With ease, I push my car door closed, latching it enough to make the dome light flicker off, then I jog to Owen’s front porch, and I tap my key ring on his front door, wanting to keep everything quiet. When nobody answers after my second attempt, I try my hand on the doorknob, and when it twists, I push lightly, letting myself inside.

“Hello?” I call out, the downstairs lights dim, only a lamp on in a corner by a reading chair. The living room is dark as is the kitchen, but there’s a glow from the rooms upstairs. “Hello? Owen?” I say loudly, my voice directed up the stairs. I hear footsteps coming down the wooden floors of the hallway, and soon I see Andrew’s sock-covered feet.

“Hey, Kens,” he whispers, gliding down the steps quickly and meeting me on the bottom. “You here for O?”

“Yeah,” I whisper back, taking his lead. “He left school, and he has a game today. I…I was worried.”

Andrew smiles, his hands hanging in the front pocket of his hoodie, his hair disheveled, like he’s been sleeping. “I came home sick today,” he says, running his hand a few times through his hair when he notices me looking at it, his smile reflecting his youth. “My mom came to get me, because she didn’t want to bother Owen. But when we got home…”

Andrew turns to look over his shoulder, back up the stairs, and Owen is standing at the top, his eyes on mine, his face showing a look of disappointment. “Andrew, go back to bed,” he says, sighing. He takes a few steps, and meets Andrew in the middle of the stairs.

“See ya later, Kens,” Andrew says, a small wave over his shoulder. Owen keeps his back to me, pointing to his brother’s door down the hall, and he watches until his brother is back inside, the door closed, before turning back to face me.

“Kens, what are you doing here?” His sigh is heavy, and he looks like he’s been mugged, a small bruise forming on one cheek.

“Owen, what happened?” I say, reaching to touch it. He jerks back, moving up and away from me.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he says, his eyes rolling a little with his temper. “Didn’t Ryan find you? I’m coming back for the game. I was just going to meet you at the gym.”

“He found me. He said…” I’m interrupted by the sound of open wailing—heavy cries filled with swear words and a few nonsensical things.

“Owen!” James finally yells, his voice broken, sounding nothing like the intimidating figure from before.

“Just…stay here,” Owen says forcefully, his hand held up to my face as he turns quickly and takes the steps two at a time, rushing down the hallway to where I’m assuming his brother is.

At first, I do as he asks, letting my hands grip either side of the banister, my body swaying back and forth with indecision—to go up or down. I hear the sound of scuffling at first, then something heavy knocked to the floor, followed by the sound of running water. It’s as if my feet carried me on their own volition, and somehow I find myself standing in front of the bathroom. Owen is kneeling, his body leaning over the bathtub, steam coming from the blast of running hot water, and he’s soaking towels. He doesn’t notice me until he shuts the water off, and begins to twist one of the towels, wringing it of excess water.

“Kens, I told you to wait there!” he yells, his face angry and his eyes stern. He’s trying to use his aggression to dominate me, as I’ve seen him do to others.

“How can I help?” I ask, taking a step into the bathroom, then stopping dead in my tracks when I realize James is lying naked around the corner, his head resting on the side of the toilet, vomit…everywhere. I cover my mouth and nose, both to hide my shock and to stifle the smell. Owen was trying to keep this from me, but it’s becoming apparent that he’s also trying to keep it from everyone—leaving no one there for Owen.

James begins weeping the instant he sees me, his eyes not able to focus on me entirely, the puffiness almost swelling them shut. Owen slides back against the side of the tub, his hands dropping the wet towel on the floor, his long legs stretching out as he flips his hat from his head, tossing it out into the hall.

“Shit!” he yells, pushing his head forward into his hands, his fingers digging roughly into his hair, wrapping through strands and pulling until he finally releases and lets his head fall back against the edge of the tub. When he rolls it to the side slightly, his eyes catch mine again, and his strength is gone. Owen isn’t falling apart; he was never together.

“Let me help,” I say softly, my lips quivering with nervous energy, my mind putting the pieces together while everything before comes into focus. I have options, I have help—and it’s going to be painful. But Owen can’t do this…whatever this is…on his own. Not if he still wants to live his life.