Chapter Seven
Brogan
Brogan had barely stepped through the door before he was tearing into shopping bags like a kid on Christmas morning, which was exactly the vibe he was going for.
He laid everything out on the couch: the soft flannel pajamas for Archie, the new leash and chew toys for Pasha, the ridiculous catnip sushi set for Molly.
But the real gift—the one that made his heart thump just thinking about it—he carried it to the bedroom and tucked into the back of his dresser drawer, wrapped in deep green paper and tied with a velvet ribbon.
That one was for Christmas morning. That one was everything.
He carried the other gifts and put them in the living room.
He went to the kitchen and poured himself a bourbon on ice and took his drink to the living room.
One by one, he wrapped each gift, scribbling names on tags with a Sharpie and stacking them with care.
He set them around the tree. The stockings were next—he stuffed them full of treats and trinkets, a mix of thoughtful and silly.
Pasha’s held a squeaky reindeer. Molly’s a tiny felt mouse.
Archie’s had a mini bottle of cologne, a scratch-off ticket, and a note that said Open me last.
Archie was in charge of selecting gifts for the Star family and the Duarte family, but they each went in half like they had been doing. All household expenses were shared, but Brogan wished Archie was co-owner of the home, but when he brought it up, he told Brogan he didn’t earn enough.
He was just queuing up the Christmas playlist in the background when the front door creaked open.
“Need a hand?” Brogan called, already halfway to the entryway.
Archie stood there, cheeks pink from the cold, arms full of shopping bags like a department store Santa. Brogan grinned and crouched to help with the boots, tugging them off one at a time.
“Damn, you went hard,” he said, eyeing the haul.
“Got a little carried away,” Archie admitted, laughing. “You should see what I got for Molly. She’s gonna hate it.”
They dumped the bags in the living room and flopped onto the couch, the tree casting a soft glow over everything.
“What do you want to do tonight?” Brogan asked, nudging Archie’s knee with his own.
Archie tilted his head. “Why don’t we go bowling?”
Brogan perked up. “Bowling sounds fun. Let’s call Andrew, see if he and Rafael want in.”
“That’s a great idea.”
Brogan grabbed his phone but paused. “How was your visit with your aunt?”
Archie’s expression softened. “She said all the right things. We’re invited to Christmas dinner at Rafael’s parents’ house.”
Brogan nodded. “Really. If that’s good for you, then it’s okay for me.”
Archie smiled and sent off a quick text. A few minutes later, they had a plan.
The bowling alley smelled like nacho cheese and old carpet, but it was buzzing with energy. Brogan and Archie met up with Andrew and Rafael near lane twelve, where the neon lights made everything glow like a rave for suburban dads.
They split into teams with Brogan and Rafael versus Archie and Andrew, and grabbed beers and hot dogs, before the first frame.
“Alright, gentlemen,” Archie said, stretching like he was about to run a marathon. “Prepare to be humbled.”
Brogan rolled his eyes. “You bowl like you’re trying to seduce the pins.”
“Maybe I am,” Archie shot back.
Andrew snorted into his beer. “I feel like I walked into something.”
“You did,” Rafael said, grinning. “It’s called codependency.”
Brogan stepped up first, rolled a solid eight, and turned with a shrug. “I’m just here for the snacks.”
Archie strutted up next, hips swaying dramatically. “Watch and learn, boys.”
He bowled a strike. Of course, he did.
“Okay, that was luck,” Brogan muttered, sipping his beer.
“Skill,” Archie corrected, blowing on his fingers like they were smoking. “Pure, uncut talent.”
By the third frame, Rafael was dancing every time he knocked down more than five pins, and Andrew had developed a very serious pre-bowl ritual involving three deep breaths and a dramatic squat.
“You look like you’re trying to summon a spirit,” Brogan teased.
“I’m summoning my inner champion,” Andrew replied, deadpan.
By the end of the night, Archie had smoked them all, crowing with delight as he threw his arms up in victory.
“I demand a rematch,” Brogan said, pointing his beer bottle at him.
Archie leaned in, smug. “You can have a rematch. But you’ll still lose.”
Brogan grinned, tugging him close. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Damn right I am.”
They all laughed, the kind of laughter that came easy and full, echoing off the alley walls. It wasn’t just a night out. It was a memory in the making—one Brogan knew he’d hold on to for a long, long time. He took several photos of them.
Brogan and Archie left the bowling lanes with the easy laughter that came from a night well spent.
Archie had somehow beaten him by a single pin, and Brogan was still pretending to be bitter about it.
The air outside was sharp with cold, but their hands found each other’s as they walked to the car, warm and familiar.
Back home, they kicked off their shoes and collapsed onto the couch, the glow of the Christmas tree casting soft light across the living room.
The ornaments shimmered, and the scent of pine mixed with the faint trace of Brogan’s cologne and the lingering smell of hot chocolate from the night before.
Brogan leaned back, arm draped across the back of the couch behind Archie. He glanced at him, heart thudding a little faster than usual. “Hey,” he said, voice casual but a little nervous, “would you ever want to visit the UK with me? Meet my parents?”
Archie blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Wait—seriously?”
Brogan nodded, trying to play it cool but feeling the flutter of nerves in his chest. “Yeah. I was thinking maybe over spring break? We could go for a week. Do the whole tourist thing—London, the countryside, and of course, Ireland where I was born and raised. And if we’re feeling ambitious, Scotland and Wales. ”
Archie turned toward him, eyes wide and soft. “You want me to meet your family?”
“I do,” Brogan said, brushing a thumb along Archie’s knee. “I want them to know you. And I want you to see where I’m from.”
Archie smiled, slow and a little shy. “I like the idea. I really do. That sounds amazing.”
Brogan felt something settle in his chest—relief, maybe, or just that quiet kind of joy that came from knowing they were on the same page. He stood up and grabbed his camera from the shelf. “Alright then,” he said, grinning. “Let’s commemorate the moment.”
He set the camera on the coffee table, adjusted the angle, and hit the timer. Then he slid back onto the couch, pulling Archie close. “Okay, smile. Or don’t. You always look good.”
Archie rolled his eyes but leaned in, resting his head on Brogan’s shoulder. The camera clicked.
They took a few more—one with Archie kissing Brogan’s cheek, one where they were both laughing too hard to look at the lens, one where Brogan wrapped his arms around Archie’s waist and whispered something dumb just to make him snort.
Then they called over Molly and Pasha, who came trotting in like they knew they were about to be stars. Brogan scooped up Molly while Archie wrangled Pasha, and they got a few shots with the pets nestled between them, tails wagging and ears perked.
After the last photo, Brogan didn’t bother checking the screen. He just looked at Archie, cheeks flushed from laughter, eyes glowing in the tree light.
“You know,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from Archie’s forehead, “I think this is my favorite Christmas already.”
Archie leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Mine too.”