Chapter 35 #2
Axel and Grayson have staged an ‘intervention’ in my living room, which devolved almost instantly into a contest over who’s been my superior wingman, all while I drain my liquor cabinet dry.
I pour three fingers of bourbon, muttering, “All I want is temporary amnesia.”
Grayson intercepts the bottle. “Not on my watch.”
“When did my self-destruction become your business?” I lunge for the bottle.
“Since you were seven,” Axel replies, substituting water for whiskey. “Hydrate now or hate yourself tomorrow.”
I eye the water with disdain. “When exactly did you two appoint yourselves as my personal AA sponsors?”
I take the glass anyway. What’s my other option—kick them out and spiral into a whiskey-fueled stakeout under Minji’s window at sunrise? I already know the flavor of that particular shame.
“Since forever,” Axel says. “Do you need a reminder of how you acted after your breakup with Vanessa?”
I down the water in one gulp, pretending the tasteless liquid burns like whiskey. The glass hits the table. “This situation is different.”
“You’re right,” Axel says, surprising me. “It’s worse.”
My fingers scrape across my unruly beard. “I don’t know my next move.”
Axel leans in. “She needs space, Aaron. You nuked her career, then she discovered the guy she was falling for—accidentally or not—was the one holding the detonator.”
My phone vibrates against the coffee table. We all freeze like we’ve spotted a rattlesnake. My hand moves toward it, pulse hammering in my throat.
“Minji?” Axel asks, voice hushed.
I check the screen, deflating. “Just Tab. It’ll be tour stuff.”
Axel nods at my phone. “Answer it. Life goes on, even when yours feels like it’s falling apart.”
I duck into my bedroom for the call. Tab’s voice is all business as she runs through the revised tour schedule.
I mumble agreement while my thoughts drift to Minji’s silence.
When I return, the living room’s been tidied—bottles and takeout containers vanished.
Grayson is stretched across the couch, scrolling through his phone while Axel gazes out the window.
“Everything okay?” Axel asks, still facing the city lights.
“Just tour logistics with Tab. Looks like I’ll be signing my name until my hand falls off for VIP packages.”
Grayson grunts, eyes still on his screen. “Good distraction.”
“So what’s next?” Axel asks, settling on the sofa arm.
I stare into my empty glass. ‘So, hear me out… James goes to Equinox every Thursday. What if someone were to test his loyalty…”
Axel’s face tightens. “Wait—you’re planning to wreck a marriage?”
“If James cheats, Evelyn has grounds for divorce,” I say, running my finger along the glass rim. “Minji gets her client back.”
“That’s the most unhinged thing I’ve heard.” Grayson laughs. “Tell me you’re workshopping plot ideas.”
“Just thinking out loud,” I mutter, though the scheme’s been brewing all evening.
“Liar.” Axel leans in. “You’re seriously contemplating this.”
I slump further into the couch. “Alright, you caught me. That case was Minji’s ticket to partner. If the happy couple falls apart, Evelyn comes back to finish the job.”
“Let me make sure I understand,” Grayson says, sitting up, eyes bright with horrified interest. “Your brilliant idea is to destroy a marriage so your crush can divorce them and become a partner? Doesn’t that sound batshit crazy to you, bro?”
My fingers rake through my hair as reality crashes down. “Well, when you put it that way…”
“I mean, I could seduce her,” Grayson offers with alarming casualness. “Show me what Evelyn looks like. I’ll take the bullet if it’ll snap you out of this tailspin. Bonus points: your lawyer lady gets her big case back.”
Axel’s bourbon erupts from his mouth, spraying across the coffee table. “Jesus, Grayson.” He wheezes between coughs. “You can’t just volunteer for homewrecking duty.”
“What? It’s for Ron Ron’s mental health.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. “Thanks for volunteering as tribute, but even at my lowest, I know Minji would never forgive that level of scheming.”
“You positive?” Grayson leans forward, looking strangely deflated.
