TRIGGER WARNING - This chapter mentions sexual abuse. There are no graphic depictions, but it is discussed in some depth.

Ten Years Ago

When we get to the VIP area of Club Cobra, I'm sober enough to feel a twinge of nostalgia. We haven't been here in a while, but this was the very first club I went to with Wyatt and Isaac a few years ago. Squeezing Wyatt's hand, I can't believe we've been together for three years. He grins and then pulls my hand to his lips.

Darkness sits on all of us like a cloak. The lack of lights is one of the things I remember Isaac saying he loved about the club. Someone could trip over a friend and never be sure who it was.

"Do you see Isaac?" My high heels bring me close enough to his ear, so I don't have to shout.

"Not yet. He was coming with those assholes, though, so who knows?"

Bryson, Jimmy, and Aman. They came to the house a few times until Wyatt said he didn't like them around me when he wasn't home. Bryson's and Jimmy's assessing gazes made tiny spiders crawl all over my skin. They surrounded me once when Wyatt and Isaac weren't in the room. I tried to talk to Isaac about how they made me feel, but he brushed me off, said Wyatt babied me. I needed a tougher skin. Then, he took another pill.

Kissing my temple, he says, "Drink?"

I nod, and he lets go of my hand to wander over to the smaller VIP bar. A waitress could have taken our orders, but Wyatt's not good at waiting. A hand slides around my waist from behind, and I catch a whiff of familiar spicy cologne. Isaac. I half turn to catch his gaze and smile.

He holds a little vial close to my face. "You in?"

I check where Wyatt is at. Still at the bar. I bite my lip.

"Come on. It's not like he isn't going to hit me up as soon as he gets over here." His white teeth catch on the black lights which are a club favorite.

I roll my eyes and follow him to a table crowded with other people, some I know, some I don't. Aman, Bryson, and Jimmy are already there. Everyone looks wasted. Glancing over my shoulder, I search for Wyatt. He's held up talking to some guy at the bar. I don't recognize him, but Wyatt will talk to anyone.

Bracing myself, I slide into the seat beside Isaac, careful to avoid Bryson and Jimmy in the process.

Isaac taps out the coke and divides it up. Each person does a line in rapid succession like we've done many times before. Just before I do mine, I catch Isaac's gaze. He looks gaunt. He's not sleeping. He's in the living room at all hours of the night doing God knows what. I tried talking to him, but he sidesteps my questions. Watching him is like seeing a car accident in slow motion. His dad's death caused Isaac to swerve, and now I'm waiting for the sound of the crash.

"You alright?" Isaac asks into my ear.

Lost in thought, I realize everyone is staring at me, waiting for me to do my line. Without checking for Wyatt, I do it quickly. Isaac wants to see a tougher skin, I can pretend.

Wyatt pushes my beer across the table to me. When I look up, the coke hits me hard. He makes no effort to disguise the pissed off look on his face. He hates when I start without him. Sipping his beer, he scans the crowd, not meeting my gaze.

Isaac chuckles beside me. "I find watching the two of you highly amusing."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Cause he just loves you so God-damned-much. It's a beautiful thing to see."

Isaac leans in to me, and his eyes are heavily dilated. I giggle, even though I'm not sure it's funny.

"I'm glad I like you. For years, I worried. I didn't like any of the women he dated before you. Not one." He bumps my shoulder and grabs my beer, taking a sip. "But you're like this tiny little flower. How could anyone not like you?"

"I'm a flower?" Another giggle escapes me. I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of the booth.

"The most beautiful flower in the whole world." Wyatt slides into the booth on my other side. He tips his chin at Isaac. "Hit me up."

Isaac divides up more of the coke after giving me a knowing look. Both do a line and then Wyatt pulls me across him so I'm straddling him, pinned between the table and his body. He can never stay mad at me for long.  He fluffs my hair. Whenever I curl it, he can't keep his hands out of it. I bury my face in the crook of his neck. As he plays with my hair, my brain jumps from one thing to the next, never quite landing anywhere. I shiver, and Wyatt puts his hands on my ass, drawing me tighter to him, stroking my back as he chats to people at the table.

