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“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
It’s a loud roar, so unexpected that I almost jump.
The music starts blasting as my eyes shift to a huge crowd of people in the living room who stare at me with smiles.
“Happy-birth-day-to-yoooooou—” they start chanting as they clap their hands, dozens of them.
I stand dumb-founded.
“Happy-birth-day-dear-Ar-cher—” they sing at the top of their lungs, and when the song is over, they erupt in cheers and whistling, the confetti suddenly shooting off from everywhere.
In seconds, the crowd surges toward me, hugs, arms, kisses, congratulations. But more than surprise, there’s something else that keeps me silent—a fucking lump in my throat as I, for once, don’t know what to say.
31
KAT
I clapmy hands in excitement like I’m the birthday girl here.
Over fifty people are attending, maybe sixty—I lost count. Even though Archer might hate it, he’ll stick around at least for a hot second. I know Cece got him something special. His other friend, Qi Shan, did too. Dr. Hodges and his wife were delighted to attend. Everyone was getting ready for days, talking and discussing, like it’s the biggest event in years.
Waiters, food, drinks, a DJ—check.Thank you, Cece!She’s the queen of partying.
Raven and Bishop are here. Amir and several people from the lab that Archer works closely with. The elite group, over thirty of them. Bo showed up, and so did Maddy—it might be the first time I’ve seen her out.
Somehow, when Marlow and I sat down to make a list of a few people to invite for a small surprise party, there turned out to be quite a number who cared about Archer and would’ve been upset if they were left out.
So what started with ten close friends turned into fifteen, then twenty, and then Marlow gave up. “Well, let’s just make a huge party like back in the old days, and if Archer doesn’t like it, you’ll take him home and make up in some other way.”
“What if he gets angry at the whole idea?”
“So, he’ll hang out for a minute and bounce. It’s your job to curb his anger. You’re about the only one who can.”
“Just a reminder, you need to learn to curb your emotions.”
Of course, Marlow got to listen to the drunk sobbing messages he sent to my phone instead of to Raylin’s. He apologized, blushed, huffed and puffed, but sure was glad they didn’t reach the intended recipient.
“Wanna tell me what that was about?” I asked.
He wouldn’t. “That was a fucked up night. I topped myself, for sure.”
“Yeah.” I smile.
“I was…V gavno.” Shitfaced.
I laughed.
“Broke my coffee table that I paid a fortune for.”
My stomach turned at the words. “Why, was it expensive?”
“It was from a club in New York where Red Hot Chili Peppers and Madonna and other stars first performed. Yeah, it’s a fucking gem.”
I didn’t say a word. Seems like coffee tables are Archer and my thing.
Right now, Marlow looks happy and suave.
And Archer doesn’t look mad. He seems startled. Lost, maybe? I can’t gauge his reaction, except it’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before. His poker face is shit right now. There’s something vulnerable in the way he doesn’t look at people for too long, rakes his fingers through his hair, scratches his eyebrow with a soft smile, again and again, so sexy in his black shirt with sleeves rolled up and jeans, yet suddenly so familiar—I’m one of the few who recognize his vulnerable state.
