ignore how my wet shoes squeaked against the concrete floor. “Y’all would not believe the day I’ve had,” I said, shrugging off my pin-striped jacket and draping it over the back of an empty chair. The fabric was damp, but hopefully not ruined.

“Let me guess,” Brad drawled, pushing a glass of bourbon toward me—my usual. “Johnson & Mills again?”

I collapsed into the chair, grateful for both the drink and how well they knew me. “Who else? Three hours of nitpicking every single comma in the contract.” I took a long sip of the bourbon, letting the warm spice of it chase away the chill of the rain. “Sorry for being late.”

Liam shook his head, that crooked smile of his making an appearance. “You know the rules, Jack. First round’s on the late arrival.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, already signaling the server. As I settled in, I couldn’t help but notice how right this felt—the three of us here, just like we’d planned during all those late-night talks senior year. Different city, different bar, but same old us.

Liam leaned forward, his beer forgotten. “So, how’s the corporate life treating you? Missing those all-nighters in the library yet?”

I laughed, though something tight caught in my chest. “God no. Give me project management over Professor Harrison’s exams any day.” The words came easily enough, but I thought about the quad in springtime, the way the cherry blossoms would scatter across the grass. The way everything had seemed possible then.

“You sure about that?” Liam pressed, reading me like he always could. “No regrets about trading your freedom for that corner office?”

“Corner cubicle,” I corrected, taking another sip of bourbon. “And no regrets. Though I will say, dealing with client expectations isn’t that different from managing group projects. Just with better pay and fewer pizza bribes.”

Brad straightened in his chair, adjusting his already-perfect tie. “Speaking of better pay,” he said, that familiar gleam in his eye, “you’ll never guess who made associate partner this week.” He paused for effect, as if we couldn’t see this coming from a mile away. “Youngest in the firm’s history, actually.”

“No way,” I drawled, sharing a knowing look with Liam. “You? The guy who once tried to argue his way out of a parking ticket by citing maritime law?”

“Hey, that almost worked,” Brad protested, but he was grinning.

I turned to Liam. “What about you? How’s life in the startup lane?”

Liam shrugged. “Same old. We’re working on this trading algorithm at SynergyCoin. Supposed to revolutionize the market or whatever.” His voice was flat, as if he were reciting a pitch he’d heard a hundred times but didn’t believe in anymore. “It’s all about machine learning and predictive models. Pretty cutting-edge, I guess.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds exciting.”

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Sure. If you’re into that sort of thing.” He took a long sip of his beer. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s solid work. Just... a grind, you know? Meetings, deadlines, more meetings.” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “The usual startup stuff. Crypto millionaires, blah blah. Anyway.”

For a moment, just a flicker, I wondered if I’d been wrong to push him toward tech. Back in college, Liam had been full of life when he talked about his art—photography, paintings, even the giant sculpture project he’d spent half a semester on. He used to light up when he described an idea. Now, he looked like someone whose battery was running on fumes.

The thought passed quickly, replaced by my usual logic. Art wouldn’t have paid his rent, let alone landed him in an up-and-coming crypto firm with a steady paycheck. Still, for a split second, I wished I could see that version of him again—the one who couldn’t stop talking about how cool his work was.

Before I could respond, Brad let out a startled gasp, his eyes glued to his phone. “Oh my God, look at this apartment on Long Island. It’s huge, and surprisingly affordable.”

“That’s because it’s on Long Island,” I muttered, but I took his phone, anyway. The listing showed a sprawling three-bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows and a terrace that looked bigger than my Airbnb. The price was... I blinked, sure I was missing a digit. “Damn, this is almost too good to be true.”

I passed the phone to Liam, watching as his eyes widened. The rain outside had settled into a gentle patter, and the bar had filled up even more, the after-work crowd giving way to the dinner rush. Something about that apartment listing nagged at me—it was too perfect, too cheap, like one of those dreams where everything seems fine until you notice all the clocks are running backward.

“We should check it out,” Brad said, already pulling up the realtor’s contact information. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

I thought about responding, about pointing out all the reasons why a too-good-to-be-true apartment usually was exactly that, but I kept quiet. Maybe it was the bourbon, or maybe it was the way Liam was still staring at that listing like it was the answer to everything.

“Maybe we should look at places in Manhattan,” I said, leaning over to scroll through Brad’s phone. “Or Brooklyn. That commute from Long Island’s gonna be brutal.”

Brad switched to a Manhattan search, and we all winced at the results. Studios the size of walk-in closets were going for more than our combined budget. Even the sketchy-looking ones with weird stains on the walls and “cozy” in the description were out of reach.

