“She’s not a stranger,” I snap before I can stop myself. The words hang there, too sharp, too fast. All three of them exchange looks, and I instantly regret how defensive that sounded.
Logan crosses his arms, that quiet older-brother energy he carries filling the room. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yeah.” I exhale. “She’s been through hell. I can give her something safe—at least for now.”
Chace lets out a low whistle. “You’re sure your idea ofsafeis actually, you know…safe?”
I shrug. “Would you rather I left her there?”
Chace shrugs back. “Fine. You win. But we’re still roasting you at the reception.”
“There is no reception,” I mutter.
Sam grins. “There is now.”
Logan smirks. “We’ve been busy since you left.”
“Hell no,” I say, though the corners of my mouth twitch.
Chace kicks my leg. “You’re gonna make such a pretty husband. Maybe we should get you one of those little boutonnière things.”
“And what exactly is that? I don’t speak French. Mac’s the only one of us who does…well, maybe you too, Logan?”
Sam bursts out laughing, cereal threatening to spill. Logan just shakes his head, that put-upon big-brother sigh slipping out.
He nods toward the pile of bags Mac left by the dresser. “She told me to make sure you wear what she picked out.”
I groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Chace perks up instantly. “Ooh, fashion show!”
“No,” I say, dragging a hand down my face. “Mac’s taste might have me looking like a disco ball.”
“Yes,” Chace corrects, already on his feet and elbow-deep in the bags. “Mac’s got taste. Maybe she got you a little bow tie. Maybe a tux with glitter.”
“Am I getting married or stripping?”
“It’s your wedding, bro,” Logan muses, voice dry. “So probably both.”
He lifts his coffee mug, smirking. “Also, it was last-minute, so don’t thinkVera Wang.Maybe just…Wang-Wangis what you got.”
For a second, we all just lose it. The laughter’s loud and raucous—the kind that rattles the walls and fills the cracks in the air.
For a minute, it feels like our kind of normal. Like we’re just four idiots in a hotel room, no trauma, no ghosts, no wedding under duress. Just the band. Logan catches my eye over the rim of his cup and nods once, subtle but solid. “We’ve got you, man.”
It’s not loud. Not sentimental. But I feel it.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know.”
Chace finally finds the outfit Mac had delivered and holds it up like he’s presenting a prize on a game show.
“Ladies and gentlemen,thegroom.”
I groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He grins wider. “Nope. Black dress pants, crisp white shirt, and a vest that looks like it was tailored. It no doubt cost a small fortune but fuck it. It’s your money. I approve.”
Sam whistles low. “You’re gonna look good, man. Real ‘rock star goes respectable’ vibes.”
