Neil stands halfway down the porch from the tub so the others won't have to smell the cigarette smoke and lights up. He turns the cigarette between his hands, dimly aware of the others' laughing conversation, more aware of the taste in his mouth. He runs his tongue along his teeth, wondering what to think.
In the end the cigarette is enough to tip the scales. Andrew smelled of cigarette smoke and whisky the night he gave Neil a key to his house and told him to stay. Neil is always going to carry his past with him, but he doesn't have to be weighed down by it. With enough time he can smooth the wretched edges out and replace his triggers with better memories.
Andrew comes up alongside him and sets the bottle of scotch at his feet. Neil slides his cigarettes across the wooden railing toward him. In exchange Andrew sets a refilled glass halfway between them. Neil watches sunlight flash off the rocking surface and flicks ash to the dirt fifteen feet below.
He holds the cigarette out of the way when he picks up the glass, and he downs the whisky in one slow go. It is just as harsh as the first shot had been, but it doesn't taste like death this time.
"Oh my god," Nicky says, too loud. "Was that alcohol? Did you just give Neil alcohol, and did he really just drink it? Did I miss the memo that Neil was suddenly going to start drinking with us?"
Despite Nicky's stunned approval, Andrew doesn't serve Neil a third shot. They finish their cigarettes away from the others, then drift closer so Neil can join the conversation.
