“You enjoy it, don’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“Making the rest of us look like unromantic assholes.”
Mercy chuckled. “Yeah. I kinda do.” But he added, “I think it’s probably normal. Maybe if you’re nervous, you’re less likely to fuck everything up.” He gave Aidan a companionable bump with his shoulder – which was a bit like being bumped by a truck.
Aidan took another drag on his cigar, grimacing. “Yeah.”
“Speaking of fucking things up…” Mercy put his back to the rail and surveyed the sprawling deck and back of the stone house. “Where’s your best man?”
He grimaced again. “Last I saw, he was in the kitchen.” Probably looking for Walsh’s vodka stash.
“We’re gonna have to do something about him,” Mercy said, almost to himself.
“I know.” Aidan ground his cigar out in the glass ashtray on the rail and headed for the door that led inside. “I’ll go see if he’s about ready.”
“No,” Mercy said, pulling him up short. “I don’t just mean about now.” He gave Aidan a meaningful look. “He’s in bad danger of slipping away.” From the club, from his friends, his makeshift family. And slipping into nothing good, Aidan knew.
The wordsuicidedrifted on the air between them, but neither of them would dare speak it.
“I know,” Aidan repeated.
He found Tango in the industrial-sized kitchen, half-full bottle of Smirnoff in one hand, bloodshot eyes lazily tracking the movements of the caterers. Aidan waited until the two aproned women had left the room – back to the van to drag in more of something, probably – before he drew up alongside his best friend and extended a hand for the bottle.
“Can I have some?”
Tango regarded him a beat too long before finally passing over the vodka.
“Thanks.” Aidan turned around and poured all of it down the sink.
“What the fuck?!” Tango lunged for him, clawing toward the bottle, movements clumsy.
It was no effort to hold him back. “It’s for your own good.”
His laugh was dark and ugly. “You really wanna go there? You of all people?”
Months before, that would have cut deep, and Aidan would have lashed out in response. Now it glanced off him. “Kev,” he said firmly, “we’re not talking about me.” When his friend glared at him, he gave him an even stare back. “You’re done for today.”
“Afraid I’ll fall down in the middle of your wedding?”
“Give a shit if you do. It’ll give us something to talk about. No.” He set the empty bottle on the counter and closed the distance between them, noting the way Tango shrank back. “I’m worried about you.”
Emotion flashed through Tango’s eyes, further paled his face. He turned away, but Aidan caught him by the shoulder.
“No. Come sit down.” He urged his friend to one of the stools around the island. Tango dragged his toes, but complied. “I’m gonna make you some coffee.”
“I don’t–”
“Shut up. I’m making coffee.”
Tango heaved a breath and folded his arms on the counter, slumping forward, gaze unfocused. He looked even worse when he gave up fighting. Shit.
Walsh and Emmie had one of those fancy-ass coffee makers that required NASA training to operate. After a full minute of staring at the thing, Aidan ventured into the pantry and found tea bags. Boiling water he could manage. He filled a sauce pot and put it on the stove, turned and faced Tango, who looked like he might have fallen asleep.
He hadn’t, though. Aidan could see his eyelashes flickering.
“You can talk about it, you know.”
