Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I turned in front of the mirror, watching the way the fabric shifted like water, and then looked back at Gladys.
She stared at me, eyes a little glossy. “That’s the one,” she decided, walking over and taking my face in her hands. “Absolutely the one.”
Her touch was soft and grounding as she looked at me for a long moment. “Thank you for changing my life, Gabby.”
My chest tightened as I wrapped my arms around her and held on.
“As much as I hate your son and everything he and Maddox did,” I murmured, “I’m still grateful in a way. Because if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have met Webb, and I wouldn’t have this life with you in it.”
She smiled, a mix of sadness and warmth all at once. “Isn’t it wild that out of something so ugly, something good could grow?”
We bought the dresses and walked down the block to a little café with tables under striped awnings.
Halfway through lunch, she suddenly snorted, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe we’re sitting here thanking my son for anything.”
I laughed into my drink. “It’s strange how life works that way. But, no offense, your son might be the biggest asshole of assholes.”
She cackled so hard people at the next table looked over. “I should get him a T-shirt with that printed on it and mail it to him in prison.”
I grinned. “You might not want to do that. They’ll be waiting for him to drop the soap.”
Gladys wheezed with laughter, clutching her chest. “Child, you keep going like that, I’m going to need a paramedic. I’m too old to be laughing this hard in public.”
I passed her a napkin, laughing with her until my stomach hurt. “That’s fair. Let’s save the t-shirt idea for his parole hearing.”
She wiped her eyes, still giggling. “Deal. But I’m still tempted.”
And as we sat there—two women bound by tragedy and love and laughter—I realized that despite everything, life had carved out something beautiful in the wreckage. And it was worth every second.
Chapter 40
Gabby
The lights of Vegas were so bright they felt like a second sun. Neon pulsed across glass towers, music spilled out of every doorway, and the strip buzzed like it had a heartbeat of its own. It was loud and wild and already promising a night none of us were likely to forget.
We were all here. No kids. No responsibilities. Just grown adults pretending they weren’t exhausted by life and absolutely ready to make questionable choices.
Sasha and Jackson had handed off their daughter to her doting grandpas for the weekend and already had matching cocktails in hand. Sadie and Elijah arrived that morning, looking effortlessly gorgeous and entirely child-free. Marcus and Addie had surprised everyone by flying in late afternoon, also solo, and Marcus looked suspiciously relaxed for a man who usually had his phone glued to his hand.
Wes and Jesse rolled in just after dinner, smirking like they'd just crashed the Oscars.
“I cannot believe we’re in Vegas,” Wes greeted as they strolled up, clapping Webb on the back. “For a retirement wedding celebration of all things.”
Jesse nodded, grinning. “But there’s no way we’d miss this. This is, like, history.”
I laughed. “I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be an unforgettable experience for sure.”
That might’ve been an understatement.
Back at the hotel, Ira had commandeered one of the rooms—one with a view, no less—and turned it into what he called a “respectable gathering.” Which turned out to be code for an elaborate drinking game involving dice, laminated cards, and music from every decade mashed into a Spotify playlist that he absolutely would not explain.
“I call it the Retirement Romp Roulette,” Ira told us proudly, dealing out shot glasses like poker chips. “Patent pending.”
The guys dove in like frat boys on spring break. Webb shot me a look that said this is a mistake but still picked up his drink. And somehow, round after round, Ira kept winning.
That’s when I caught him. While the others were laughing at Marcus, trying to remember how many times he’d seen Dirty Dancing, Ira poured his tequila into a potted plant near the minibar. Then he swapped his shot glass with Wes’s mid-conversation. Twice.
I stared at him, but he just stared right back and mouthed, "You saw nothing."
I turned wide-eyed and tapped Sasha, then Sadie and Addie, cluing them into what was going on.
Sasha faked a spill that just happened to soak Webb’s next drink. Sadie quietly swapped Elijah’s with water, and Addie, ever subtle, laid her napkin over Marcus’s full glass, declared it “tainted,” and handed him one of Ira’s prepped replacements. By the time we left the hotel to hit the Strip, the guys were well on their way to hammered, while Ira hadn’t broken a sweat.
The Strip was chaos in the best way—flashing lights everywhere, bass-heavy music spilling from open-air clubs, and crowds dressed like it was either Halloween or the set of a music video. Jackson tried to order a drink from a mannequin. Elijah challenged a guy in a Captain America costume to a push-up contest. And Marcus, ever the philosopher, attempted to tip a mime before launching into a lecture on the ethics of street performance. Wes—Lord help him—had acquired a feather boa and was using it to lasso Jesse every time he wandered more than two feet away.