“Because I’ve already mapped it out. Emerie’s cousin runs a successful matchmaking service, and could find James someone, while I join their gym and ‘accidentally’ run into Evelyn during her morning routine. I could spot her on the bench press…”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Thank God,” Axel mutters. “It’s late. You need sleep—you’ve got those raccoon circles going.”
“Feels worse than it looks.” My knees crack as I stand. “Stay over if you want. Axel, the guest room’s made up. Grayson, you’re on sofa duty.”
His face crumples. “Why am I exiled to the couch?”
“Baby of the family,” Axel and I chorus, the old joke tugging at the corner of my mouth despite everything.
I leave them bickering and lock myself in my bedroom.
The mattress catches me like an old friend as I collapse fully clothed, limbs splayed across the California King.
The ceiling offers no answers, just shadows and silence.
Time stretches. I court sleep like a desperate ex, but my brain keeps replaying the highlight reel of my mistakes.
Exhaustion pulls at my bones while rejection and regret keep my fingers twisting in the sheets, anchoring me to consciousness.
By three in the morning, my pillowcase is damp with sweat, and my eyes are burning from the effort of trying not to cry over a woman.
Yet, my tears are hot and unfamiliar on my face.
I can’t remember the last time I cried like this—over anyone or anything, not even when Vanessa left.
This is different. Raw. Like someone’s scooped out something essential inside me.
I grind the heels of my palms against my eye sockets until kaleidoscope patterns bloom behind my lids. Ironic, isn’t it? The guy who writes happily ever afters for a living can’t conjure one for himself. The man who sells the myth that love conquers all is drowning in evidence to the contrary.
Damn, I wish I had a time machine. If only I had ignored Evelyn that day, I wouldn’t be in this predicament now.
I must eventually drift off because suddenly there’s daylight and the soundtrack of my brothers’ bickering filtering through the apartment walls.
“—can’t just mope around forever,” I hear Grayson saying.
“Give him time to process,” Axel counters. “The man’s in love. That shit hurts when it goes sideways.”
I haul myself out of bed and stumble to the bathroom, only to be ambushed by my own reflection. My hair is a disaster, my eyes are bloodshot, and my usually immaculate beard is veering into castaway territory. So, this is what heartbreak looks like on me.
By the time I reach the kitchen, my brothers have truly made themselves at home. Axel is scrambling eggs while Grayson sits at the island, scrolling through his phone with a cup of coffee.
“Morning, sunshine,” Grayson says, looking up. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“Feel like it, too.” I pour myself a cup of coffee, grateful for the familiar ritual. “Thanks for staying.”
Axel slides a plate toward me. “Eat something. Your fridge was pathetic, but I salvaged what I could.”
The eggs taste like cardboard. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven,” Axel says, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
Grayson’s lips curl into a smirk. “I had to convince Axel to let you sleep. Told him about your little sobfest at 3 AM. Thought I was hallucinating when I heard it on my way to take a leak.”
“Wasn’t crying,” I mutter into my mug.
“Right.” Grayson’s eyebrows dance. “And I definitely wasn’t hovering outside your door like some helicopter parent.”
Coffee sprays from my mouth. “You what?”
“Only briefly.” He shrugs. “Had to make sure you weren’t about to do something stupid.”
“God, you’re such an ass.”
Grayson’s smirk. “I’m an ass who loves you, man. And watching you mope around like this is painful.”
“Got a better suggestion than Operation Homewrecker?” I push the eggs around my plate.
“As a matter of fact…” He sets his coffee down with a decisive clink. “Wedding. Next weekend. Upstate. You in?”
“A wedding?” I snort. “That’s your brilliant plan for emotional triage?”
“Not just any wedding.” Grayson leans in, eyes gleaming.
“Emerie’s cousin is marrying some crypto bro who peaked in lacrosse.
The bride posts yoga retreats on Instagram for a living, but Em says she never actually partakes in it.
Weird shit people do for likes. Anyway, the invitation literally says, ‘all love languages welcome on the dance floor.’”
I jab at my breakfast. “That sounds like a bonus level in hell.”
