“I’ll hold you to it.” Knot winked, then made his way through the crowd in the direction of the bar. Vincent watched him until he was out of sight, doing his best to process what had just happened.
One of his friends had gone out of his way to tell him that he was welcome, and not once had he tried to coerce Vincent into doing something he wasn’t comfortable doing. That level of understanding wasn’t something Vincent was used to, and he couldn’t help but be thrilled that the men he considered family had his best interests at heart. When was the last time anyone back home had come to follow up on him when he’d split from the crowd? When had he ever been told it was fine if he didn’t feel like socializing?
In the few moments he’d spent talking with Knot just then, Vincent had felt more loved and appreciated than he had in years.
Vincent took his phone from his pocket. He’d been tagged in several messages by the Single Dads, which he left unread. To his disappointment, there were no messages waiting from Mal.
One last text wouldn’t hurt, would it? He didn’t want to come on too strong, but he didn’t want Mal to feel as though he’d brushed him off, either.
I’m at the open bar if you want to grab a drink. :) You know, in case your pumpkin got rerouted.
An emoji. What was he, twelve years old? It wasn’t the first time he’d used it while talking to Mal, either. Vincent scoffed at his own message, then shook his head and put his phone away. If Mal was interested, he’d reply. The respect Knot had paid to Vincent would be paid forward to Mal—Vincent wouldn’t push. He’d said his bit, and he was done.
Shaking off the last of his nerves, Vincent cut through the crowd, following in Knot’s footsteps. On his way, he plucked a flute of champagne off a silver tray served by one of the waiting staff.
It was his first weekend to himself in years, and he wasn’t about to let guilt or disappointment get the best of him. The Single Dads were finally united—it was about time he joined them for roll call.
6
Vincent
“Icannot believe we are having fucking roll call right now.” Knot picked at the hot dinner roll in front of him. “I thought you guys were joking. I thoughtIwas joking. How did this even become a thing?”
“Around the same time Operation: Glitterbomb became a thing,” Vincent replied. He sat sandwiched between Knot and Harley, his second drink of the night partially drained on the coaster in front of him. It had been custom-mixed for the reception—something called a lavender dream. The champagne had gone down smoothly and its glass had long ago been cleared from the bar. “Did you really expect anything less from us Single Dads?”
The banquet hall had quieted down—most of the guests had already left. The fresh roll delivery he’d arranged to coincide with the reception had been late, but luckily, it had shown up before the banquet hall kicked them out. Behind them, Kingsmen Club staff were taking decorations down. The bartender had been giving them the side-eye for the last fifteen minutes.
“I, for one, am grateful that roll call is a thing, even though it was a joke made at my expense.” TD used a small plastic knife to try to wedge a rectangle of butter into his roll. “Do you guys know how badly I’ve been craving bread?”
“I’m going to guess a lot,” Harley suggested.
“Aton.I’m so happy right now.Sohappy. Like, I was happy when we were all served that really nice Kiev dinner with the fancy vegetables, but I think I’m even happier for this bread.” TD poked the butter in as far as it would go, then shrugged and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. Vincent parted his lips to ask why TD had spent so long carefully inserting the butter into the bun when he was going to eat it whole, but he decided against it. Being pregnant was no joke, and he wasnotwilling to ruin a good night by going fist to fist with TD’s hormones.
“Get the kid a bakery,” Knot said with playful sarcasm.
TD rolled his eyes, but didn’t speak. The bun prevented him from speaking.
Someone else filled the silence. “I can’t believe you guys did roll call without me.”
Vincent looked over his shoulder. A very ruffled, slightly tipsy Gwynning made his way to the bar and leaned on the counter. His glasses were askew, his dark hair was pushed up at strange angles on one side, and he’d missed a button on his shirt, causing it to bunch in strange ways. Half an hour ago, he’d disappeared—seeing him like this, Vincent was pretty sure he knew why.
“Gwynn!” Knot grinned. “Do you mean to tell us that a romp in the limo wasn’t enough? You had to step out on your own reception, too?”
“I haveno cluewhat you’re talking about,” Gwynn declared airily as he sat at the bar. The grin on his face said otherwise. “No clue at all.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
Vincent retrieved the last bun from the delivery bag and slid it Gwynn’s way. “Your roll, Gwynn.”
“Thanks.” The smile on Gwynn’s face was carefree—the kind of smile only the drunk and newly married could pull off. “And thank you for being here… all of you. I can’t believe you came all this way for my wedding.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Gwynn,” Harley announced. He lifted his mug—his sixth beer of the night. Vincent had never seen a man with a higher tolerance for alcohol. Despite how heavily he’d been drinking, Harley didn’t seem affected in the least. “It’s good to be here, and I can’t wait to come back for TD’s wedding so we can do it all over again.”
“Mmph!” TD agreed.
Knot chuckled. “xV and Harley are the real heroes, flying in from the west coast to make it. I’m only in New York—if I’d wanted to, I could have driven. It’s about twelve hours. But I’ll take the compliment.”
“I vote TD has a destination wedding,” Harley volunteered. “Tahiti? Fiji? Costa Rica?”
