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Focusing on her and our relationship meant I didn't have to watch Taylor with Huck. And it worked well. I even started to feel like I was in love with her… until she cheated on me with Dev and then dropped me like a pair of dirty fucking chonies. Life's a bitch, right?

“Hey, man,” Huck says from the kitchen, smiling at me in a “Kiss The Cook” apron that makes me smirk.

“Sup, hermano.” I give him a nod as I place Taylor's birthday present—a container of pozole from my mom—on the counter. “How's it feel being home for Tay's birthday?”

He grins, pushing blond curls out of his eyes. “Not gonna lie, pretty good. Haven’t gotten to spend one with him in, what, four years?”

“Yeah. Baltimore’s loss, I guess.”

Up until now, Huck spent every fall as a running back for the Ravens. Last year was his final season, and he didn't sign on again—much to my, uh… disgruntlement. I don't hate the guy by any means; I just liked having Taylor to myself for six months out of the year.

Huck starts talking about the game playing today, but I barely listen. My eyes drift to the living room, where everyone's seated on some brand new fancy ass leather sofa. Taylor is doubled over laughing at Salem, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Logan has one hand on his wife's thigh and an arm around his boyfriend, looking suave as hell despite the button-up shirt and khakis. Christ, how did that nerdy fuck end up cooler than me?

How did I end up the only one alone out of everyone?

“You good?” Huck asks, glancing at me sideways from where he's marinating ribs on the stove.

I force a grin and clap him on the shoulder. “Yep. Starving, though. You need any help?”

His dark eyes narrow, but he shakes his head before gesturing toward a sketchbook on the table. “Nah, I got it. Drew some new concepts for TOT, though, if you wanna check them out.”

My stomach drops, mind running back to Dev. It's been three fucking days since I blew five thousand dollars of company money to get him out of trouble. Didn't matter in the slightest, either, because the fucker was gone when I woke up the next morning.

Fool me once, right?

Grabbing the book, I nod my approval and silently step into the living room. Everyone halts mid conversation when they spot me, and Taylor's eyes light up.

“You're late, fucker,” he says, making room for me on the couch.

I squeeze in despite the tight fit, no stranger to being pressed against my best friend's body. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”

The surrounding walls are empty, save for a mounted flat screen TV. Boxes line the corners, as if they haven't been unpacked yet. I should probably offer to help, but… I don't really want to.

Salem leans over Taylor’s lap to study me. “Something's wrong,” she says, gray eyes searching my face. Soft red waves cascade over her shoulders like a bloody waterfall.

I try my hardest to keep my face neutral. “Nothing's wrong.”

Owen briefly glances my way, then focuses intently on his drink. Apparently, he didn't tell Logan about our little trip to Arnieville and wants to keep it a secret. Doesn't seem healthy, but I ain't no fucking snitch.

“Got shitfaced last night is all,” I shrug, opening up Huck's sketchbook. “Hungover.”

Not a total lie. I downed half a bottle of vodka after work and watched reruns of The Office because I'm boring now.

The sketches on the page blur a little—new merch designs for the monster truck rally, some branding notes. Huck’s got good ideas, I’ll give him that. But all I can think about is the money slowly dwindling from our bank account.

“What do you think?” Huck asks from the kitchen.

“Looks solid,” I say flatly, snapping the book shut.

Logan launches into numbers and a long-winded explanation about profit margins that I pay no attention to. Salem’s brows furrow in worry, and Huck says something about figuring it out. I feel like I’m watching it all with my head underwater.

To be honest, I don't want to talk about our business. Not when it feels like it's slowly going under.

Taylor nudges my shoulder and asks a question I don't hear, so my lips curl into a forced grin. “Happy birthday, cariño.”

“Thanks, man.” He beams at me like it’s the easiest thing in the world to be happy.

I take a swig of beer, the bitterness sitting heavy on my tongue. “Hope you got everything you wanted.”