The party had reach a fever pitch. The windows winced on the bass’ off-beat and the carpet, once white and spotless, now looked spotted from the blobs of sherry and merlot.

At least it was decent stuff, Lance thought, taking up his own glass. Only some of it missed his mouth.

The lions share of the partygoers had collected around the fireplace in the den and were enjoying a good laugh tossing…whatever they felt like into it. The room smell like boozy breath and the smoke of things that shouldn’t be set to burn. The plastic and shellac perfume made Lance cough when he entered to check.

“Still enjoying ourselves, are we—?” He caught himself with a sharp inhale and darted forward. Drew’s partner was about to hurl a small, wooden train car onto the fire. Lance took his hand as if he was disarming a gunman. He squeezed until the man dropped it. He was far too far in the bag too much care about the assault and simply laughed.

Lance took the wooden toy away, nearly cradling it. His thumb brushed over his grandfathers initials. Still safe. He found a new perch in his bedroom (the one room safe from the party’s wild antics) and placed it there with a silent apology.