Bouch: You can tell how sad Evan is.
Evan: Fuck you.
Sully: Okay. I have questions. But first, Congratulations, man. Honestly. If you’re happy, we’re happy for you.
Fish: I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
Sully: That’s actually kind of sweet.
Nelly: Disgusting. But sweet.
Bouch: Are we sure Fish hasn’t been abducted by aliens? Is this a cry for help? Have you been kidnapped, and this is your code word?
Fish: It’s real. I’m a happily married man.
Bouch: This is so weird hearing him say that. Cap I understand, he’s old, but Fish.
Emmett: Fuck you. I could still take you on.
Sully: Hey, I’m the same age as Cap.
Pierre: Me too.
Evan: You’re fucked now.
Bouch: I’m sorry!
Sully: The internet is going to lose their mind when they find out about the two of you.
Fish: Shit. I hadn’t thought about it.
I look around the room and see my captain with a black eye and a sling. My brother-in-law, who tried to shove me through drywall twenty minutes ago. My other brother-in-law, who punched a man unconscious this morning. My mother-in-law Claire, who seems like a sweetheart. My sister-in-law, who’s furious with my wife, but still held her while she cried. And my wife, sitting beside me, rings on her finger.
Secret’s finally out.
This family is chaos. And it’s mine now.
Don’t fuck this up.
I won’t.
I leaveCollette at Emmett’s apartment to let her sort things out with Jo. She kisses me at the door, quick, in front of everyone, and Pierre and Felix make a gagging noise, which earns Pierre a slap from Issy.Progress.But I don’t go home, I stop at the liquor store on the corner, buy the most expensive bottle of Russian vodka they have, and make my way to my own apology tour.
Evan opens his door in sweats and a T-shirt, takes one look at the bottle, and steps aside.
“Took you long enough,” he says.
His apartment is immaculate because it’s Evan’s apartment, and the man lives like a museum exhibit, everything in its place, not a dish in the sink, not a pillow out of line. I set the vodka on his kitchen counter, and he pulls out two glasses without being asked.
“I should have told you,” I say.
“Yes. You should have.” He pours two generous measures. No ice. Evan doesn’t believe in ice in vodka, he says it’s an insult to Russia.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” He pushes a glass toward me. “Drink.”
We drink, the vodka burns in the best way.