I raised the mug and took two slow sips.

A sharp metallic taste coated the back of my tongue, bitter like copper wire dragged across iron.

I set the mug down hard enough to slosh black liquid over the white margin of page four.

Under the oak desk, my legs went completely numb from the knees down, the strength draining out of the muscles in three seconds flat.

Garrett leaned forward, his hands resting on the edge of the green blotter.

“Everything all right, Dad?”

“Fine,” I said, though my voice came out paper-thin.

Frank stopped his wooden pen mid-stroke and looked up from the draft contract.

“You dropped your floor plan markers twice on Monday’s crew call, Ray.

Your skin looks gray.”

“I had a rough night,” I said, gripping the arms of my leather chair until my knuckles went white.

“Garrett can walk the city team through the site specs at lunch,” Frank said, his gravelly voice dropping an octave.

“You don’t have to haul every bag of cement yourself.”

Garrett picked up his stainless thermos and screwed the plastic cap on tight.