Brady knew you were struggling. After losing your best friend, Buck Cleven, you lost yourself. Brady had watched it all—but, the night he caught you sitting outside on a decommissioned plane, flask in hand, he knew he couldn’t just stand on the sidelines anymore.

Brady sighed, walking to sit next to you. “You alright?” he called clearly, tucking his hands in his pockets. His eyes landed on the flask as your lips wrapped around the opening again.