The coolness to my right draws my face out of Wyatt's neck. How long have I been laying against him? "Where'd Isaac go?" I search the club in a daze.

"Off with Aman." His voice is filled with annoyance. He tilts his beer to his lips around the side of me.

I climb off him and rub my head feeling disoriented. "I wanna go talk to him."

He shrugs and stands up, used to humoring me when I'm high. With his beer in one hand, he links our fingers loosely with the other. Before we leave the table, he takes a pill out for each of us and passes one to me. He leads me through the crowd. We wander for a few minutes without any luck. I squeeze his hand a little tighter. Unease dogs me. Is the feeling from the drugs? Or is something else at work? Taking the stairs to the second floor two at a time, Wyatt practically carries me. As we go around the corner at the top, there's a small room to the right I forgot about. Wyatt and Isaac disappeared into there the very first time we came here, but I never saw either of them go back. "What's in here?" I ask as we walk through the door.

He hesitates and when our gazes connect, his slides away quickly. "Bad stuff. Really hard drugs." This room isn't any better lit, and Wyatt narrows his eyes, searching the darkness. Tension radiates off him as he spots someone over in the far corner. We're almost upon them when I realize it's Aman and Isaac fighting in hushed voices.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Wyatt asks as we approach.

Isaac shoots Aman a warning look and turns to Wyatt with a wide smile. "Taking in the view."

"That's bullshit. There's no fucking view here." Wyatt looks around. "What's going on with you lately?"

My hand clutches his, but I'm focused on Aman who is staring at Isaac. "Is something going on between you two?" My fuzziness clears as my brain ticks through their body language, close talking, Isaac's fingers brushing Aman's hand, the way they sat next to each other in the booth earlier, sparks jumping in the dark.

Aman stiffens and shakes his head. "I'm out, man." He moves past me and Wyatt without another word.

"Two brown brothers can't hang out without you thinking it's something shady?" Isaac directs his question at me, but he's still watching Aman leave the room.

"Not shady." I search for the right word, and I finally settle on one. "Intimate. I—I don't know. You looked coupleish."

Wyatt's face scrunches up. "What?"

"It's nothing. Nothing." Isaac takes out his pills and pops two into his mouth.

"You and Aman?" Wyatt's voice is full of shock. "What about the girl you were dating?"

Isaac laughs darkly and focuses on me. "What do you think short stuff?"

"I don't think there was a girl." He's always talking about dating people, but we've never met any of them. Not one in the years I've been hanging around. Why didn't we ever press him to meet one? "I'm not sure there was ever a girl."

Wyatt rears back as though I've punched him. "What? Isaac, man, are you gay?"

"Brown brother's got a thing for brown brothers." Isaac pops another pill.

"Shit, man. I would never care." Bewilderment and hurt color Wyatt's voice. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Isaac scoffs. "You know who would have cared?"

Confusion mars his face, but I've put the clues together. "Your dad." I press a hand to my forehead. There were a few times, at Sunday dinners, when Kabir made veiled comments about all the gay people in Los Angeles, specifically the film industry. His homophobia surprised me.

"Ding. Ding. Ding." Isaac points at me. "Ellie Cooper for the win. You've got a winner there, Wyatt. You're gonna need to hold on tight. She sees through all our bullshit."

He gathers me closer to his side. "That's what all this shit's been about the last couple of weeks? You're doing whatever with Aman, and you'll never get to tell your dad the truth?"

Isaac stares at his feet and then pulls his pill bottle out of his pocket again. He toys with the container, moving it from hand to hand. When his gaze rises, he narrows his eyes at Wyatt, calculating. He turns to me and says, "I should have gone after Phil Leeman when he tried to rape you. I'm sorry I only picked you up and didn't do anything about it."

"Oh, Isaac." I lean toward him. Such a long time ago now.

He holds up his hand and shakes his head. "No, I should have, Ellie. I should have. That's always been my problem. I don't know how to stand up for myself."