“Exactly why you need it.” Grayson grins. “I already told Emerie that Aaron’s my plus-one and Axel, you’ll be hers.”
“Whoa, I don’t even know her to be her plus-one. Let Aaron do it. I don’t like interacting with people.” Axel starts to protest, but Grayson waves a hand.
“Emerie’s easy, not like that, but easy-going.
She’ll geek out over the fact that you both love to draw, and then she’ll spend the entire night fixing other people’s love lives.
Trust me, you two will hit it off perfectly.
So you will go with Em, and Aaron will be with me.
Besides, Aaron is going to be too busy staring at his phone the entire time we are there. ”
“Why would you already say we were going before even asking us?” Axel huffs.
“Because I know after our conversation last night, you both were going to go.” Grayson shrugs.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, not ready to commit to anything resembling social interaction. The thought of watching strangers celebrate their love while mine is imploding feels like torture.
“No thinking required.” Grayson taps his watch. “Our RSVP was needed yesterday, so I already confirmed for us. Seating chart drama with their families.”
I glance at Axel, hoping for backup, but he just shrugs. “Might be good for you to get out. Being alone with your thoughts clearly isn’t helping.”
“Fine,” I concede, more to end the conversation than anything else. “How are we getting upstate? Trains, rental, what’s the plan?”
“I’m driving,” Axel says, with the no-nonsense finality of a man who refuses to cede control of any moving vehicle. “I like having an exit strategy, and after Gray’s last performance behind the wheel…”
“One mailbox! Five years ago!” Grayson throws his hands up, but Axel and I exchange knowing glances.
I nod, secretly relieved. If Minji texts while we’re at this wedding, I’ll need a getaway car back to Manhattan faster than the bride can toss her bouquet. The thought of missing her call while trapped at a stranger’s celebration makes my stomach clench.
“Perfect,” Grayson says. “Now, about attire. Black-tie only.” He jabs a finger at my chest. “And Aaron, that means your infamous tan suit stays in the closet where it belongs.”
Axel’s laugh comes out as a strangled cough.
“Fine. It’s retired anyway,” I concede. “Now when I look back at pictures in that suit… I looked like a budget Miami Vice extra.”
“More like the entire production.” Grayson leans forward, eyes bright with mischief. “Remember that ridiculous coral pocket square? This time, I want classic. Black tux, white shirt, proper cufflinks. You can sulk in the corner like a Bond villain whose world domination plans just got foiled.”
I roll my eyes. “So, I don’t even get to choose my own tie?”
Grayson’s already scrolling through his phone, ignoring me. “Check out the venue.” He thrusts his cracked screen in my face. “Harriman Estate on the lake. Total trust fund playground. They’ve got an actual swan boat for the ceremony and those fancy cloth hand towels in the bathrooms.”
Axel peers over my shoulder, then straightens. “I’m bringing my flask. If anyone asks, it’s medically necessary.”
“We meet at Axel’s, Friday at six.” Grayson stretches dramatically. “Gotta bounce. Promised Emerie I’d help with her shoe crisis before the rehearsal dinner. She’ll end me if I’m late.”
“Since when do you volunteer for wedding stuff?” I ask.
“I still hate weddings,” he says, backing toward the door. “But Emerie’s cool, and I’m her bestie.” After Grayson leaves, Axel finishes his food in silence before pushing his plate away and fixing me with his trademark clinical stare. “You good?” he asks.
I force a smile. “Yeah. I’m good.” The lie sits heavy on my tongue like a pill I can’t swallow. “Thanks for being here. Really.”
“That’s what brothers do,” he says, pocketing his keys with a jingle. “Call if you need anything. And Aaron? I’m checking in every three hours, so pick up.”
The door clicks shut. I scan the kitchen battlefield—coffee rings, Grayson’s half-eaten cinnamon roll left for dead, a trail of crumbs marking their path. I ought to grab a sponge, but instead I drift to the window. I have to fix this for Minji. I owe her that much.