The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

I wake with a start and wonder where I am. I can’t remember getting into bed last night. Probably something to do with all the whisky I drank. At least I slept. It’s the first time since Sophia ended things between us. I still haven’t looked at the divorce papers she signed. As soon as she left, I folded them up and stuffed them in my coat pocket, trying to get them out of sight even if there was no hope of putting them out of mind. I didn’t even want to think about what to do with them next. Drunk me was holding out hope that Sophia would have a change of heart. In the sober light of day, I know that’s not going to happen.

Banging from downstairs makes the floorboards vibrate. After a second of confusion, I realize someone’s at my front door. I scrub my hands over my face and sit up in bed.

More banging.

I pull on joggers and a tee shirt and go and see who the hell is trying to break down my front door.

I pull the door open to find Leo and Byron on my stoop, Leo holding a cardboard cup carrier with three cups in it and Byron holding a bottle of whisky.

“We’re covering all bases.” Byron lifts his other hand to reveal a full-sized chess set. “And whether it’s coffee or whisky, I’m going to beat you at chess.”

I glance at my watch. Eight sharp. I’d forgotten Byron said he was coming over. At least he’s not insisting we go running.

I groan and turn, padding down the hallway, Byron and Leo following me. I just need some solitude this weekend. Some time to myself so I can be miserable. “I have things to do.”

“Like what?” Leo asks.

“Like… work,” I reply.

“You weren’t going to work,” Byron says. “And now we’re here, so you can’t. Do you want to go through the schedule now or after you’ve put your ass in the shower?”

“Schedule?” I ask.

“The schedule of events,” Byron says. “We start the day with whisky and chess⁠—”

“Coffee and chess,” Leo corrects.

“Both? Maybe a dash of whisky in my coffee will help my head,” I say, slumping down on the sofa by the fireplace. I barely drink. I never day drink, but here I am thinking about starting the day with whisky. “Scratch that,” I say. “Coffee and chess.”

“Then in about two hours, Bennett and Fisher are coming by with games,” Byron says as he settles into the chair opposite me, Leo in the chair next to him. “We will all be equally shit at them as none of us have ever played video games⁠—”

“Sorry, but tell me again why my house has become a hangout for grown men trying to relive the teenage years they never had?”

“Because we’re keeping you company,” Leo says. “Then this afternoon, we’re going out.”

“Guys, I’m fine,” I say. “You can stay for coffee, but then…”

“Then what?” Byron asks.

“Then I’ll get on with the day,” I say. “I can handle anything life throws at me. I’ve got a track record.”

“We know,” Leo says. “But the fact is, you don’t have to do it alone. We’re here. And it’s not like we can solve the problem, but we can talk, not talk, offer perspective, keep quiet, come up with a plan to win her back, or talk shit about her. Whatever you want to do, we’re here, right by your side. Just like you’re right by our sides whenever the shit hits the fan for any of us. Believe it or not, it’s a two-way street, Worth. You’ve just had a road closure up for a long time. We’re here with bulldozers, and we’re completely ignoring the No Entry signs.”

“What Leo’s trying to say,” Byron says. “With more metaphors than is good for anyone at this time in the morning, is that we know you’re not good at receiving help. We’re here to make it easy for you.”

“That,” Leo says.

I sigh in resignation. “Give me a coffee.” I lean forward and pull a cup from the holder. Byron slides the chessboard onto the coffee table between us.

New York is colder than usual. I pull the collar up on my coat and push my hands into the pockets.

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me where we’re going,” I say to the five men flanking me. This is starting to feel like an extremely low-key kidnapping. “I also don’t understand why we’re walking.”

“The sun is shining. The sky is blue. It’s good for your mental health to be outside. I read it somewhere,” Bennett says.

“We’re here,” Byron says, looking up at a storefront. In gold lettering against a black background reads House of Flowers.

My heart drops to the sidewalk. They can’t be thinking I should order flowers for Sophia. I know that’s not what she’d want. She didn’t walk away with a skip in her step. Sending her flowers would just be tortuous for both of us.

“I’m not doing that,” I say. “I’m not sending her flowers.”

Fisher pats me on the back. “We’re not sending flowers.” He nods toward the shop. “Let’s go in.”

The shop has that very distinct smell all florists have—pleasant dampness. It’s fresh and there’s color everywhere.

“Is someone buying me flowers?”

Jack goes up to the counter and speaks to the assistant. We’re escorted to the back, where there’s a small room with a heavy table filled with foliage and stools either side of it.

What the fuck are we doing here?

“Take a seat, gentlemen.” A woman about the same age as my mom, with tight red curls and a round, smiling face, greets us. “My name is Rose. We’ll come around and get your coffee orders when you’re seated, then we can get started.”

I glance between my friends, but all of them avoid my gaze.