Wyatt glances down at me, and my own confusion is mirrored in his face.

Isaac pops open his bottle and shoves another pill in his mouth. I step forward. He's taking too many. Isn't he? How many was that? I can't count. My brain isn't working right. "Wyatt." But that's not the name I mean to say.

"All those years we were kids. I never stood up for myself."

"What are you talking about? With who?" Wyatt frowns.

Isaac paces at the back of the small room. There are other people around us, but they all seem half-asleep. "I bet it never happened to you. I've wondered so many times. But you're Wyatt Burgess, right? Someone hits you, you hit back twice as hard." Isaac chuckles but it's unsteady.

"Someone hit you?" Wyatt's frown deepens.

Through the haze, ideas form in my head. "I don't—I don't think he means hit." I rub my forehead, trying to find some clarity. Why did I take that pill from Wyatt?

Isaac points. "Your girl, man. Short stuff, you're on fire." His grin is lopsided. "I didn't think any of them would have tried anything with you." He grabs the back of his neck and stops pacing for a moment. "I don't know why I let them. I was old enough to know what they were doing was wrong. I knew it. I did. But, I...every time it happened with anyone, I froze up. I just—I couldn't move."

Wyatt's expression is a mixture of frustration and confusion. He can't put the pieces together. Have I? His Phil Leeman happened a long time ago.

I drop Wyatt's hand and stand in front of Isaac. He meets my gaze, and I cradle his face in my palms. "You were just a kid. Whatever happened wasn't your fault," I say. "Just like what happened to me with Phil Leeman. He made a choice to attack me. Whether or not you knew what they were doing was wrong, you were just a kid."

Isaac's eyes are locked on me. "I've never told anyone. Never. Who would I tell? I wanted to get into this business. I begged my parents to take me to auditions. They gave up their jobs to follow me around. But the fame wasn't enough for what they took." His eyes are filled with anguish. "This town. This business. It's not meant for a kid."

"It's not your fault," I say again.

Wyatt rubs my back. "Isaac, someone..." his voice trails off. "Molested you?"

Isaac tears his gaze from me to seek out Wyatt. "Not even once? No one tried it even once?"

He shakes his head. "I had no idea," he says. "If I'd known..."

Scoffing, Isaac breaks free from me and paces again. "What would you have done? Huh? What'd I have some sign on me? Is there something about me that says people can do those things and I won't say anything? I'll just take it?" He points at himself and then pounds a fist into his chest. "You know why I never told you I was gay?"

Between the coke and the pill Wyatt gave me downstairs, my head swims. The right words are somewhere, and I need to give them to him.

"I don't know why you didn't tell me. It wouldn't have mattered to me. It doesn't matter to me. You're my brother, man. I love you." Wyatt's voice is firm.

"I hated that I liked men touching me. My desire was disgusting. I was disgusting. My dad would think I was disgusting." Tears litter Isaac's face. When did they fall? "How could I be gay? Was that why they did those things? Did they know? Did they sense it?"

"I don't." My brain isn't functioning. "No, Isaac. That's wrong. It's not you—"

"You shoulda told me. I would have protected you." His voice is raspy like he's on the verge of crying. "I woulda stopped it. Whatever I had to do. I would have done something."

Isaac stops pacing and stares at him. "How could I tell you that? Then you'd know."

Wyatt shakes his head, confused.

"You'd know I was weak," Isaac says.

Wyatt's jaw tightens. "What happened to you isn't your weakness. You were a kid. We were kids."

"But it didn't happen to you," Isaac says. "It happened to me. For years." Shaking his head, Isaac uses both hands to wipe his cheeks. He sniffs. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I'm so fucked up right now. I gotta go. I gotta get out of here."

Wyatt tries to grab his arm, but Isaac moves past us. We stampede down the stairs with Wyatt calling Isaac's name, pleading at first, and then pissed off. Isaac moves much faster than we can. Dread fills my stomach. Acid bubbles into my throat.

