I couldn’t help but snort—a choked, half-hearted sound that might’ve been funny in any other situation. “It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated?” Fin’s eyebrows shot up so high they practically merged with his hairline. “What’s up? Matt didn’t… I mean, he didn’t rough you up or anything?”
“No, Matt didn’t do anything,” I said quickly, feeling a strange urge to defend him. “It’s just… last night was insane.”
Ethan leaned in, his eyes filled with concern. “What happened?”
I hesitated for a heartbeat before diving headlong into the madness of last night’s events. Their eyes grew wider with every word, their forks frozen in midair as I recounted the chaos and carnage.
“…and then Matt and his men swooped in like some sort of mobster SWAT team,” I finished, the absurdity of it all making my voice waver.
Fin’s mouth hung open, an untouched piece of chicken forgotten on his fork. “That’s… That’s more than batshit crazy! We saw the news this morning about some drug deal turning into the O.K. Corral, but you were actually there?”
“Andy,” Ethan said earnestly, locking eyes with me in that intense way he had when something truly mattered to him. “If you need anything—anything at all—just say it.”
A lump formed in my throat as I looked at them both—my best friend and his brother—two guys who’d unexpectedly become my family.
“Just having you guys here is enough,” I managed to say through the tightness gripping my chest. It was true; their presence was like a balm to my battered soul.
Fin’s motormouth was the only thing keeping the ghosts at bay, his words an unending tide that swept through the penthouse, filling every crevice with their nonsensical chatter. Ethan, bless his soul, buzzed around us like a bee with a mission, tidying up the aftermath of our impromptu banquet. It was like watching a one-man cleanup crew after a rock band’s hotel party.
Meanwhile, the housekeeper and maid fluttered in and out, exchanging polite smiles and eye rolls at the sight of Ethan’s frantic efforts to erase any evidence of our culinary carnage. Their presence was a silent ballet of efficiency in the background—fluffing pillows here, polishing surfaces there.
Bruno made his grand entrance like the maestro of leftovers, giving Ethan a respectful nod as he wheeled away the food.
“Thanks,” Ethan said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.
“No problem,” Bruno replied with a rare smile before disappearing with the cart.
The hours slipped by in a blur of dozing and idle conversation. I’d drift off for a while, lulled into fitful slumber by Fin’s ceaseless babble about everything and nothing—alienconspiracies one minute, his top ten favorite types of cheese the next.
At some point, exhaustion claimed us all, and we sprawled across the plush expanse of Matt’s sofa like a litter of overgrown kittens, sleep stealing away the sharp edges of reality.
I was half-adrift in dreamland when I felt it—a gentle touch threading through my hair. Cracking open an eye, I saw Matt looming over us, his face softened by the low light of evening.
“Did you have a nice sleep?” he murmured.
“Mmm,” I mumbled, stretching languidly. “Physically better. Emotionally? That’s gonna take more than a nap.”
Ethan stirred, eyes popping open wide as he realized where he was. A blush scorched across his cheeks like he’d been caught stealing cookies from the jar. “I’m so sorry—we didn’t mean to pass out here.”
Matt waved off his apology with a casual flick of his wrist. “No need to apologize. You guys looked like you needed it.”
Ethan glanced at Fin who was grumbling something unintelligible from under a throw pillow, clinging to sleep with the desperation of a starved koala to a eucalyptus tree. Ethan shook him gently. “Fin, wake up.”
Fin groaned in protest, burying his face deeper into the couch cushions. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbled.
Matt’s chuckle was like the low rumble of a luxury car engine—smooth and reassuring. “Gentlemen, since you’re already here and I haven’t dined yet, I insist you join me and Andy for dinner.”
Ethan’s protest was a half-hearted thing, barely a blip on the radar. “We can’t possibly intrude?—”
But Fin was already springing to life at the mere whisper offree food. “Yes, we’ll stay!” he declared, sitting up with a speed that defied the laws of sleep inertia, his eyes lighting up like Vegas at night.
The chef, accompanied by an assistant who moved with the quiet grace of a seasoned ninja, set to work transforming the dining table into a canvas of culinary delights. Plates arrived bearing treasures from both land and sea: lobster tails that blushed a perfect sunset orange, nestled against verdant greens; succulent slices of prime rib that glistened with juices begging to be savored; and an array of side dishes that were symphonies of flavor in their own right.
Fin’s gaze flitted over the spread like a hummingbird drunk on nectar, while Ethan’s eyes kept straying to the bottle of wine—an expensive vintage that promised stories and memories in every sip. The chef and his assistant flowed between us with seamless efficiency, ensuring our glasses were never empty and our plates always full.
As we ate, Matt leaned back in his chair, his presence commanding even in repose. “How do you find work at the hotel?” he asked Ethan and Fin.
