Chapter 27 Game Night
TWENTY SEVEN
Game Night
April
The next room made April suspect Killian had reviewed the concept of “living room” and rejected it as inadequate.
The center of the room was dominated by what could only be described as a pit: modular sections arranged in a crater formation, all plush fabric and excessive cushioning that looked less like furniture and more like a commitment to never sitting upright again.
A massive coffee table sat in front of it, scaled to match. Along the walls were foosball and a pool table, vintage arcade cabinets tucked between shelves of board games that could have stocked a small library.
Jax stopped just inside the doorway. Mateo appeared beside him.
They both stared at the couch situation.
"Normal people have couches," Jax said.
"Normal people," Mateo agreed, gesturing at the pit.
Killian's voice came from behind them, flat and matter-of-fact. "This is the couch."
April turned to look at him. He was completely serious.
"I like comfort," he added, like that explained everything.
Caleb immediately claimed the foosball table. "Liam. You and me. Right now."
"I don't—"
"Too late. You're already playing."
Liam sighed but moved to the opposite side, and within seconds the ball was ricocheting steadily across the table.
Dante had found the pool table and was already setting up with the quiet efficiency of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Jiro drifted that direction, watching.
Mateo headed for what looked like a kitchen pass-through, scouting for more snacks he could distribute.
April drifted toward the wall of games. Behind her, she heard a click.
The overhead lights dimmed smoothly, replaced by warmer accent lighting along the walls.
"Oh," Jax said from near the wall. "That's much better."
April glanced back. He was standing by a control panel, finger still on a switch.
"I'm helping," he announced.
Arthur looked up from where he'd settled on the edge of the couch pit. "Are you."
"Ambient lighting optimization." Jax pressed another button.
Soft music filtered through speakers she couldn’t see, instrumental enough to blur into the room without taking up space.
"See?" Jax said. "Better."
"Acknowledged," Arthur said, which from him was basically applause.
Killian had moved to lean against the back of the couch, watching the room settle.
April returned to the games shelf. There were classics—Monopoly, Scrabble, things that looked both vintage and unused. Then newer boxes, still in shrink wrap.
Her fingers landed on one box in particular. Jenga. New. Unopened. The blocks would still smell like fresh wood. Her chest gave a small, happy flip. Her fingers tightened on the box.
"Found something?" Caleb called from the foosball table, where he was losing to Liam’s calm competence.
April pulled the box down, turning to show the room. "Jenga."
The reaction was immediate.
Jiro looked up from where he'd been watching Dante line up a shot. Mateo emerged from the kitchen area. Even Liam paused mid-game to glance over.
"New box," Jax observed, abandoning the light controls to drift closer.
"I played a version once," Caleb said, leaving his foosball paddle spinning. "People wrote stuff on the blocks. Made it more interesting."
April stepped closer, picked up a block, and turned it in her hands. “Okay. If we’re writing on them, we need categories.”
"Yes," Arthur said, already moving toward the coffee table like he'd been activated by the need for direction. "If we're doing that, we need structure."
"Of course we do," Jax murmured, but he was smiling.
April carried the box to the coffee table, setting it down in the center. The men followed like she’d just declared an agenda, closing the distance. Within thirty seconds they were all migrating toward the floor around the table.
Arthur had already claimed a spot and was mentally organizing the game. She could see it happening; the way his eyes tracked the box, the table, the people settling.
"Rules," he said.
"We know how Jenga works," Caleb protested, dropping to sit cross-legged.
"Rules for the writing," Arthur clarified. "Everyone writes two blocks initially. After each round, everyone writes one more. Categories can rotate."
"That's actually good," Liam admitted, settling beside him.
April opened the box. The blocks tumbled onto the table, smelling like fresh cedar. Dante produced Sharpies and distributed them around the circle.
"Two blocks each," Arthur reminded them. "Write somewhere else if you want privacy. Round one, movement tasks."
"What does that mean?" Caleb asked.
"Tasks involving physical repositioning.”
Caleb grabbed his blocks and a Sharpie, heading for the couch arm. Jax claimed a side table near the wall. Mateo drifted toward the kitchen pass-through. Liam stayed at the table but angled his body so no one could see.
