Stone (Pittsburgh Titans 2)

Her words cause me both happiness and sadness at the same time. These glimpses of my brother make me proud of how he handled things with limited support, but I ache knowing he had to face these things with only Harlow by his side.

Having satisfied some of my curiosities about my brother and his dependency on alcohol, I have others brewing. It might be intrusive, but I can’t help myself. “How did you get in trouble with alcohol?”

Harlow smiles and nods, as if she expected this question. “Did you know the rate of alcoholism in the legal profession is twenty-one percent, and thirty-six percent are what are termed hazardous drinkers?”

“I don’t know much about lawyers at all,” I reply as we stroll along. “You’re the first I’ve known on a personal basis.”

“By the very nature of our work, our profession is filled with people suffering from anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues. Add in that culturally, we’re also a profession that networks in environments where alcohol is usually free-flowing, and that the job stress is almost catastrophic, and, well… you get alcoholics.”

I stay silent and let her tell the story.

Her tone is almost painfully wistful. “I didn’t handle the pressures of being a lawyer in a big corporate firm very well. There were a lot of expectations I found hard to meet.”

“Were you at your aunt’s firm?” I ask.

“Not just my aunt’s firm,” she says with a chuckle. “My family’s law firm. It’s heritage, started by my great-great-grandfather. My dad is managing partner now, but I have aunts, uncles, and cousins who work there.”

“No siblings?”

“My brother Brian didn’t want to be a lawyer. He likes being the shiftless black sheep, as we affectionately call him.”

I suppress a laugh. I don’t consider myself shiftless, but I know about being a black sheep. It seems her family uses that term almost as an endearment, whereas that’s not the case with me.

“Is that why you practice on your own now?” I ask, referring to the stressors she mentioned.

“That’s part of the reason. But the other part is that I wasn’t getting personal fulfillment in the corporate and business law that my father’s firm specializes in. I was just really miserable with my career, and when you add the stress of meeting expectations, alcohol was way too easy to latch on to.”

“Did your dad understand what you were going through?” It’s the question I’m more interested in than any other. Did Harlow get the support that Brooks didn’t?

Her eyes shimmer with warmth. “Yeah… my parents are amazing, and they recognized my crisis right away and confronted me.”

“Bet that was awkward.”

With a light laugh, Harlow nods. “It was. But I’ve also found that you’re only as sick as your secrets. It was freeing to admit my struggles. My dad took me to my first AA meeting.”

“He sounds amazing,” I say. Compared to my dad, he sounds like a saint.

“He is.” The love in her voice is palpable. “And while my dad held great pride when I practiced law with him, it was more important I was happy. So he sort of pushed me to open my own firm, even though at every opportunity, he laments I’m not practicing with him. I think he still holds out hope I’ll return to the fold.”

“That’s a big step,” I murmur, wondering how one goes about doing that. “A big risk, too, but it looks like you’re doing very well.”

“Um… not really.”

I look over at Harlow and see she’s smiling sheepishly. “My family is filthy rich, and I have a very generous trust fund. It basically pays for my living and business expenses, so I can dabble in cases that matter to me. I don’t make a lot of money as a lawyer.”

“Money doesn’t equate to success,” I point out.

“Truer words were never spoken, my friend.”

It’s a casual comment, but I realize… I actually am her friend. The way she opened her door today and let me into a deeply personal part of her life, one that was conjoined with my brother’s to some extent, means I can’t keep her at arm’s length anymore.

Which must be why I’m comfortable in saying, “I feel guilty for not reaching out to Brooks. For not being proactive. I assumed his life was perfect and mine was shit, and he didn’t need my help.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Harlow says.

My head snaps her way. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Brooks wasn’t ready to share his secrets with you. He wasn’t ready to talk about being gay or being an alcoholic. Not just to you, but to anyone.”

“I still could have tried.”

“Maybe,” she admits with a soft sigh. “But only Brooks could save himself from his demons, and he was doing an amazing job at it. I do believe he would’ve told you at some point, though, regardless of who initiated contact. I think it’s why he specifically asked me to have you read his journals.”