“Jesus Christ,” Liam muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t keep burning money on Airbnbs. We need to find something fast.”

A waitress appeared at our table, all bright smiles and carefully tousled hair. “Can I get you boys another round?” she asked, her gaze lingering on me a beat too long.

“Bourbon, neat,” I said, barely glancing up from the phone. “Thanks.”

“I’ll have the same,” Brad said, then nudged Liam. “What about you?”

“Another beer for me,” Liam replied, his eyes darting between me and the waitress.

I felt his stare and looked up, but he quickly shifted his attention to Brad’s phone, a slight flush creeping up his neck. Something twisted in my chest, but I pushed it aside. We had more pressing matters to deal with.

“Wait, go back,” I said, grabbing Brad’s wrist. “That one in Long Island City.”

The listing filled the screen: a stunning three-bedroom in one of those gleaming glass towers that had sprung up along the waterfront. Two bathrooms, three bedrooms, a doorman, and views of Manhattan that made my current fourth-floor Airbnb feel like a prison cell. The photos showed sleek hardwood floors, marble countertops, and floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the sunset. It was exactly the kind of place we’d talked about during late-night study sessions, back when New York was just a distant dream.

“This can’t be right,” I muttered, checking the price again. It was high, sure, but split three ways? Actually doable.

Brad whistled low. “Best place we’ve seen so far. Those views alone...”

“The commute wouldn’t be bad either,” Liam added, perking up. “One stop into Manhattan.”

“So why not take a shot?” Brad was already hitting the call button. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? We waste an afternoon looking at an amazing apartment?”

Liam and I exchanged glances, and I saw my mix of hope and skepticism reflected in his eyes. But Brad was already speaking into his phone, his ‘lawyer voice’ in full effect.

“Yes, hello, I’m calling about the three-bedroom unit in The Grand.” He paused, listening. “Tomorrow afternoon? Perfect. Yes, three of us.” Another pause. “Bradley Wellington. Great, we’ll see you then.”

He hung up, grinning. “Tomorrow at two. The realtor said we’re the first to view it.”

“First to view it?” I repeated, that nagging feeling returning. “For a place this good?”

But Brad was already pulling up his calendar, and Liam was talking about taking an early lunch break to make the appointment. The bourbon had left a warm glow in my chest, making everything seem just a little more possible.

“Just imagine,” I said, tracing a finger around the rim of my glass. “A place where I wouldn’t feel embarrassed to bring my family,” I said, tracing a finger around the rim of my glass. “Dad’s been begging to see where I live, but...” I trailed off, thinking of the cramped rental I was staying in until we could find a place together. He’d be horrified by the squalor, but it was all I could afford.

Brad cleared his throat abruptly. “Speaking of going,” he glanced at his watch, “I should head out.” He raised his hand, catching the server’s attention. It was the same deflection I’d seen countless times over the years, that instant shift whenever family came up. Sometimes I wondered if anyone really knew Bradley, or if we only knew the carefully curated version he allowed us to see.

The waitress appeared, still wearing that megawatt smile. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked, her eyes fixed on me, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“Just the check, thanks,” I said, already reaching for my wallet.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Liam watching me again, his expression unreadable in the dim light. When our eyes met, he glanced away, suddenly very interested in his empty glass. The waitress’s smile dimmed slightly as she dropped off the check, and I had the vague sense I’d missed something.

We split the bill three ways and made our way outside. The rain had cleared, leaving behind that fresh, clean smell that sometimes cut through the city’s usual potpourri of hot garbage and food cart grease. The sidewalk glistened under the streetlights, and the air felt electric with possibility.

“I’m telling you,” Brad called over his shoulder as he walked ahead, his voice carrying more than it should, “this apartment is going to change everything. We’re going to be like... real adults.”

“As opposed to fake adults?” Liam laughed, falling into step beside me.

Our hands brushed as we walked, and something sparked between us—literal static electricity from the lingering storm, probably, but it sent a shiver up my arm, anyway. I smiled, and for a moment, I had the overwhelming urge to reach out and take his hand. It would be easy, natural even. We were both out, both single, both...

Liam’s fingers grazed mine again, and this time, it didn’t feel like an accident. I studied his profile in the street light—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at something Brad was saying. How had I never thought about him this way before? We’d always just been Jack and Liam, best friends, nothing more.

Reality crashed back in like an icy wave. I’d seen too many friendships implode after failed relationships, watched too many friend groups fracture when couples split. What we had—this easy friendship, this trust—it was too precious to risk. Friendships lasted. Relationships burned bright and fast and left ashes in their wake.