Chapter 13

  Ashes and Echoes

  The next evening, Scott and Aaron meet at the bar for drinks.

  Aaron blinks when he sees him.

  “I’m getting a feeling of déjà vu. Do you have your own fight club or something?”

  Scott shrugs, sliding into his seat. “Yeah. And you know the rules, can’t talk about it.”

  Aaron’s grin fades as he takes in the dark circles and bruises. “Wait…are you okay?”

  Scott shrugs again,” I’ll be fine. I’d rather not talk about it. What did you have to tell me?”

  Aaron blinks. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “We got the deal! They ate our pitch up, literally and figuratively. They loved the idea, loved the dessert, shockingly enough. They’ll be sending over the contracts soon covering distribution costs and marketing. We did it, man!”

  Aaron is already buzzing – part from the good news, part from the four empty shots of tequila.

  “That’s great, man. Really,” Scott says, raising his glass.“You’ve earned it. Just don’t forget about me when you’re on the top floor.”

  Aaron studies him, his smile fading slightly.“Okay…weird? That was just a regular compliment. No sarcasm, no joke. I think I detect…sadness? You sure you’re okay, man?”

  Scott swirls his drink for a minute, staring at the foam sticking to the side like sea foam washed ashore. He downs the full glass in three gulps and slams it down harder than he means to.

  Aaron opens his mouth, ready to throw another quip – but the look in Scott’s eyes stop him.

  A heavy air of silence sits between them.

  “I’m so. Damn. Tired.I carry people when they’re breaking – and right now? I’m the one that’s broken. And no one even knows it.”

  Aaron blinks. Scott's voice starts to rise.

  “Hell, half the time I don’t even know if I’m okay. But I can’t stop pretending. Because the moment I drop the act. The second I stop being the guy, I fall apart.”

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  Aaron sits frozen, his hands resting on his untouched drink.

  Scott’s knuckles are white around his empty glass. His voice cracks but doesn’t break.

  “I’m tired!”

  He slams his glass again. The bar goes quiet around them. Other patrons glance over. Aaron flinches but doesn’t move.

  Scott stares ahead. His breathing is heavy. His eyes glassy and bloodshot.

  He lets out a soft chuckle, “But you know what’s funny? The real punchline? I can’t stop. I can’t just stay down, even if deep down I want to.”

  Scott stares at his empty glass. His breathing, still heavy.

  He hears a beer slide closer across the wood. He eyes Aaron watching him, no judgement, just understanding. No jokes. No cliché words. Just a hand on his back.

  He doesn’t look at Aaron. No ‘thanks.’ But for the first time in a long time, he lets the weight settle — and believes he’s not the only one holding it.

  They sit in silence. One burning. The other reaching in – so he doesn’t have to do it alone.

  The music of the bar, the light chatter, and the feeling of being seen for the first time settles his bones.

  Back at Scott’s apartment, he drops his keys on the counter. The jingle echoes into the stillness. He moves to his kitchen, still a little numb. Not broken. Not okay. Just…different. Like something inside of him shifted a few inches to the left and hasn’t quite settled.

  He pours himself a glass of water, and leans on the counter. His eyes drift to the fridge. To the starmap.

  Pinned with a weak old magnet, slightly curled and singed at the edges. He’s looked it over a hundred times. Maybe more. But tonight, something catches his eye.

  A faint glow.

  His brow furrows. He leans in and squints. There – one star, near the corner. Barely visible. It wasn’t there before. He’s sure of it. But now? It pulses softly. Quietly.

  A star that no longer exists.

  A ghost.

  He takes the map down, carefully, like it might crumble if he breathes too hard. Carries it to his desk. And stares at it. There’s something familiar here. Not just a memory. Not just grief.

  Recognition.

  He traces the star with his finger, then unlocks his phone, and opens his browser. He types in the date of the fire. His mother's death. Searches for star maps from that night. When the screen loads, he compares the screen to the map.

  It matches.

  This map…is from the night she died.

  He turns and grabs the note.

  “Use this if another light ever goes out.”

  It was about her. The first time he felt the light of his life leave. The moment everything his life changed. And he felt he had lost a piece of himself.

  He presses his finger on the glowing star.

  A faint shimmer clings to his skin – the barest trace of light, like something alive.

  Then, a memory. Long buried. Suppressed, just like most of the night his mother died.

  A voice. Strong. Steady. Calm

  “Stars die too, Scott. But the light, it still finds its way through the dark.

  Even when you can’t see it…it’s still reaching for you.”

  Scott doesn’t speak. He doesn’t cry. Just sits there, the map still warm under his palm. And, for the first time in years, the ache in his chest feels different. It’s not emptiness. It’s something else. A thread. A tug. He carries the map to his room, and places it gently next to his nightstand, as he down in bed still staring at it. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the light goes out.