April picked up two blocks, smooth and light in her hands, and a Sharpie. She looked around at eight men scattering to corners of the room with their secrets, their jokes, whatever they were planning to write on small pieces of wood.
Tonight, she reminded herself, even as she stood to find her own corner. Just tonight. Take everything. Remember everything.
Because this—whatever this was—didn't happen to people like her. Not for real. Not past sunrise.
So she’d play the game, and memorize every single moment before the sun came up and turned this back into a story she'd tell herself when she was alone.
They started drifting back one by one.
Caleb returned first, dropping two blocks onto the table with a satisfied grin. Jax followed, setting his down with careful precision. Mateo appeared from the kitchen. Liam from his corner. Arthur had stayed at the table, writing with his usual efficiency.
April came back last, her two blocks feeling heavier than they should. She added them to the growing pile, eighteen blocks total, each one holding someone's idea of what should happen next.
Jiro gathered all the blocks, mixing them thoroughly before anyone could track which ones were whose.
"I'll build," Arthur said.
The tower rose under his hands, three blocks per level, alternating direction, perfectly stable. When he placed the final blocks on top, he surveyed it like a general assessing fortifications.
“Oldest goes first."
Dante raised an eyebrow but leaned forward, studying the tower. He selected a block from the middle, pulled it smoothly, and read aloud: "Switch seats with the person on your left."
He set the block on top of the tower and looked at Jiro, who was on his left.
They stood, traded places with minimal fuss, and settled back down.
"Efficient," Arthur observed.
Jiro went next, pulled a block: "Everyone shift one space clockwise."
The circle rotated. April found herself between different people now, Killian to her left and Caleb to her right.
"Organized chaos," Liam murmured, and Arthur's mouth twitched.
Caleb pulled next: "Person across from you moves to sit behind you."
He looked at Mateo, who was directly opposite. Mateo rose smoothly and settled behind Caleb, close enough that Caleb could lean back against him if he wanted.
Three more blocks came out in quick succession, more movement tasks, more repositioning.
"Round two," Arthur said. "Write one new block each. Category: interaction."
Everyone grabbed fresh blocks and Sharpies. This time they wrote at the table, shoulders touching, close enough to almost see each other's handwriting but not quite.
The tower had grown taller with the additions from round one. Arthur rebuilt it quickly, incorporating the new blocks.
Liam went first this time, pulled: "Make eye contact with April for ten seconds."
He looked at her. April looked back.
Ten seconds of Liam's steady, analytical attention. It should have felt awkward. It didn't.
"Time," Arthur said.
Liam's mouth curved slightly before he looked away.
The next block: "Give April something to drink."
Mateo was already moving before anyone identified who'd written it, returning with water and pressing it into her hands with the solemnity of a man who took hydration personally.
"That's obviously yours," Jax said.
"Hydration is important," Mateo replied.
Another block: "Tell April one thing you noticed about her today."
Jiro had pulled it. "You laugh with your whole face," he said simply. Then he leaned in and brushed a quick kiss to her temple.
The game continued, conversation weaving around block pulls. Caleb sprawled forward on his stomach to reach a difficult piece. Liam leaned back on his hands. Jax had given up sitting cross-legged entirely and stretched his legs out. They’d all angled toward her.
"Round three," Arthur announced after the tower had fallen once and been rebuilt. "New blocks. Category: comfort escalation."
"That sounds ominous," Caleb said.
"It's strategic progression," Arthur corrected.
April wrote her block, watching the others do the same. Everyone was looser now, bodies draped in comfortable angles, touch normalized, the space between them shrinking.
The new tower went up. Mateo pulled first: "Remove one item of clothing."
The room went quiet.
Then Mateo calmly removed his watch and set it on the table.
Everyone laughed.
"Technically accurate," Liam observed.
"That's cheating," Caleb said.
"It's literal interpretation," Mateo replied, grinning.
The next few blocks were tamer, more touch tasks, more interaction. Then Jax pulled one that made him pause.
"April removes one item of clothing."
His eyes flicked to Arthur.
"Strategically escalating," Arthur said.
April reached down and pulled off one sock, tossing it toward the couch.
"Also technically accurate," she said.
Liam's expression was carefully neutral, but she caught the hint of amusement in his eyes.
