“With Molly. You’re making a mistake.”
Huffing a breath of frustration, I’m about to tell him that my relationship—or non-relationship—with Molly is none of his business, but nothing comes out. Because Willow managed to get through to me earlier. She’s right. I’m still riled up, but I know that I screwed up. I’m just not sure what to do about it.
Then, as though they were part of a flash mob, the original members of the Bad Luck Club pop out of nowhere and ambush our table. Blue and Dee sit on either side of me, while Nicole, who is holding a nearly empty margarita glass, grabs a chair from a nearby table with her free hand. The man who was lowering into it plops onto the floor as she pulls the stolen chair up to our table.
“Hey!” he protests.
“There are like half a million chairs in this restaurant,” she sneers. “Get another!”
“Actually,” Harry says, giving the man an apologetic look before shifting the whole of his attention to Nicole, “there are more like seventy-six, give or take a few.”
Nicole’s mouth drops open.
A sheepish look washes over Harry’s face. “There are fourteen four-person tables—not counting booths—and then about ten two-person—”
“No one cares,” Nicole grumbles, rolling her eyes, then reaches for the pitcher and refills her glass.
“You weren’t supposed to come out yet,” Harry protests. “You were supposed to wait until I gave the signal.”
“You were botching it, dude,” Nicole says, then looks to Blue and Dee. “Am I right?”
“I wouldn’t say botching it,” Blue says, giving Harry an apologetic smile.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Nicole says. “You’re still too nice.”
“Nicole,” Dee says in her best motherly voice. She has two sons, so she’s got the tone just right, and Nicole clamps her lips shut.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this ambush?” I ask in a dry tone, taking the pitcher from Nicole’s hand and filling my goblet. Outwardly, I’m annoyed, yet something deep down inside of me sparks to life. They know the truth about my motivation for starting the club—the real truth—and they’re still my friends. I was selling them short by presuming their reaction would be anything less.
They’re not the only ones I’ve sold short.
“It’s not an ambush, Cal,” Dee says, flagging down a waitress passing our table. “We’re going to need two more glasses.”
The waitress nods and starts to walk away.
“And another pitcher,” Nicole calls after her.
Blue frowns at her.
“What?” Nicole asks with plenty of attitude. “Who says you can’t drink at an intervention?”
“It would be ill-advised at an intervention for alcohol or substance abuse,” Harry says in all seriousness.
“Does Cal have a problem with either of those things?” Nicole taunts.
“Well, no…not that I know about…” Harry’s voice trails off as he watches me guzzle half my margarita. The massive brain freeze makes me wince.
“Harry, Nicole’s a big girl,” Dee says. “Let her get shit-faced, and we’ll deal with the task at hand.”
“And what could that be?” I ask, though it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s going on.
“Look, Cal,” Blue says in her gentle voice. “I’m not going to lie. We are here to talk about Molly, but that’s not the only reason we’re here.” She’s watching me like she expects me to protest or get up and leave. When I merely take a sip of my margarita, she continues with a sigh of relief. “We’re here to talk about the article too.”
“No comment,” I say, then take another sip of my drink.
Dee snorts. “We’re not reporters, Cal, but you expected total honesty from us in the club. We’re here now, expecting it from you.”
A mixture of anger and guilt seizes me. “I never lied to you.”
Somehow, I manage to maintain eye contact, knowing full well I can’t fault them for calling me out.
“No,” Blue says softly. “But I think you lied to yourself quite a bit.”
I don’t respond, because I’m not stubborn enough to deny there’s plenty of truth to that.
“While you were helping us overcome the things holding us back, you weren’t helping yourself,” Harry says quietly, his eyes turning glassy. “I wouldn’t be anywhere close to where I am today without you. It doesn’t seem right that you’re still stuck.”
I give him a tight smile, ignoring the last part and focusing on the first. “It’s been an honor to work with you, Harry. I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”
“I’m still not perfect,” Harry says, blushing.
“None of us are,” Dee says, reaching over and taking Harry’s hand. “That’s the beauty of the Bad Luck Club. You become a better, stronger version of yourself by the time you graduate, but that doesn’t mean you’re done. It means you have the tools to keep working on yourself—and to help other people do the same.”
She turns her smile on me now. “You weren’t my sponsor, Cal, but you helped me more than you’ll ever know.” Her voice breaks, her eyes brimming with tears. “I went from being a worn-out, newly single mom, barely surviving with a dead-end job, to a job I love and a man who’s like a dream come true. I never would have gotten there if you hadn’t supported me and showed me that truly good men still exist. If not for the club, I might not have given Dylan a chance. Shoot,” she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, “I wouldn’t have met him at all if I hadn’t been working on a challenge.”
I shake my head, a lump in my throat. “That was all you, Dee. The club may have helped you get your confidence back, but the rest was you.”
“I was perfect all along,” Nicole says with her mouth around her straw, slurping her drink. “I just went to the meetings because I was bored.”
“Nicole,” Dee admonishes.
“What?”
Dee gives her the scariest mom face I’ve seen in ages, and Nicole groans, throwing her hands up in defeat. “Okay. So maybe the group helped me too. And so did you, Cal.” She shrugs. “I guess you have moments of being cool.”
“Thank you, Nicole,” I say dryly, and she shrugs again.
“I’ll never forget how much you supported me too,” Blue says. “You and Bear helped me learn it was okay to ask for what I wanted and to accept help from other people. I have a healthy relationship with my husband because of you, your dad, and the club.” Her chin quivers. “Now it’s time for me—” she glances around the table and then back to me, “—for us to help you.”
“Blue…” I trail off, unsure of what to say next. For three years, I’ve directed all my focus on helping the members of the club, purposely ignoring my own issues. It’s touching that they want to reciprocate. I really respect Blue, Dee, and Harry, and I don’t want to act like I’m blowing them off. And Nicole…she pretends like she doesn’t care, but she’s not just here for the margaritas…or maybe she is, given how fast she’s slurping them down.