Page 87 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

Ethan picks up his book from the armchair, opens it, and sits down like he's been there all evening.

The lock turns.

Connor comes in carrying a small carry-on bag and the drained look of someone who's lived in airport air for over 24 hours.

He's tanned. He looks good. Marriage clearly agrees with him.

He sees me first.

“Hey.” His face opens up, easy and warm. He sets the bag down and crosses the room, pulling me into a quick, familiar hug—one arm around my shoulders, nothing that lingers. “Worried you'd be asleep.”

“I'm a night owl. You know that.”

“You say you’re a night owl. I’ve never actually seen it.” He pulls back and studies me for a second, the quick inventory scan of someone who's known me for years. “You look good.”

“Airport coffee and stress. Works every time.”

He laughs, and the sound is so completely unchanged that something tightens in my chest. I press my lips together once, fast, and make myself breathe through it.

Then he looks past me. “Gentlemen.”

Liam raises a hand from the couch. “Good trip?”

“Excellent. Maldives. It’s a pain to get there but I cannot recommend it enough.” Connor scans the room—not suspiciously, just reorienting himself in a space he's owned for years. “Ethan.”

Ethan glances up from his book. “Connor. Welcome back.”

Andrew nods from the kitchen. “Heard the honeymoon was good.”

“You heard right.” Connor drops onto the arm of the couch like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Sarah says hello. She's waiting in the car. We're heading home, but I wanted to grab the Harrington files before Monday.” He looks at me. “Walk me through how the latest dinner went?”

I pour him a glass of water because he always forgets to hydrate on flights. My hand drifts briefly to my stomach before I catch myself and drop it.

For the next stretch of minutes we debrief. The words come out steady enough, but every time Connor nods or asks a follow-up, I feel the weight of what we're not saying pressing against the back of my throat. Andrew pulls up the follow-up email thread and walks him through it, calm and detailed. Like he hadn't been inside me just an hour ago. Ethan covers next steps in that measured, precise voice he always uses when he’s talking about business.

I fill in the gaps when needed, keeping my answers short. Connor asks two smart questions. Nods at both. That easy trust of his—the thing that's always made being with him feel safe—sits differently tonight. He has no idea what else he's trusting us with.

“Good,” he says finally. “Really good work. All of you.” Then, to me: “What's your read on Harrington personally?”

“He's testing. Not suspicious—he just wants to know the structure holds when pressure's on.”

“Does it?”

“We're here, aren't we.”

Connor looks at me for a second. Then he laughs, low. “Yeah. You are.” He slaps his knees and stands. “Okay. Files, then home. Sarah will fall asleep in the car if I'm not back in twenty minutes.”

“She already is,” Liam says. “I would be too.”

“You've met my wife exactly twice,” Connor says, pointing at him with a grin.

“She seems like a smart woman. A smart woman knows you were going to be longer than you said.”

Connor chuckles. “That's fair.” He's smiling now, easy and loose the way he gets when he's off the clock. He heads for the office hallway. “Files are in the office, right?”

“I'll grab them,” Andrew offers.

Connor waves him off. “I know where they are. Give me two minutes.”