Once we're outside the club, Wyatt finally grabs Isaac's arm, dragging him to a stop. A small crowd gathers around us, and unease builds in me. We shouldn't be doing this here. "Isaac," I say. Let's go back inside. Drink some water. Come down off this high.

"I don't feel well." In the lights from the street, a sheen of sweat coats him.

"What did you take?" Wyatt scans Isaac, concern etching his features.

Isaac chuckles and then it's as though he's a marionette whose strings have been cut. He collapses onto the ground in a puddle. The crowd gasps, and I rush to Isaac's side. As soon as I reach him, the convulsions start, his body jerking and contorting in ways I didn't know a person could move.

"Call 9-1-1!" Wyatt hollers into the crowd, grasping Isaac's head, trying to keep it cradled in his lap.

I fumble in my pocket for my phone. Is anyone else calling? My fingers are too fat and useless to type in the numbers.

"Stay with me, man," Wyatt says when Isaac's eyes roll back in his head.

A man approaches from the side. "I have 9-1-1 on the phone. What's the problem?"

"Overdose," Wyatt says through clenched teeth. "Drugs unknown." He's so focused on Isaac I'm surprised he even knows to answer.

The seizure goes on forever with Wyatt trying to keep his head from banging all over the concrete sidewalk. Finally, he stills. I stare at the crowd, thick with strangers.

"He doesn't have a pulse." Panic vibrates off Wyatt. "Ellie, Ellie. Can you find a pulse?"

Sirens build in the distance. I press my fingers against Isaac's neck, but there's nothing. Am I checking the right place? I move my fingers around. There has to be a pulse somewhere. People have a pulse otherwise they're... His lips take on a blueish tinge.

Wyatt moves to Isaac's chest and starts compressions. "You need to breathe into his mouth, Ellie." He doesn't break his frantic pace. When Wyatt pauses, I breathe into Isaac's mouth and his chest rises. "Come on, Isaac," he says. "Come on. Come on." He pushes hard and fast. How does he know what he's doing?

The sirens are on top of us now, but we keep going. When the paramedics get there, they push Wyatt off Isaac's chest to get him to stop. Wyatt wobbles as he tries to stand. The paramedics fire questions at him about the possible drug combinations, take vitals, load him onto the gurney, and rush him into the ambulance.

Kyle appears out of nowhere and guides us to the waiting car. Wyatt slides in, but he doesn't look at me. His gaze is trained out the window. "He's going to be fine," Wyatt says as we drive to the hospital. "He's tough. He'll pull through. He's not going to die."

My heart beats quickly and loudly in my chest, Wyatt's mantra is almost drowned out. If Isaac dies... He can't die. He's invincible. He's taken a lot more drugs than he did tonight. My memory flashes with all the pills Isaac took as we talked. How many? So many.

We arrive at the hospital and rush through the emergency doors. At the threshold, we're greeted by a doctor who takes us back to a room with a curtain around it. My stomach rolls. I'm hoping that behind the curtain is a smiling Isaac. I'll tell him he needs to start taking better care of himself. I'll tell him I love him. I'll tell him he doesn't have to do this anymore. We'll get him help.

"I'm sorry." The doctor stands in front of the curtain. "He was DOA. We couldn't get him back."

Wyatt's legs buckle, but he manages to stay upright. He closes his eyes. "Can I see him?"

"We're calling his next of kin," the doctor says while he finds the opening in the curtain.

"Tanvi," Wyatt breathes her name like a prayer. His eyes, when they turn to me, are hollow, his face, gaunt. "Tanvi."

"I know." First her husband, now her only son.

Seeing Isaac, lying on the hospital bed, is surreal. He should wake up, but at the same time, I'm struck by the difference in a person once their heart no longer beats. He's Isaac, but he's not.

"I can't." His voice catches on a sob. "I don't." He tries to speak again. Then a sob rises out of him so gut-wrenching the sound will haunt me for the rest of my life. Pure heartbreak. His shoulders collapse and rise again like the waves in a stormy sea hitting the shore. I wrap my arms around him, hugging him from the back. He clutches Isaac's hand, and for the last time, the three of us are united.