“Stop hiding behind Pip and Viv,” Preston said. “Yeah, it could get messy, but that’s just life, bro. You don’t avoid the good stuff just because it might go sideways.”
Blake lifted his beer. “You’ve got a woman you clearly care about?—”
“More than care,” Preston interjected. “Let’s not sugarcoat it. Look at his face. He’s gone.”
Victor shot his friend a glare, but it lacked heat.
“—and instead of figuring out if this could be something real,” Blake continued, “you’re just what? Waiting for it to implode?”
Was that what he was waiting for? Victor was afraid Blake was right. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“So I’ll ask again, since you apparently need it drilled into that thick skull of yours. Is Belle worth it?” Blake was on a roll.
Victor exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face, over his beard. “Yeah,” he said, quieter this time. “She is. I just don’t want to screw this up.”
“By not doing anything, you’re guaranteeing you will,” Rook said honestly.
“Stop being an idiot,” Blake said simply. “Go tell the woman you love her.”
That advice hit him like a body check. Hard. Direct. Impossible to ignore.
It was time to say the words aloud.
“And after you drop that bomb, maybe have an actual conversation—with words, not body language—to figure out the rest,” Preston suggested.
“What if I say those words and she doesn’t feel the same way?” Victor asked.
Tank shrugged. “Then you deal with it like an adult…because apparently, you’re not a fucking child.”
“But what if shedoessay it back?” Blake countered.
Preston had the answer to that. “Then he stops living in this weird limbo land with her, and the two of them build something real together. You said it yourself, Vic. Belle is family. All that’s left to do now is make it official.”
He wanted that more than he could say, but… “It’s too soon to start talking about marriage.”
Every single man at the table groaned in unison.
“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Rook asked. “How long have you known Belle?”
“Five years, but we barely spoke most of that time, only seeing each other in passing,” Victor argued.
“Bullshit.” Preston fake-coughed the word. “Maybe you haven’t been dating, but you’ve been watching each other and paying attention. You know everything you need to know about that woman—her work ethic, her personality, what makes her happy and what makes her sad, that she’s NOT fucking Amelia. Just like she’s been around long enough to know what a cranky, bad-tempered son of a bitch you are. And she’s still sleeping with you.”
Tank grinned cheerfully. “Our boy’s finally getting some on the reg. Maybe now, he’ll stop being such a grumpy fucker all the time.”
On any other day, Victor would punch Tank on the arm after a line like that, but right now, his head was reeling.
And then, it wasn’t.
He sat up straighter, aware his friends were right. It was time to take the next step.
“Well, look at that,” Preston said, his mouth twitching. “I think we finally got through to him.”
Rook chuckled. “Did we just witness emotional growth? From Victor?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, grabbing his wallet and tossing some cash on the table.
Tank smirked. “Where are you going?”