“Can’t wait,” Leo says, as if trying to match the smiling woman’s energy.

Bennett is the first to sit and I take the stool next to him.

“We’ve put some materials on the counter in front of you, but there’s plenty more around the room. Use what you like.” Rose points to the worktables set up against the walls, piled with green blocks of stuff florists use to stick flowers into, vases, wreaths, and greenery. “While we’re taking your coffee orders, pick out a wreath size you think you’ll want to work with.” Rose smooths her green apron before leaving us.

“What do you call five billionaires attending a Christmas-wreath-making class?” Byron asks.

“Unusual,” Bennett replies, and I can’t hold back my chuckle.

“Anyone want to tell me why we’re doing this? Of all things?” I ask.

Leo shrugs. “It’s a chance to hang out. Chew the fat.”

I know that’s not the only reason. These guys are trying to keep my mind off Sophia. It won’t work—it’s impossible. But I really appreciate that they’re trying.

I glance around the room at these four super-successful guys who I get to call my best friends. “Thanks,” I say. “This is unbelievably weird, but… yeah, thanks.”

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like I can lean on people. I’ve just always let people lean on me, because I’m strong enough to carry them. This is the first time I feel like I’m not shouldering everything alone.

I pick out a large rattan wreath big enough to fill the door of the brownstone. I give my coffee order to Rose, the woman with the rosy cheeks. Her name suits her personality and her job. Floristry was clearly her destiny.

My phone buzzes. It’s Avril asking me to meet her at Ninth Street tomorrow afternoon. I have a feeling that’s less about trying to keep me occupied and more about trying to get me to change my plans for the building.

“Tomorrow we thought bowling rather than the usual brunch,” Fisher says.

“Bowling?” I ask in case I misheard him. “I’m meeting my sister in the afternoon.”

“She still want to make Ninth Street a hotel?” Bennett asks.

I nod, turning my wreath in my hands, trying to figure out if I should find one that’s less haphazard or if they’ll all look like this.

“You want my advice?” Bennett asks.

I set my wreath on the bench in front of me. “Sure.”

“Take out all the arguments she’s making about family legacy and ask yourself if buying the hotel will make you happy.”

It’s not the advice I expected from Bennett. I thought he’d talk about break-even points or projected inflation over the next five years. “Happy?”

“Yeah, with something like that, you’ve got to put business aside. Do you want to work with your sisters? If so, is it the hotel business you want to get into? Not for profitability reasons, but because that’s what you’ll enjoy doing.”

“I don’t think I’ll be involved on a day-to-day basis,” I say.

“But you’ll still be the owner,” Bennett says. “Only say yes if you think you’ll enjoy it.”

I’ve never made business decisions based on personal enjoyment. “Really?” I ask, and even I can hear the skepticism in my voice.

“We’ve all got more than we could possibly ever want. You’ve secured your family’s future, Worth. No matter what happens, you and your sisters and your mom—you’re all okay. Do what makes you happy, not what you think you should do, or what will make someone else’s life better. Forget about the money and whether you should do it. Just ask yourself if you want to do it.”

I don’t get a chance to let his question marinate before Fisher pulls out a wreath from the center of the counter. “We can do bowling early,” he says, almost out of nowhere. “If you have to go to Ninth Street in the afternoon, I mean.”

“I think I’ll take this one,” Bennett says, choosing a wreath even bigger than mine. “It will take a big bow.”

I might have unwittingly slipped into the twilight zone. We’re not a natural fit for a crafting workshop.

“It’s safe to leave me on my own, you know. Monday is just around the corner, and I’m not taking any of you to work.”

“I could meet you for lunch,” Leo says.

“I have a lunch,” I lie. “But thanks.”

“Then Monday night is our normal get-together,” Fisher says.

“But we swapped Friday out instead of Mon—” I realize they weren’t swapping Monday out; they added Friday to be with me.

I have the best friends.

“Then Tuesday, you want to go for a run in the park?” Byron asks.

“And if you feel like ditching the day job, I could do a gym session, maybe pitch some business ideas at you and you can tell me I’m crazy.” Fisher pulls out a length of ivy from a pile of greenery, then thinks better of it, abandoning it in a verdant pile.

“Thanks, but I’m going to be busy at work this week.”

“Good,” Fisher says. “Not good that you can’t come to the gym with me, but good that you’re going to be busy at work. That will be… good.”

Bennett rolls his eyes at Fisher’s awkwardness, then thanks the person delivering our coffees.

I don’t want to tell them they’re being overbearing mother hens—even if they are. I appreciate them more than they can ever know.

“Okay, guys,” says Rose, clapping her hands together. “Is everyone ready to create their own festive wreath?”

Never in my entire life have I been as ready as I am right now, on a December afternoon, surrounded by my best friends, drinking coffee—like this is just another normal day.