Maybe it was knowing he was going to be a dad again, or because no matter how old you were, you sometimes needed someone to tell you when you did something right, but he used his grip to pull Quinn into a one-armed hug and said, “You’re doing great, kid. I always knew you’d figure things out. Have fun with your gang tonight.”
“Uh, thanks.” Quinn ducked his head, the hint of his sheepish, younger self peeking through for just a moment. “That means a lot coming from you.”
Eli cut through their sentimental moment with an elbow to Mike’s ribs. “You know that goes for you, too. Right?”
Mike felt that sincere question like a punch to the gut. Because lately, no, he didn’t. “I don’t know, Eli. My crew is split, maybe for good. And suddenly I’m thinking about what it would be like if I followed Joe down this new path he’s blazing. What the fuck kind of leader does it make me to think of leaving half my crew behind even for a moment?”
“A human one.” Eli put his hand on Mike’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s okay to want better for yourself and for all of them. I hope you get a chance to talk about Giovanni’s proposal. You know, tomorrow.”
“Yeah, tomorrow.” Mike sighed, then pushed the heavy thoughts out of his mind in favor of epic distractions. “So… See you all then, but not too early?”
“Brunch sounds good. We’ll each bring a dish. Devra makes these pancake things drizzled in honey that you’ll want a million of, especially if you burn as many calories as I know we will.” Quinn nodded, then waved as he spun on the heel of his motorcycle boots. “Have a good night.”
As if everyone had been waiting for the cue, they echoed Quinn’s sentiment, the three groups waving to each other as they dispersed. The Hot Rides walked toward the clearing in the woods where they’d set up a fairytale-worthy gazebo surrounded by mosquito netting filled with dozens of Moroccan lanterns and a mountain of cushions.
The Hot Rods gang took off, their perfectly polished restored cars a parade of sexy vehicles and revving engines. The smallest bunch—the nine Powertools—piled into two vans they’d borrowed from the mechanics’ latest venture, an offshoot of the two garages where Ollie directed the conversion of vans into amazing tiny homes on wheels like his own.
Mike drove one and James the other. They stayed together as they made the short trip through the woods to Joe and Morgan’s rented house.
Home was where they all were, together. For right then, that was here.
No one talked much, the anticipation building as each couple or trio sat close enough together to get in a few gentle touches and soft words en route. So when they arrived, Mike didn’t make any pretense. He waited for Joe to unlock the door, then stepped inside and pointed to the stairs before ushering everyone toward the finished lower level. There was plenty of room down there for what he had in mind.
Without needing to be told, Neil and Dave began stripping the cushions from the mammoth sectional, arranging them on the ground. Kate entered last, having detoured for a few linens, which she held out to Morgan and Kayla. They used fitted sheets to gather and shape the cushions, and before he knew it, they’d transformed the open area into a proper adult play space complete with several faux-mattresses pushed together to make an enormous bed.
Mike stood at the center and held his hand out to Kate, who was there to entwine her fingers with his in an instant. Joe and Morgan, Dave and Kayla, and Neil, James, and Devon fanned out in an arc facing them, waiting for him to give them some direction.
For the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure he was the right person to do that. No matter what Eli had said earlier, he felt like an imposter. “So…”
Neil cocked his head. “What the hell is that? This is the part where you ask why we’re still wearing clothes and start being bossy as fuck.”
“Is that what everyone still wants?” Mike asked. “Or is it time that each of us took more control of our own lives? I used to think I was standing up for each of us and our needs. Am I actually just getting in the way?”
“What?” Kayla, the most sensitive of the group, reached for Mike’s free hand. “You can’t really believe that.”
“Is this because