I’ve been on edge since Blair texted an hour ago with yet anothernot tonight. She’s avoiding me, but I can’t figure out why.
We were fine after she used the safe word. I stopped by her condo on Monday after work, and we spent three hours in bed, but on Tuesday, without explanation, she sent a text sayingnot tonight. She did the same yesterday—today, too.
Three days, no explanation. I’m crawling out of my skin, fighting my every instinct so I can give her space.
It’ll be easier once the bachelor party sets off in a rented luxury bus that’ll not only take us to Vegas, but chauffeur us around the city all night. My mind will be occupied, no time to think about Blair’s silent treatment.
But... we need to leave first, and with my brothers acting like a bunch of whipped pussies, it might be problematic. The messages in the Sausage Fest group chat come more frequently every hour. Colt and I, the last Hayes brothers left with unclouded judgment, have been putting fires out since five am.
Theo had his panties in a twist first because they’re all leaving their kids with Mom, and he wasn’t sure she could handle five boys.
Colt: She had seven of us, bro. Five is a piece of cake. Dad’s there, too, and Grandma is coming over to help. Relax.
Theo: She was thirty years younger, Colt. She only had four to deal with. We were self-sufficient before the three of you arrived. River’s not an easy kid.
Logan: Neither were you. And you’re even worse as an adult.
It took more than those messages to calm him down, but once Theo was under control, Nico asked Shawn to break the law and get Mia a gun permit. Since I’m not in the best mood, instead of being reasonable and helpful, I’m an annoying prick.
Me: Get her a bulletproof vest while you’re at it, Shawn. Two bodyguards with vicious dogs, a satellite phone for emergencies in case she’s out of range, and one of those panic buttons she can wear around her neck.
My brothers join the fun, quicker than lightning, when there’s a rare occasion to put Nico in his place.
Shawn: I don’t have a spare bulletproof vest, but I have proper body armor. Will that work?
Conor: Yeah, that’s good. Don’t forget a holster for the gun, a few knives, and maybe a smoke grenade just to veer on the side of caution.
Logan: She’ll need silver bullets for vampires too, bro. And a survival kit in case there’s an apocalypse. Flashlights, water, batteries, canned food. You know, the essentials.
Nico: Fuck you all.
There’s a pause in the incoming messages. Long enough that I’m starting to wonder if we took it too far, but thenNico is typingappears at the top of the chat.
Nico: Fine, assholes. Just a can of pepper spray if you can, Shawn. But make sure it’s light and the range is good. Damn, will you all be fucking sorry if zombies take over the world tonight.
Another hour goes by before the shit hits the fan again. Logan sends a picture of Noah’s t-rex. Eli’s grasping its tail in his small palm, and Noah stands beside the crib, crying.
Conor: I got you two of those last year. Where’s the spare?
Logan: No idea. Can’t find it.
Conor: Fine, I’m on it. I’ll finish up in the office and stop by the arcades on my way home.
It’s barely lunchtime, and I’ve done little more than stare at my phone most of the morning. It’s a good thing my team’s finishing off the construction site we’ve been working on since I started in May. They’re clearing the equipment before we hand over to the interior design team next week, so not much for me to do, or Logan would be busting my ass for wasting work time on personal matters.
We’re close to the city center, so I hit a café for a sandwich and a coffee, choosing a table by the window, my phone face up, the chat on because there’s another meltdown.
Theo: Come to think of it, pepper spray isn’t a bad idea. Plenty of crazy in this world. Get one for Thalia, Shawn.
Logan: Make it three.
Conor: Fuck. Fine, get one for Vee, too.
At this point, I’m done. What a bunch of absolute crybabies. Theo leads the pack on this one because Thalia’s the toughest, and she definitely doesn’t need pepper spray to keep herself safe. She’ll keep the girls safe, too, but—
The image of Blair all disheveled, makeup smeared, clothes torn flashes before my eyes and... shit.
I think I finally get why my brothers act the way they do. I’d feel so much better if B had a can on her.
