Trevor: Becca and I will roll in Saturday morning. Got a quick stop to make first.
Me: Perfect. A whole weekend of bothering Holloway.
Vince: That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
Adrian: Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.
Vince: You’re the one who invited them.
Adrian: They entertain me.
Trevor: Can’t wait. I haven’t seen you two since the wedding.
Me: The Azure Tides power couple, defying all odds after a ten-year time skip.
Me: You owe us for helping that reunion to happen.
Adrian: Fate brought us back together. We don’t owe you anything.
Me: Holloway, your man is hurting my feelings!
Vince: He can hurt your feelings all he wants. He’s perfect.
Adrian: Thanks, baby. You can have my ass tonight.
Vince: I’ll be there by dinner. Cutting my training short.
Adrian: You can have dessert before that.
Me: STOP! I’m at the staff cafeteria trying to eat! That is NSFW!
Trevor: Awwww, I miss you, gang!
18
George
Adrian opens the door before Lance finishes knocking. He pulls Lance inside by the shoulder, then reaches past him and grips my arm. “Finally. Come in. Good to see you, rascals.”
We drove up to San Francisco late this Friday morning. That’s six hours on the road with Lance talking almost nonstop about his latest ER shifts. I stayed silent most of the way, window down, letting the wind hit my face. The splint came off two days ago. My wrist moves easy now. I feel lighter than I have in weeks.
From the outside, Vince’s place in Pacific Heights looks exactly like I remember from my visit last year. Hardwood floors under my boots, warm lamps throwing low light, the bay visible through the big windows with city lights scattered across the dark water. Same tall ceilings, same dark timber, same sharp echo when you move.
But the inside feels different now. Adrian’s touch is all over it. Color on the walls, paintings stacked and hung wherever they fit, plants spilling out of corners like they’re trying to take over. The furniture has been shifted, warmed up, lived in. His mess and taste turned the old Victorian into something that actually feels like a home.
Adrian brings three beers from the kitchen and drops into the armchair. Lance takes the dark-grey four-seater couch. I sit down beside him, leave a bit of space between us, keeping it neutral.
Along the far wall, a built-in shelf runs the full length of the room. Vince’s trophies take up most of it. MVP plaques, signed game balls, championship rings, all lined up. He’s stacked more wins than he has space for. The man clearly never did anything halfway. We never knew him to.
“How’s the house holding up?” Lance asks, eyes flicking around the place before settling back on Adrian. “Living with Holloway. Don’t be afraid, be honest and say what you needed to say while he’s not here.”
Adrian laughs once. “My boyfriend’s not too bad.” He takes a pull from his beer. “I moved my whole studio up here a few months back. More commission work, bigger clients. My work finally pays the bills.”
I’ve known Adrian was some sort of child prodigy. Vince sent us a news link the other day about his latest exhibit that got positive art critic reviews.
“It’s great,” Adrian says. “I’m still getting used to his early mornings. I’m a night person, he’s up at five making protein shakes, then watching game film loud enough to wake the dead. At least it doesn’t happen as often now. Most nights we actually go to bed at the same time.”
Lance laughs. “Brutal.”
