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Trying to find perfect harmony from rock bottom.
Morgan has hit the rockiest of bottoms. Fired from his job, with nothing to show for his life but a broken heart, a failed band and a box full of his crap from his emptied-out desk, Morgan has to face the ugly reality of how he got to this point—he is a bad person.
While drowning his sorrows, he strikes up an unlikely relationship with Kazio, a cranky bartender who has no problem asking Morgan tough questions about who he wants to be. Their friendship grows over time as Kazio helps Morgan tear down the walls he’s built up around himself and put his life back together, one piece at a time.
Job hunting, volunteering, finding a new band…things are heading in the right direction, until it all comes screeching to halt…because Morgan realizes he has feelings for Kazio. This is the worst idea ever, and could lead to everything coming crashing back down. Can Morgan ignore those feelings for his best friend, or will he ruin it all again?
General Release Date: 29th July 2025
It was all the Thai restaurant’s fault.
If they hadn’t forgotten Luka’s order that night, Morgan wouldn’t have gotten fired.
But there he was, standing on the sidewalk outside Breakpoint Advertising, holding a box full of his office shit, like a total asshole.
There was only one place to go.
He thumped the box of shit on the bar at the Bitter Exchange and slumped onto his favorite stool. Luckily, the pub had just opened for the day.
Kazio, the owner, came over and eyed the remains of Morgan’s office life with distaste, as he did most things. “Morgan. What can I get you?”
Morgan scrubbed his face. “Twelve shots of tequila.”
“Let’s start with one,” Kazio said, raising an eyebrow, “and go from there.”
Morgan’s brain spun as Kazio poured.
The text from Luka last night—“I’m sorry I hurt you, Morgan. I was a jerk when I broke up with you.”
The words Morgan had blurted this morning at the meeting—“It’s true, what Luka says. I blackmailed him.”
His boss—ex-boss—frowning at him across her desk—“I’m afraid we have to let you go, Morgan.”
“Taking an early lunch?” Kazio placed the tidy glass of amber liquid in front of Morgan, gaze drifting over the lamp poking out of the box.
Morgan laughed, dry and humorless. “Guess you could say that.” He raised the shot. “Cheers.” It vanished down his throat. “I’ll take the other eleven now.”
Kazio leaned on the bar. Morgan noticed his toned arms, not for the first time. Kazio’s long white-blond hair was half tied back, but a few pieces had slipped out to frame his sharp nose and discerning eyes. “Were you let go?”
Morgan shifted, eyeing the only other patron at the bar, but they were oblivious. “Not so much ‘let go’ as fired. Thanks to Luka.”
“Ah,” Kazio said, as if that made sense.
“What do you mean, ‘Ah’?”
Kazio wiped the bar with a rag like every bartender in the world had before him. “Luka was in here last night.”
Morgan blinked. “And?”
“And…he asked why I don’t like him.” A smile hinted at the corner of Kazio’s mouth. “Aside from his labor-intensive drink order, I might have told him about the time I saw you heartbroken over him.”
“What? You told him about that?” The day after Luka had broken up with him—actually, dumped was a better word—about seven months ago, Morgan spent a long night at the bar with Kazio, exact same stool even, and he wasn’t sure what drunken confessions he had made. He and Kazio had never talked about it again. But now the sudden text from Luka last night made so much more sense.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Morgan. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even realize I had. I was a jerk when I broke up with you. And I’m really sorry.”
That fucking text had sat in Morgan’s head all night, festered there, seeped into his conscience, put down roots and blossomed into a confession for his boss that morning. “It’s true. What Luka says. I blackmailed him.” The relief at telling the truth had almost outweighed the humiliation of getting fired. Almost.
“What happened to the bartender code?” Morgan sniffed. “Aren’t you supposed to be like a priest? Keep all confessions to yourself?”
Kazio shrugged and poured Morgan another shot. “I thought Luka should know he was an ass. That guy is too smug for his own good.”
“Thank you!” Tears nearly sprang to Morgan’s eyes. “So fucking smug! And everyone just adores him. Everyone but you, I guess,” he corrected at Kazio’s raised eyebrow.
“How did he get you fired?”
Morgan shook his head. “If he had… When Thomas…” He downed the second shot. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” Thomas was no doubt partly to blame too, the smoking hot VP Luka had been drooling all over since the moment he had arrived.
Another customer came and sat a few stools over, waving at Kazio. Kazio bobbed his chin at the man and collected two bar menus. He placed one in front of Morgan. “You need food. I’ll come back for your order in a minute.”
“I don’t want any food,” Morgan grumbled, but the wings were really good, and he was a bit hungry.
The man down the bar was hot, a toned silver fox type, in a nice suit. Reminded him a bit of Thomas, actually. Normally Morgan would have chatted him up. He had certainly made a go at Thomas, that was for sure—a desperate attempt to regain a sliver of confidence that had only led to further humiliation. The memory of Thomas shutting him down was enough to keep him glued to his stool. Besides…how could a man hit on someone with the sad contents of his desk sitting right there in a box?
Kazio served the man a pint, then was back.
“Can I have another drink?” Morgan asked, pretty sure he managed not to slur.
“After you eat something.”
Morgan rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me? What are you, my dad?”
“Are you kidding me? You’re looking to get smashed and I could lose my license for feeding you twelve tequilas in a row.”
Morgan sulked and pushed the menu back across the bar. “I’ll have the chicken wings. Honey garlic.”
Kazio left the menu where it was. “Be right up.”
A plate of wings and another tequila shot later, Morgan’s face was hot and his blazer was off. “You know the wors’ part about Luka?” he asked Kazio, undoing the top button of his dress shirt.
Kazio tapped his tablet and appeared to be only half listening. “Hmm?”
“Luka…” Morgan waited for the right words to settle on his tongue. “Luka…actually liked me. They hardly ever really like me, you know?”
“What do you mean?” Kazio collected a signed bill, filed it into his till then went back to wiping down the bar.
“I mean… I had a chance—a real chance—and it all got fucked up.”
Kazio poured a glass of water and placed it in front of Morgan. “Drink this. And how about some fries?”
* * * *
Kazio spread out his next three shots, then cut him off. “You’ll thank me in the morning.” He slid Morgan the bill. “Fries are on the house.”
Morgan fumbled for his credit card. “Guess I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
“Go home, Morgan.” Kazio tilted his head and studied him in a way Morgan didn’t like. “Have some more water, take an aspirin and go to bed. Things will seem better tomorrow.”
“Easy for you to say.” Morgan shrugged his blazer back on. “You’re not an unemployed loser.”
“You’ll be okay,” Kazio said.
Morgan wished he could believe him.
* * * *
Since it wasn’t quite rush hour yet, the train wasn’t as busy going home as it normally was, so he used the seat next to him for his stupid box. He glared at his lamp, page-a-day calendar, sticky-note dispenser and Freddie Mercury bobblehead while the train swayed around him.
He picked up the sticky-note dispenser and turned it in his hand. An office job had never been his dream anyway. The approximately college-aged person sitting across from him looked like he used lots of sticky notes. Morgan held it up. “You want this?” he asked when the guy looked at him.
“Huh?” The guy pulled out his earbud.
“I said, do you want this thing? I don’t need it anymore. I got fired.”
The guy gave him a look like he was diseased. “I’m good, man.” He put his earbud back in and shifted away from Morgan.
Morgan wasn’t sure why that made his eyes water, but it did. He chucked the dispenser back into the box. It bounced off the lamp with a clang. Everyone on the train turned to stare at him.
An ugly smile stretched across his face as he blinked up at the destination display.
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