Chapter 23
Welcome to Chaos
Gavin
I stood on the front porch of the Doyle house with Charisse beside me, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and whiskey in the other.
Through the screen door, multiple male voices argued about something involving the Patriots.
There was a crash, a woman's voice cutting through with threats of bodily harm, and classic rock playing from somewhere in the back.
This wasn't just about impressing Andi's brothers anymore. This was about letting my daughter step into a house that might become hers too.
"Dad?" Charisse looked up at me. "Are you nervous?"
"A little bit."
"Why? You said they'll be nice."
"I'm sure they will. It's just my first time meeting everyone."
She squeezed my hand. "They'll like you. Sammy said her Nonna makes the best food and that everyone's really loud, but in a good way."
The door swung open before my knuckles could meet the wood. A man with the same hazel eyes as Andi filled the doorway, his face a map of sixty-something years of weather and work. When he extended his hand, I noticed callouses thick as leather patches across his palm.
"You must be Gavin," he said, his grip threatening to rearrange the bones in my hand. "Tom Doyle. And this little lady must be Charisse."
"Hi, Mr. Doyle," Charisse said.
"Tom's fine, sweetheart. Come on in before the zoo escapes."
"Thank you. I brought wine—"
"And whiskey." Tom took the bottles with an approving nod. "You're gonna need something stronger than wine to survive this bunch." His grin took the sting out of his words.
We followed him through a house that was clearly lived in and loved. Family photos covered every surface. The smell of garlic and onions drifted from the kitchen. The furniture looked comfortable rather than expensive. It was everything my childhood home had never been.
"Patty!" Tom called toward the kitchen. "They're here!"
A woman appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
Smaller than Andi, rounder in the middle, but with the same warm smile.
"Finally! I was starting to think she made you up!
" She looked down at Charisse immediately, dropping to her knees.
"And you must be Charisse. Sammy's been talking about you nonstop since yesterday. "
"Really?" Charisse's face lit up.
"Oh, absolutely. She said you girls had a blast at the museum. She couldn't remember ever having so much fun. And she has not stopped talking about it!" Patty stood and pulled me into a hug before I could protest. "I'm Patty. We don't do formal here."
"It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs.—Patty."
"You're taller than I expected." She nodded, almost to herself. "Good. Andi needs someone who can keep up with her. Fast walker and a fast talker, my girl. Had to be in a house full of boys!" She turned back to Charisse. "Are you hungry, sweetheart? We have so much food."
"A little bit."
"Perfect. Sammy's out back with Harper. My grandsons too—Jackie and little Ricky. Why don't you go find them? Just follow the noise."
Charisse looked at me, uncertain.
"Go ahead. I'll be right here."
She went, and I watched her disappear toward the back door.
"She's adorable," Patty said. "Those eyes! Just like yours."
"Ma," Andi's voice came from the kitchen doorway. She was smiling, wiping her hands on a towel. "Don't scare him off before he gets all the way inside."
"I'm not scaring anyone. Who says I'm scaring anyone?" Patty waved her hand. "I'm being welcoming. You hungry, Gavin? You're not one of those vegetarian types, are you?"
“I do meat.”
Silence.
Not normal silence. Not conversational silence. The kind of silence where the air shifts and you can actually hear the refrigerator humming in the corner.
Tom blinked once.
Patty’s eyebrows climbed slowly toward her hairline.
Andi’s mouth fell open.
Oh God.
“I mean—I eat meat.”
Still silence.
Why is it still silent?
“I don’t… do meat,” I rushed on, heat crawling up my neck. “That sounded wrong. I’m not—I just meant I eat it. Regularly. Like a normal person. I consume meat.”
Tom inhaled slowly. “Son.”
Patty clucked her tongue. “Tom, get him a beer before he digs himself a tunnel to China.”
Andi doubled over, laughing so hard she had to grab the counter to steady herself. “Oh my God,” she wheezed. “Please stop talking.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m done. I’m not saying another word for the rest of the night.”
Tom handed me a beer. “Smartest thing you’ve said so far.
” Shaking his head, he continued, "Fair warning—they're gonna give you a hard time. Do yourself a favor. Try not to give them any ammunition by accidentally saying something dirty when you meet her brothers. They won’t go as easy on you as we did. "
He took a sip of his beer. "Long memories, my boys."
