Page 91 of Vegas with my Brother’s Best Friends

Derek grits his teeth at that, looking like he’s ready to swing if he was actually brave enough to act instead of just talk shit.

Ryan’s expression twitches for a moment, but it quickly hardens. “There’s still time for that.”

Jackson starts to step forward, but Marcus and I grab each arm to stop him. He doesn’t need to piss off Ryan even more than we already have collectively.

Ryan shakes his head. “Just stop. You’ve already done enough damage.”

Jackson’s shoulders drop as Ryan turns and walks out of the bar.

Derek sneers at us before following.

I glare at the back of his head, an ember of anger burning low in my chest. He needs to be knocked down to size.

If only that wouldn’t make things even worse than they already are.

“Get off me,” Jackson grunts as he shrugs us off of him. He claims one of the empty barstools and flags the bartender down. “Whiskey. Neat.”

The bartender looks a little wary, but he springs into action and grabs a glass and a bottle of whiskey from the shelves of liquor behind him.

I share a disappointed look with Marcus before we sit down on either side of Jackson and tell the bartender what we want. “You’ve got to cool it. I know you hate Derek, but we made a promise to Cassidy.”

Jackson rakes his fingers through his hair as he stares down at the bar. “And she kept the biggest secret of her life from us for weeks. Damn near months.”

“You told her that you weren’t mad at her for that. We’ve forgiven her,” Marcus reminds him.

“Promises and secrets,” Jackson mutters, grabbing his glass of whiskey once the bartender sets it down in front of him. “Overrated if you ask me.”

A sigh drifts from me, exhaustion overtaking me. I’m too tired to argue with him, and it’s kind of hard to chastise him when I can’t stand Derek either. That asshole thinks he can do no wrong, and I’m sure he’s getting off on the fact that Ryan is pissed with us.

I knock back my shot of tequila before motioning for the bartender to give me another.

“Shots?” Marcus comments, his forehead creasing.

“We’re here to drink, right?” I reply with a shrug.

“To try to relax. Not to get shit faced,” Marcus says. “You think that’s going to help anything?”

“It’ll help me feel a little better.”

“I think we deserve to get shit faced tonight,” Jackson tells him. “Won’t get much of a chance if we’re changing diapers and losing sleep when the kid comes.”

Shit. I completely forgot about that.

I’ll be keeping another person alive. Making sure they’re fed. But also making sure they don’t choke on anything. Making sure they sleep enough. But also making sure they don’t somehow roll over and suffocate or something.

There are five million ways for me to fuck this up.

“Don’t be like that,” Marcus sighs.

“Like what?”

“Acting like this is a curse,” Marcus replies. “Yeah, being a parent isn’t a walk in the park, but this can be a really good thing.”

Jackson stares down into his glass for a moment before downing the rest of his drink. “Well, so far it’s just a shit show.”

I don’t know what’s making him so pessimistic, but he’s definitely not helping me calm down.

I do another shot of tequila before lifting the empty glass to let the bartender know that I want another. I need this to start kicking in before I start really losing it.