I exhale, stealing a glance at where I last saw Madison. “That easy, huh?”

“Not easy,” Quinlan corrects. “It’s brutally hard, but necessary. And it’s majorly worth it for your own mental health.”

Bristol leans in conspiratorially. “A tip from someone who struggled at first? Ignore the comments, the gossip, and the fans who think they know everything about your relationship. They don’t.”

I nod slowly, taking in her words.

“Also,” Quinlan adds, “if you ever need to vent, drink, or just take a break from being Gizmo’s wife, we’re always a phone call away.”

“We’re the BENT Bitches and we mean that term in the most loving of ways.”

That unexpected warmth settles in my chest, easing some of the tightness I’ve had. I’ve spent so much time trying to prove I belong, so much time worrying about where I fit into this new, bizarre world, that I never considered the possibility that maybe—I didn’t have to do it alone.

I let out a breath, finally relaxing as I meet their gazes. “I think I’m going to like having you two around.”

Bristol grins. “You don’t have a choice. If they’re brothers, we’re definitely sisters.”

I laugh, and for the first time tonight, I feel like maybe I can handle this after all.

“Oh, shit. Giz is coming back,” Bristol says and laughs. “We weren’t here.”

“Nope. If we weren’t here then we can’t be accused of corrupting you,” Quinlan says as she gives Jase a quick hug and kisses him on the cheek. “It wasn’t our fault. We promise.”

“It’s always your fault,” he teases, his grin genuine, as they walk toward their husbands. “I see you met the BENT Babes.”

“Bitches,” I correct and wink. “Get it straight.”

But before he can respond, a waiter appears, offering Jase a drink. He hesitates for half a second before taking it, his fingers tightening around the glass. I see the conflict in his eyes, the flicker of something unresolved.

I reach out and take the drink from his hand before he takes that first sip. “Maybe we hold off on this after earlier?”

I know it’s not my place to say it, to ask it, but I need to know whatever happens next tonight is real and not because of alcohol.

Jase narrows his eyes at me, but then his expression shifts, almost as if he realizes he’s two halves to a whole now—at least publicly anyway. He doesn’t argue against my request. Rather, he just lets me take the glass and set it on a passing tray.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“Facing one of these sober. Now, that’ll be interesting.” He chuckles sarcastically but when he links his fingers with mine and squeezes, that’s all I need.

He’s giving me a concession.

A huge one, apparently.