Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Colton
Friday nights used to feel heavier than this.
Not because they were lonely, but because they carried expectation. Workweeks ended, the hospital quieted, and I was left with time. Space. Too much room for thoughts I didn’t have the energy to entertain.
Tonight feels different.
Sawyer is already at the bar when Dean and I arrive, leaning back against the couch in the corner with the kind of relaxed arrogance that comes from knowing the room is paying attention. He’s dressed well without trying, sleeves rolled, jaw already shadowed, like he planned it that way.
“There he is,” Sawyer says, lifting his drink in greeting. “The man who sold his soul to medicine and forgot how to have fun.”
“I have fun,” I reply flatly.
Dean snorts. “You alphabetized your spice rack.”
“That’s satisfying,” I say. “And efficient.”
Sawyer claps a hand on my shoulder. “You need help.”
We order a round of drinks. Dean insisting on his favorite aged bourbon.
The bar is familiar with its dark wood, low lighting, loud enough to feel alive without being chaotic.
This has always been our place. The one we default to now that the rest of the group is busy with kids, schedules, and women who rightfully expect more than half attention.
Lincoln is home with his wife and son. Roman’s probably negotiating bedtime with one hand while answering emails with the other. Walker texted earlier, saying he was “on bath duty.”
Which leaves us. The three remaining single men.
Dean leans back, taking a long drink. “So, just us again.”
Sawyer smirks. “We should get jackets made.”
I glance at my phone without meaning to. Nothing yet. Sawyer notices immediately. He always does.
“You waiting on someone?” he asks casually.
“No.”
“Liar.”
Dean’s brow lifts. “Are you late for a reason?”
“Work,” I say.
Sawyer’s grin widens. “That’s what you’re calling her now?”
I shoot him a warning look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That defensive already?” Sawyer says. “Damn.”
Dean tilts his head. “Is this the nurse?”
I don’t answer right away.
Sawyer’s eyes light up. “Oh, it’s definitely the nurse.”
I sigh. “Drop it.”
“Absolutely not,” Sawyer says. “This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to you in years.”
I take a long pull from my beer. “She’s meeting us later.”
Both of them freeze.
“Us?” Dean repeats.
“Yes.”
Sawyer slowly sets his glass down. “You invited a woman to boys’ night.”
“Two women,” I correct. “She’s bringing her friend.”
Dean stares at me. “Colton, buddy, that’s not a casual invite.”
“It’s a bar,” I say. “Not a proposal.”
Sawyer shakes his head. “This is how it starts. First you invite her out. Then you stop responding in the group chat. Then, suddenly, you’re ‘busy’ on Fridays.”
“I don’t do relationships,” I say automatically.
Sawyer raises a brow. “Neither did Lincoln.”
Dean adds, “Or Roman.”
“And Walker swore he’d never settle down,” Sawyer continues. “Now he sings baby songs casually when we hang out.”
“That’s different,” I say.
“How?” Dean asks.
I don’t have a clean answer.
What unsettles me isn’t the question. It’s the fact that the accusation doesn’t scare me the way it should.
If settling down means Melissa sitting across from me every night, laughing and unapologetically herself, I don’t immediately see the downside.
And that thought delivers a warning bell in my chest.
Sawyer watches my expression shift, his grin fading enough to show curiosity. “Oh,” he says slowly. “You’re in trouble.”
I scoff. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he insists. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
Dean studies me quietly. “Do you want to admit it?”
The question hangs between us. I take another drink instead.
“I invited her,” I say carefully, “because I wanted her here. That’s it.”
Sawyer nods like that answers everything. “That’s usually how it begins.”
I glance at my phone again. Still nothing.
“She doesn’t change anything,” I add, more to myself than them. “I’m not suddenly different.”
Dean shrugs. “Maybe not. But you look less … closed.”
That catches my attention.
“I’m fine,” I say.
Sawyer laughs. “That’s never true when someone says it like that.”
They finally let it go, and we talk about work, about the company, about how Sawyer and Dean’s tech enterprise somehow exploded into something bigger than any of us anticipated. They joke about early days, ramen dinners, sleeping on couches.
“You realize,” Sawyer says, smirking, “you’re the only one of us who didn’t grind for this money.”
I roll my eyes. “I invested when you asked.”
“And now you’re rich,” Dean says.
“I’m not rich,” I say.
Sawyer snorts. “Buddy, you live in a penthouse.”
I don’t respond.
Because for the first time, the thought doesn’t matter as much as it used to.
Sawyer lifts his glass. “To the single guys.”