"Oh my God. I wasn’t—"
Tom's laughter kept me from continuing. Thank God.
"Really though, you brought your daughter, so that'll help. They go soft around kids."
"How many boyfriends have survived this?" I asked.
"In thirty-two years? You're number three." Tom's expression grew more serious. "The last one didn't leave a good impression. So they'll be watching."
Before I could ask what that meant, we stepped onto the back deck, and I heard him mumbling under his breath while still giggling, "Does meat," he muttered, still shaking his head. "That one’s sticking."
"There he is!" A voice boomed over the hiss of the grill. "The boyfriend!"
Joe appeared first—beer in hand, forearms thick and sunburned, the kind of build that came from hauling things instead of lifting them in a gym. "Joe Doyle. I hear you're an architect."
"Gavin Byrne. That's right."
"Byrne... Irish?"
"On my father's side."
"Good man." His handshake was firm but not crushing. "You design anything I might've worked on?"
Before I could answer, a couple of voices called out. "Joe! Stop hogging him!"
Two more guys approached - Tommy, who I'd met yesterday, and another who was definitely Joe's twin brother, Mike.
These guys wore identical grins that somehow managed to be both inviting and intimidating, like they were ready to either hug me or tackle me depending on my next words.
Same stance. Same squared shoulders. Same look that said they had done this before.
"Mike," said the one on Tommy’s left.
"Good to see you again, Gavin," said Tommy.
Joe piped in, "As you can see, Tommy and I are twins." I looked at him and back and forth among the three of them.
"Don’t be such a knucklehead, man. He’s not that dumb. He can clearly see we’re twins."
"Oh. Well, shit, I thought maybe he was blind since he left our sister hanging for so long."
Well shit. "Um. Yeah. I was definitely—"
"Joe! Don’t be such an asshole!" I turned to find Andi's best friend, Bridget, standing a few feet away, arms crossed, glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"I can be an asshole if I want!"
"Well, no one’s doubting that! But maybe for once, let it slide. Andi is with him. He’s here. Let it go."
It stopped feeling like I was the target and started feeling like I’d walked into something already in progress. The way Joe’s jaw tightened when she spoke. The way Bridget didn’t back down. The silence that hung just a second too long between them—this wasn’t just about me.
"Mind your business, Bridge!"
But he didn’t even look at her when he said it.
"Andi is my business!" Her voice cracked just slightly — not with fear. With frustration, and finally she got Joe’s attention.
His head snapped toward her, jaw tightening. For half a second, it felt like I’d disappeared from the conversation entirely.
"GAVIN!" a new voice joined the foray. When I turned, I could tell this must be Danny, Andi’s youngest brother.
As he emerged from the house, his Boston Fire Department t-shirt still on display, he walked straight to me.
His handshake was just shy of painful. "So you're the one who's got our sister all twisted up. "
Damn. This was definitely going south faster than I'd anticipated. I flexed my fingers, wondering if I'd still be able to hold a pencil tomorrow.
"Danny," Andi warned from the picnic table.
"What? I'm being friendly." Danny's grin was all teeth. "Just want to know what makes you so special."
A woman appeared behind Tommy—dark hair pulled back, kind eyes, clearly comfortable in the chaos. "Rachel," she said, extending her hand. "Tommy's wife. Welcome to the madhouse."
"Gavin. Thanks for having us."
"Are you kidding? Charisse already has Jackie showing her his baseball card collection. Your daughter's very polite, by the way. Unlike my little maniacs." She shot a look toward the yard where a small blur—presumably Ricky—was chasing after the older kids with a water gun.
"Ricky! No water guns at dinner!" Rachel called.
From the yard came a high-pitched protest: "But we're not even eating yet!"
Tommy's laugh rumbled as he tugged Rachel against him, pressing his lips to her temple. "The kid's got a point."
Soon enough, I heard Charisse's laugh from across the yard. She was with Sammy and Harper, already absorbed into whatever game they were playing.
The brothers' attention shifted.
"That your daughter?" Danny asked, his tone completely different now.
"Yeah. Charisse."
"She's cute," Mike said. "How old?"
"Ten."
"Not much older than Sammy," Tommy observed. "They seemed to hit it off yesterday at the museum."
"They did. Charisse hasn't stopped talking about it."
Joey nudged Danny. "Go get her a soda or something. Make yourself useful."
"I'm always useful."