Two blocks later: "Killian: adjust April's position for optimal comfort."
Killian shifted, his hands careful at her shoulders, guiding her to lean back against the couch base instead of sitting fully upright.
"Better?"
"Yes," she said.
Someone pulled another clothing block. Then another. The tasks were multiplying. Arthur had started it; the others followed. Shoes came off. Someone's tie. A blazer.
"Round four," Arthur said when the tower collapsed again. "New blocks. Category: your choice."
"Anarchy," Jax said happily.
This round, the blocks got weird.
"Narrate the next pull in a movie trailer voice"—obviously Caleb.
"Everyone hum for thirty seconds"—that had to be Jiro.
The next three blocks that got pulled were all suspiciously on-brand for specific people—Jax's "chaos multiplication" style, Arthur's "structured regulation" tone, Liam's "dry analytical" phrasing.
"Explain your last pull using only corporate metaphors."
"That's not mine," Killian said before anyone could guess.
Then Mateo pulled one that made him stop: "Kiss April's hand like you're asking her to dance."
His head snapped up, looking around the circle.
"I didn't write that," he said.
"Sure you didn't," Jax said.
"I didn't."
"It sounds exactly like something you'd write," Caleb added.
"It's not mine," Mateo insisted.
Dante took a sip of his coffee, the picture of innocence.
April watched the realization spread around the circle.
"Dante." Liam paused. "Are you writing tasks that sound like other people?"
Dante's mouth curved. "Perhaps."
"Oh my god," Caleb said. "You've been framing people this whole time."
"Prove it." Dante sat there, quietly pleased, while everyone accused each other and laughed and rebuilt the tower when it fell again.
April noticed she wasn't at the edge anymore.
She couldn't pinpoint when it had happened.
Mateo's shoulder pressed against hers. Jiro's hand rested near her ankle.
Killian was close enough that she could feel his warmth.
When she glanced around the circle, everyone had angled themselves to see her better.
The tower grew taller. More unstable. Tasks got sillier, touchier, warmer. Someone fed her a grape. Someone else braided a small section of her hair. Caleb performed an entire Shakespearean monologue about Jenga block selection.
Don Dante checked his watch.
No one commented, but the gesture registered.
Arthur stepped in, "last round, final blocks. Category: house rules."
Everyone reached for fresh blocks.
April looked at the blank wood in her hand.
Tonight, she'd been telling herself all evening. Just let yourself have tonight. This was the fever dream. Tomorrow was the thermometer reading normal again.
But someone had made her laugh. Someone had adjusted her position for comfort. Someone had hummed when she pulled a block. Someone had watched her with eyes that made her feel seen instead of surveyed.
And the tower was still standing.
She pressed Sharpie to wood and wrote one word.
Stay.
Not a task. Not a rule. Not anything that fit Arthur's category. Just the thing she wanted most and believed least.
She added the block to the tower, not buried, not hidden. Right there where someone could pull it. Where someone might read it aloud. Where they might guess and look at her and understand.
The game continued. Blocks came out. Tasks got executed. Laughter rolled through the room.
Her block stayed in the tower.
Another round. More blocks added, more blocks pulled.
Her block stayed.
Someone’s hand touched her shoulder, steady. Someone else tucked her hair behind her ear. It was probably a task. She’d lost track. She felt herself start to fold in. Like if she let the wanting sit too long, it would become something she’d have to admit.
"April."
Jiro's voice, quiet beside her.
She looked at him.
His eyes tracked her face with that careful attention. "You good?"
Her fingers tightened briefly on the edge of the table. She wasn't sure how to explain that she was fine and overwhelmed and desperately wishing someone would pull one specific block and terrified they might actually do it.
"Movie?" Liam suggested from across the circle, his voice casual but his eyes on her. "We could just... watch something."
The group shifted immediately. Bodies unfolded from the floor. Someone grabbed blankets. Mateo appeared with more water.
Killian moved toward the massive couch pit, already adjusting cushions.
April stood, legs slightly stiff from sitting, and let herself be guided toward comfort.
The tower stayed on the table, still standing, her block buried somewhere in the middle, unread. The thing she'd hoped someone would find, staying hidden after all.
Maybe that was safer anyway.