I clink mine against his. For now.
The door opens, and I look up without thinking. Melissa walks in first.
She pauses just inside the entrance, eyes scanning the room until they land on me. She smiles, and it’s immediately soft and familiar, like she’s already comfortable here. Like she belongs. Despite this place not being the bar she brought me to on our date.
A woman like her belongs everywhere.
Her friend follows a step behind her, taking everything in with a sharper eye. She’s dressed casually but confidently, the kind of woman who doesn’t need to announce herself to be noticed.
“There she is,” Sawyer mutters. “And she brought backup.”
Melissa reaches our table, greeting Dean first, then Sawyer, then me. She leans in slightly when she hugs me, her hand brushing my chest in a way that feels easy.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey,” I reply, my voice lower than usual.
Kayla steps forward. “So, these are the infamous men.”
Sawyer straightens immediately. “Infamous is a strong word. Accurate. But strong.”
Dean laughs. “I’m Dean.”
“Sawyer,” Sawyer adds, flashing a grin. “I assume you already know Colton.”
“Oh, intimately,” Kayla says without missing a beat. “Not in person yet though.”
I choke on my bourbon.
Melissa groans. “Kayla.”
“What?” Kayla shrugs. “I’m establishing tone.”
Sawyer looks delighted. “I like her.”
Drinks are ordered. Chairs are pulled in. The conversation slides into place like it’s always existed this way.
Once everyone settles, something subtle shifts.
It isn’t dramatic. No grand moment. Just the quiet realization that Melissa isn’t performing here. She isn’t leaning on me for reassurance or hovering at the edges of the conversation the way most people do when they’re dropped into someone else’s friend group.
She just … belongs.
She talks easily with Dean, listening closely, asking questions that show she’s actually paying attention instead of waiting for her turn to speak.
When Sawyer throws out a story, clearly exaggerated for effect, she smiles politely at first, then raises an eyebrow and calls him on the part that doesn’t make sense.
Sawyer looks offended for exactly half a second before laughing.
I watch it all with a strange mix of pride and unease. This is dangerous territory.
I’m used to compartmentalizing work, friends, sex, and solitude. Neat lines. Clean boundaries. Melissa has been blurring those lines since the moment she walked into the hospital as a nurse but tonight feels different.
Tonight, she’s in my world, and she fits.
At one point, she turns toward me, leaning close enough that I can smell her shampoo over the beer and the crowd. “Is he always like this?” she murmurs, nodding toward Sawyer as he gestures wildly mid-story.
“Yes,” I reply quietly. “It’s exhausting.”
She laughs softly, her shoulder brushing mine. The contact is brief, accidental in appearance only, but it sends a jolt through me all the same.
I have to remind myself to breathe.
She doesn’t notice—or pretends not to—and turns back to the group. I stay quiet for a minute, watching the way she talks with her hands, the way she smiles without thinking, the way she looks completely at ease, sitting between two men she met less than an hour ago.
This is not casual.
Not really.
Dean catches my eye across the table, a knowing flickering there. He doesn’t say anything, simply lifts his drink in a silent acknowledgment.
Sawyer, oblivious, launches into another story, and Kayla listens with thinly veiled skepticism. Melissa leans toward her, whispering a comment that makes Kayla snort.
“What?” Sawyer demands.
“Nothing,” Kayla says sweetly. “Just confirming a theory.”
“Which is?”
“That you love the sound of your own voice.”
Sawyer grins. “Guilty.”
Laughter breaks out again, easy and unforced. I find myself smiling without realizing it. I like Kayla. She can give Sawyer a run for his money. He needs that in his life.
She always seems like she’s fiercely protective of Melissa.
At some point, Melissa excuses herself to the bar for another drink. I follow a moment later under the guise of needing one myself.
She’s leaning against the counter when I stop beside her, her body angled toward me automatically, like this is already a habit.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods. “Yeah. I’m having fun.”
“I’m glad.”
She studies me for a second, her gaze searching, but not probing. “You look … different tonight.”
“Different how?”
“Relaxed,” she says. “Like you’re not bracing for impact.”
The bartender slides our drinks toward us, and I wrap my hand around the glass, buying myself a second before answering.
“I didn’t realize I was doing that,” I admit.
She smiles softly. “You used to.”
There’s no accusation in her tone. Just observation.
I take a sip of my drink, then glance back at the table, where Sawyer and Dean are deep in conversation with Kayla.
“You fit in here,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her brows lift slightly. “Is that a compliment?”
“It is.”
She nudges my knee with hers, playful. “Good. Because I like it.”