Rhett clears his throat dramatically. “I’ll go first.”
He stands, unfolding a crumpled sheet of paper like it’s the Declaration of Independence. “This is my pledge to Riggs.”
Riggs groans.
Rhett reads aloud:
"I solemnly swear to do my absolute best not to draw dicks on your therapy clipboard, unless they are necessary for scientific purposes or holiday-themed."
"I will not mock your tea collection, even though it tastes like sadness and scented candles had a baby."
"I promise to not swap your carefully selected cabinet knobs with googly eyes again, except on April Fools' Day. Or Thursdays. Or whenever I need a laugh."
"Most importantly, I will try to be less of a jackass, show up when I say I will, and not make your job harder than it already is. You're a good man. And I guess, like, weirdly wise or whatever."
Silence.
“And wicked hot,” he adds, not reading from the paper.
Then Jax claps way too hard. “That was beautiful. Really touched my inner child.”
“I’ll touch your inner child,” Pharo says, which earns him a boot to the shin.
Nash glances sideways at Mandy, who’s been smirking behind his needles the whole time.
“You write yours?” Nash asks.
Mandy shrugs. “Kinda.” He clears his throat and stands up. “This is for Nash. Who I didn’t choose. Fate forced us together.”
Nash flips him off.
Mandy smirks. “I solemnly swear to attempt punctuality when it matters, shut up when you need me to listen, and refrain from challenging you to arm wrestling when you’re already injured.”
Snorts of laughter all around.
“I will not replace your gluten-free snacks with Oreos. Again. Even though Oreos are superior. And I will stop referring to therapy homework as ‘emotional taxidermy.’”
“I liked that one,” Nash mutters. Mandy grins.
“I promise, on my honor as a God-fearing-country-loving vet to give a shit. Like, actually. About your progress. About this group. About you. You’ve carried a lot for all of us, and I’ll be here to help carry you when it gets heavy. Or at least carry your weird-ass cat to group when your arm’s in a sling again cause I broke my former promise not to challenge you to arm wrestling.”
Nash stares at him a moment, then nods once. That’s as good as a hug from him.
West stands up, arms crossed, expression somewhere between sarcastic and serious. He doesn’t have anything written down. Of course not. That’s not how West works.
“This is for Brandt,” he says, glancing over. “Obviously.”
Brandt raises an eyebrow. “Obviously.”
“I pledge to stop pretending I’m fine when I’m clearly not, just so you don’t worry about me and burn yourself out trying to fix my shit.”
A few knowing grunts from the group.
“I pledge to actually eat something green once in a while and not just whatever’s within arm’s reach and shaped like a chip.”
Brandt snorts. “Progress.”
“I promise to listen when you say you're tired and not take it personally. To let you rest without making it a crisis about me.”
