“Are you enjoying yourself, brother?”

That voice. Sharp as glass, slicing through the low hum of jazz and chatter.

The bar goes quiet. Heads turn. I don’t even have to lift my gaze, I know that voice too well. The arrogance, the desperation buried beneath false bravado. Slowly, I set down my glass.

Chase stands at the entrance, looking like a storm dressed in last night’s pride, shirt half-untucked, hair a mess, eyes rimmed red. The watch on his wrist gleams like it’s trying to ...