Tyler
By the time July came around, the flat was full of wedding chaos. Suit fittings, menu approvals, Gwen on the phone every hour like a general leading troops. Somehow, in the middle of all that, Travis decided that what I really needed before marrying the love of my life was one last guys’ night.
At the Taylors’ house, Orla was curled up on the sofa with Noah in her arms, Kate was on the other side with a bump showing and pizza menus were spread out on the coffee table between them.
It was the kind of picture that made me want to ditch the night out completely.
Tonight was supposed to be my bachelor party, the one Trav insisted I couldn’t skip, smack in the middle of the busiest time of the year in tennis.
A few years ago I’d have been counting down the minutes.
I’d played Wimbledon with a hangover more than once and worn it like a badge of honor.
Now, I was standing there wondering how fast I could bail without disappointing my brother.
I was checking my wallet in my back pocket when I heard Jordan bounding down the stairs.
“Right, I’m ready. Where’s my little man?
” He scooped Noah straight out of Orla’s arms and kissed his cheek, making the kid squeal with laughter.
“Be a good boy for the ladies, mister.” He handed him back to Orla, who instantly tickled him into another fit of giggles.
“And you, little miss, be good for your mum,” he said, bending to press a kiss to Kate’s rounded belly.
God. He had no idea how jealous I was of him right then. The guy had it all.
Jordan straightened up, grinning as Kate swatted at him. “You two have fun,” she said, though her tone was more a warning to behave than blessing.
Orla’s eyes found mine over Noah’s dark curls, a sly little grin tugging at her mouth. “Try not to get arrested, Reed. I don’t fancy visiting my husband in a holding cell before the wedding.”
I smirked, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head. “You wound me, O. I’m a changed man.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, not buying it for a second.
Behind me, Jordan clapped me on the shoulder. “You look nervous, mate. It’s just a night out, not a firing squad.”
Easy for him to say. He had everything he wanted right here in this living room: wife, baby, another on the way.
Me? I had a loud crew of guys who’d never grown up waiting at some London club that felt a hell of a lot further away from this than the twenty-minute drive it would take to get there.
I’d been to enough bachelor parties to know they didn’t end well.
Mainly because I was usually the one at the epicenter of the trouble.
Cheap shots, bad decisions, someone else’s fiancée crying down the phone at three in the morning, it was all too familiar.
Walking into the club, the déjà vu hit me square in the chest—same pounding bass rattling the walls, same dark corners full of sharp heels and hungry eyes that would have inevitably ended with some strange woman’s mouth around my dick.
It should’ve felt like home, but instead, all I could think about was Orla’s laugh floating from Kate’s living room and Noah’s tiny fists curled around her finger.
As soon as the guys spotted us, the loudness started.
There were already bottles sweating on the table, half-empty glasses scattered like confetti.
“Hey, finally, both got let off your leash tonight, then?” Aaron, one of the younger, up and coming players I got along with boomed over the music, raising his glass.
I just shook my head and slid into the booth next to Travis, who’d flown in just for this.
To be honest, I don’t know why he’d insisted on coming; he looked like he wanted to be here even less than I did.
His shirt was still wrinkled from the flight, eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that only a newborn could give you.
My niece Elsie was barely a month old, and I’d bet my life Eve would guilt-trip him for the next year for bailing on her tonight.
One of the Cali guys shoved a tumbler toward him, amber liquid sloshing over the rim. “Come on, Trav, first night off from diaper duty. Let’s go!”
He raised his hands, already shaking his head. “I’m good, man. Just a Coke for now.”
The guys groaned, but I caught the relief on my brother’s face as he leaned back in the booth.
Maybe we were both wondering the same thing: why the hell had we agreed to this in the first place?
Travis had set it up months ago, back when he thought he’d be gagging for a night off.
Now, with a newborn at home, he looked like a man seriously regretting his life choices.
As soon as we slid into the booth, the noise level doubled. Bottles were already cracked open, glasses half full.
“Look at that, the domesticated ones are out past bedtime,” someone called, laughing.
Jordan smirked, leaning back in his seat, in his signature easygoing style. “Mate, trust me. I’d rather be at home with my wife and kid. This is Trav’s idea of fun, not mine.”
The table groaned. Another guy, a cocky kid I’d seen around the circuit, grinned and said, “Fair play, though. Your wife’s hot as hell, man.”
Jordan’s smile didn’t slip, but his eyes cut sharp across the table. “Yeah. She is. And that’s exactly why I don’t fuck around. You’d understand if you’d ever been with someone worth going home to.”
Silence fell for a beat before my brother barked out a laugh. “Jesus, straight sets, no tie-break.”
The music was getting louder, the lights sharper, the crowd pressing in closer to our table. Laughter spilled out of us in bursts, but underneath it I could feel the edge creeping in with the kind of energy that always made nights like this go sideways.
Ryan, one of my old friends, from Cali, slapped his hand on the table, grinning wildly. “Alright, none of this sipping shit. We’re doing it right.” He flagged a waitress and within minutes a tray of tequila shots landed in front of us, salt and lime balanced neatly on the side.
He shoved one toward me first. “Come on, Reed. Don’t tell me London’s turned you wet.”
I felt Jordan’s eyes on me, steady as hell, like he was measuring whether I’d still be dumb enough to cave.
“Listen, Ryan,” I said flatly, “I’ve got Wimbledon in a week. Last thing I’m doing is tequila shots.”
