Forgive Me But,

Last time I saw Brody he was shoving a duffel bag packed full of mismatched shirts and pants into the back of his twenty year old pick up truck, slightly drunk, reeling from the phone call he'd gotten a few hours earlier. His younger brother had died.
He didn't even tell me how his brother died. I'd hardly known the kid's name. It was Nolan.
It made me call into question just how well I'd ever known Brody, how serious we actually were, because he never called after that, never returned his texts. Two weeks later his phone was disconnected from the line.
But I knew one thing for sure about him, deep in my heart. He always kept his promises.