The house should have been on the market years ago. There had been multiple home invasions in the neighborhood recently, as well as a shooting a few houses down. My grandparents could no longer make the case that they still felt safe. We all knew moving was inevitable, but like a girl who still couldn’t get over the fact that her soccer career was over, none of us wanted to let go just yet of the memories of what used to be.

“Merry Christmas.” I heard my grandma in the distance. Who was she talking to? Everyone was here.

“What?” I turned back to Jeff, who had asked me something.

“I said, where’s lover boy? I thought for sure you’d have him here to show off.”

“ ‘Show off’?”

“You’re dating a famous hockey player, I’d show him off.”

“We aren’t dating. I’m his translator slash tutor,” I corrected.

“Yeah, I had a tutor once. Totally banged her.”

“Nice Christmas talk,” Uncle Rick said, slapping Jeff upside the head.

“Auden! Phone!” Gram called.

Phone? The ring must’ve been drowned out by my family’s chattering. I pushed back from the table and ran up the stairs to the kitchen, where our main house phone was mounted on the wall. And, yes, it was a rotary.

“Hello?” I asked after Gram handed me the receiver.

“Audushka? Merry Chrissmas,” Aleksandr slurred.

“Merry Christmas, Sasha. What are you doing?” I played dumb, since I could practically smell the vodka through the phone.

“I am sitting in this very nice establishment having dinner and I realized I did not call you and wish you a merry day. I do not celebrate this day, but I know you do, so I am calling you.”

“Well, thanks. Are you okay?”

“Okay? I am very okay, Auden. However”—he paused to belch in my ear—“I think they would like me to leave.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear with a grimace. “What makes you say that?”

“They told me to go home.”

“You’re not driving, right?”

“No, no, no. They won’t let me. This nice gentleman said he would call me a cab, but I told him I had a ride.”

Silence.

“You need me to pick you up, don’t you?” I asked after a moment.

“Yes.”

“Where are you?” I sighed, grabbing a pencil and piece of paper from the second shelf of a tiered plant stand in the corner of the kitchen.

“A very nice establishment.”

“Yeah, you said that. Where is it?”

“No clue.”

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. “Is there someone I can talk to who knows where you are?”

I winced at the loud clang and scrape in my ear. He either dropped the receiver as he handed the phone off or got hit by a semi. I hoped it wasn’t the latter.

“Are you coming to pick this guy up or what?” a rough male voice asked.

“Yeah, I just need to know where to go.”

I wrote down the address he gave me, thanking him before I hung up.

Blowing past Gram and Aunt Sharon at the sink rinsing dishes, I ran to my room to grab my coat. I shoved my driver’s license into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, and returned to the kitchen.

“Was he drinking, Auden?” Gram asked, looking at me over her shoulder and not missing a beat as she rinsed those dishes.

“Yep,” I said, sliding an arm into my peacoat. “I’m going to pick him up.”

“Make sure he takes some Advil,” Gram ordered. “And roll him onto his side this time.”

“I will,” I said, wrapping a mock Burberry plaid scarf around my neck before I realized she’d said “this time.” I tried to recall a time she would have seen him drunk—Oh my gosh, my grandmother knew Aleksandr had been in my bed after the night in Canada. As I snatched my keys off the hook by the back door, I dared a glance over my shoulder. Aunt Sharon was putting dishes in the dishwasher, but Gram caught my eye and winked.

Aleksandr must’ve been pulling my leg when he’d told me he was at a “very nice establishment” because when I pulled up to the scary, dilapidated building on the outskirts of downtown Detroit, I didn’t want to get out of the car. I really hoped the jacked-up guy in a long, black leather coat and black knit beanie taking up the whole doorway was the bouncer. He looked like he could challenge Rocky Balboa in the next Rocky film.

“ID?” Rocky’s opponent demanded.

“I’m just here to pick someone up,” I told him.

“ID.”

