“I’ll help him get ready for bed,” Gabe says, coming around to the front of the sofa and scooping an arm gently under Ciarán’s. “Come on, C.”
“But I’m so comfy,” he whines, but lets Gabe steer him down the hall toward the bathroom. Their muffled voices drifting back.
“Here, sip some water,” I hear Gabe saying.
Ciarán croons, “You’re an angel. A very patient, very handsome angel. I do not deserve you.”
Gabe’s laugh floats through the apartment. “You do, but you also need to drink some water.”
Ciarán huffs in response, “Fine, but only because it’s you. I would do anything for you. Hey! Why haven’t you sent me that picture yet?”
“Ciarán,” Gabe warns lightly.
I really need to ask him about that. Aiden scrubs a hand over his face, looking like he’s been through combat.
“You look like you’re having some sort of crisis,” I chuckle.
“He was being all friendly…” Aiden says, and the look of shock and horror on his face is too funny.
“He usually is friendly, you’re just kind of a prick to him.” I don’t sugarcoat my words. If you can’t tell your best friend he’s a prick, who can you tell?
“I’m not—” He stops when I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, shut up, he starts it most times.”
I roll my eyes at him. How can he be so mature most of the time, then say shit like that with a straight face.
Abbie heads into the hallway, grabbing something from Gabe’s room before going into the bathroom. When Gabe returns, there’s a crease between his eyebrows that he gets when he’s worried. I love that about him. Not that he’s worried, but that he cares so much.
He glances at me. “Going to give him some crackers before he goes to sleep,” he tells me. It seems like he’s looking for confirmation, which I don’t love, knowing how his ex treated him. He doesn’t need my input to make decisions.
“Good idea,” I respond lightly.
Abbie emerges from the bathroom, guiding Ciarán, who looks like the before and after photo of the same person. The eyeliner’s gone, his hair’s mussed, and he’s wearing one of Gabe’s old T-shirts that falls almost to his knees. Thick socks slouch down his calves. He looks way younger than his twenty-nine years.
Ciarán pinches the hem of the shirt and eyes it. “If I stretch this, don’t be mad at me,” he tells Gabe seriously, pointing a finger his way.
“It’s hanging off you,” Gabe says, trying not to laugh. “There’s no way you could stretch it.”
“Oh yeah,” Ciarán giggles, seemingly pleased with his new outfit. He runs his hand over the fabric, humming something to himself.
Gabe leads him to the armchair. “Okay, sit down.”
He does as he’s told and plops down.
“How large were those glasses of wine?” I ask through a laugh, and Ciarán just shrugs as he leans back, closing his eyes.
Gabe brings a blanket over and drapes it over Ciarán. “No falling asleep yet, you need to eat something first.”
“Want Aiden to tuck me into bed,” Ciarán mumbles.
Aiden’s eyes fly to him. “Not happening,” he replies, sounding almost angry.
Ciarán pouts without opening his eyes. “Please, Daddy?” Then he immediately snorts, well aware he’s being a brat.
Aiden grunts out an irritated noise while Gabe purses his lips, clearly amused with his friends antics. He keeps catching my eye, and there’s a sparkle in his.
Abbie settles on the chair arm. “Drink some more water,” she says, brushing his hair back. “And eat a couple of crackers.”
He eats two without argument. Then holds up his water glass and tries to clink it against Aiden’s beer bottle across the space. He misses, sloshes some onto Aiden’s lap, and snickers. “Oops.Bello, I can dry your lap off.”
