By the next morning, I was sitting across from Brandon in a cramped office above his auto shop off Colfax Avenue, trying to hold a paper cup of coffee without shaking.
Brandon had been my best friend since we were nineteen. He’d seen me broke, drunk, heartbroken, ambitious, exhausted, successful. He’d stood beside me at my wedding to Nicole.
And now he stared at me like he barely recognized the man in front of him.
“You sure you heard it right?” he asked carefully.
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