I fished my driver’s license out of my back pocket, thankful that I’d remembered to take it before I’d left the house.

“I’m under twenty-one. I just want to pick up my friend. He’s really drunk.”

“Dude from the Pilots?”

I nodded.

“Wait here. I’ll get him.” He started through the door when I grabbed his arm. The muscle tightened under my grasp. His gaze traveled from my hand to my eyes.

“Sorry.” I released him. “Can I, um, can I just take one step inside?”

I checked over my shoulder. The street was devoid of people and cars, other than my own, but I was still freaked out. I was a wuss, and the bouncer knew it. Which was fine with me as long as he didn’t make me wait alone on the streets of Detroit.

His mouth turned up in an amused smile, but he held the door open for me to follow him inside.

If the steel door with a blacked-out window wasn’t foreboding enough, the smoky haze and urine smell when I entered was.

“Isn’t smoking banned?” I tugged the collar of my sweater up to shield my mouth and nose.

“Don’t make me regret letting your underage ass in here,” the bouncer called over his shoulder without stopping his pursuit.

Yeah, it didn’t seem like a place that cared about smoking fines.

I watched the bouncer weave his way through a small room crammed with a half dozen people and two pool tables. The bouncer tapped Aleksandr’s shoulder and pointed my way. When he swiveled in the bar stool and caught sight of me, his face lit up. At least he was a happy drunk.

“And I feel fine,” Aleksandr sang as the bouncer led him by the arm. “Remember that song?”

“There’s no song like that, man.” The bouncer shook his head, not amused with Aleksandr’s ditty.

“There is. Tell him, Auduska.”

“The Beatles?” I guessed.

“The Beatles! Ha!” Aleksandr poked the bouncer in the chest.

“Take him before I punch him,” the bouncer told me, letting go of Aleksandr’s arm. “Drive safe.”

Aleksandr wobbled on his feet, so I shoved my shoulder under him, wrapping my arm around his back. He tried to take a step, but fell onto me. I had to take a step back for leverage.

“Sorry, Audushka.” He squeezed my bicep. “You’re strong.”

“My car is right there.” I pointed with my free hand, which I’d extended for balance.

“I can walk,” Aleksandr said, shrugging out of my grasp and straightening. “I just wanted you to touch me.”

“Get in.” I shook my head as I walked around to the driver’s side.

“Thank you, Audushka,” he said, pulling his seat belt across his chest.

“No problem.”

And it wasn’t. I was happy he’d called me instead of trying to drive himself.

We drove in silence though the questions in my head were loud. Why had he chosen to get drunk at a bar by himself tonight rather than come over and have dinner with my family? I knew he didn’t celebrate Christmas, but it was more about eating and hanging out with us than celebrating the holiday.

“See this?” Aleksandr broke the silence. When I glanced over, he was pointing to the scar on his cheekbone, inches below his left eye.

“Yes.”

“You know how I got this?”

“High stick?” I asked.

“No. This one was a high stick.” He pointed to a scabbed-over gash above his right eyebrow, before trailing his finger back to the original scar he’d pointed to. “This was a bottle of vodka. Two years ago today.”

“How did it happen?” My grip tightened on the steering wheel. Bar fight was the first thought that came to my mind.

“I threw the bottle at a mirror. One of the two came back.” Aleksandr diverted his eyes out the window. “Two years ago today I was getting dressed for a game. Then my coach walks in with my aunt. I knew something was wrong immediately since my aunt hadn’t been to a game in years.” He paused to swallow. “She told me my parents died in a car accident on the way to my game. She said it just like that. Didn’t prepare me, didn’t ease me into it. I ran out of the locker room in full gear and drove to the hospital, but they wouldn’t even let me see the bodies. So I went back to my apartment and got drunk. I got angry. I threw the vodka bottle. All I could do was sit on my bed and cry and scream and throw bottles. My parents were killed trying to get to my game. They would be alive if it weren’t for me.”