“I knew it.” He leaned back with a smirk. “You pussy. The old Tyler would’ve spread that waitress flat and done them off her chest.”
The table roared with laughter, but uneasiness sliced right through me. Ryan was a dick, always had been. I’d known him since high school, back when I was dumb enough to think he was fun instead of toxic. He was the only one stupid enough to hang out with me when I was at my worst.
Out of the corner of my eye, Jordan was still watching, calm as hell, not laughing, not moving, just letting me know in his own way that he was clocking every second.
The drinks kept flowing and the table got louder, everyone hollering like idiots. Nobody noticed I’d already tapped out at my two-beer limit.
I caught the waitress’s eye as she passed, slipped a couple of folded twenties into her hand with a quiet word. Her brows shot up, but she nodded and a minute later she set another ‘vodka soda’ down in front of me…nothing but sparkling water.
When I looked up, Jordan’s stare almost burned a hole right through me. His jaw was tight, like he was about to tear me a new one. For a second, I could practically hear what he was thinking—that I was paying her for something that would blow this whole night sideways.
Then his eyes dropped to the untouched drinks in front of me, the glass in my hand. He clocked it. And when his gaze lifted back to mine, it was different. Softer. Proud, even.
I just smirked and raised the glass to him. He shook his head, fighting a laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
Ryan and Luke were well on their way to a five-day hangover, downing shots and groping girls like it was a sport. Ryan caught my eye with that shit-eating grin that always meant trouble.
The next thing I knew, a heavily made-up brunette—God, I prayed she was old enough to be in here—was being steered toward me.
“This is Molly, Ty,” Ryan slurred. “Told her you’re getting married in a couple weeks. She wanted to wish you luck.”
They sniggered as she slid onto the seat beside me, her hand finding my knee like it was rehearsed.
And then it hit me, like a sucker punch straight to the ribs. All the nights I’d wasted in places like this, blind drunk, chasing the next easy fuck, trying to fill a void that only got darker. The cameras flashing, the headlines branding me as exactly what I was: the bad boy of tennis.
I hated it. Hated that I’d been that guy. Hated more that these idiots still thought I was him.
My chest clenched. For a second I almost froze in it, drowning in memories of all the shit I thought I’d left behind.
But then I snapped out of it, grabbed her wrist, moved her hand from my leg, and pushed to my feet. Relief rippled across my brother’s face, and Jordan’s too.
My blood was boiling, fists tight at my sides, and Ryan must’ve clocked it. He raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning like an idiot.
“Shit, Tyler…it was just a little fun.”
Before I could respond, Jordan was at my side, moving with that calm, deliberate presence. He wasn’t here to laugh at me, wasn’t here to stir shit. He was here to stop me from doing exactly what I wanted to do, put my fist through Ryan’s smug face.
Jordan’s hand landed heavy on my shoulder. “Leave it, mate,” he said steadily with a tone that cut straight through the noise.
I glared at Ryan one last time, my jaw tight, before letting Jordan steer me away from the table. My brother gave me a nod of relief as we pushed through the crowd toward the exit.
Outside, the cold air hit like a bucket of water. Jordan didn’t let go until we were halfway down the street.
“You’ve got nothing to prove to those idiots,” he said finally, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’ve already won. You’ve got the career. You’ve got the girl. You’ve got the life most blokes in there would kill for. Don’t let one stupid night screw that up.
He fixed me with that steady, unshakeable look—no ego, no rivalry anymore. Just a friend who knew me well enough to step in before I crossed a line. “Call it a night. Go home to Orla before the papers find something to twist. Trust me. That’s the only win that matters.”
I took a deep breath. “Thanks for having my back, man.”
“Always, mate,” he replied. “I’ll find us an Uber.”
Within half an hour I could feel the relief wash over me as we pulled up outside the Taylor’s house in Richmond.
It was still only eleven p.m. The living room was dark save for the glow of whatever trashy Netflix dating show the girls were watching.
The crackle of Noah’s baby monitor beside them.
Both girls curled up either side of the sofa under blankets.
Orla’s head snapped round when she heard us.
“Jesus.” She checked her watch. “Didn’t expect you two at this time.
Get kicked out of the club already or what? ”
Jordan smirked, tugging off his jacket. “Nah, just realized we’d rather be here than there.”
Kate arched an eyebrow over the blanket. “Translation: you two are getting old.”
Orla’s eyes lingered on me, searching, like she could tell something had happened.
I just shrugged, dropped down beside her, and let her tuck her legs over my lap.
The smell of her shampoo, the weight of her against me, Noah’s soft baby breaths crackling through the monitor, it was everything the club wasn’t.
“Old or not,” I said, pressing a kiss into her hair, “this is where I’d rather be. Every single time.”
We ended up staying the night after talking for hours with the kind of easy, rambling conversations that only happen when you’re surrounded by people who make you feel safe.
When morning came, I woke not to the pounding of a hangover or the hollow pit of regret, but to the smell of coffee drifting up from the kitchen and the sound of laughter echoing through the house.
As I headed into the kitchen, Noah was in his highchair, his angelic face smeared with blueberries, giggling like his dad had just performed the world’s greatest magic trick by throwing one in the air and catching it in his mouth.
Kate was pouring the coffee and Orla leaned against the counter watching it all with a content little smile. I’d never felt so complete.
For the first time, I realized this was what I’d been chasing all those years in clubs and bars. Not the noise. Not the chaos. But this. Mornings wrapped in love, laughter filling the room and the promise of a family of my own someday.