The sun didn’t just rise; it interrogated Leo’s retinas.
Leo sat up, his brain feeling three sizes too large for his skull. "Guys?" he croaked.
A sudden thud came from the closet. The door creaked open, and Elias tumbled out, wrapped in a hotel duvet, clutching a bag of ice to his head like a holy relic. He looked at them with wide, bloodshot eyes. "We didn't do anything illegal, right?" Elias asked.
The three of them stood, a shaky alliance of headache and mystery, ready to piece together a night they were reasonably sure they’d never be allowed to forget.
They both looked toward the balcony. Elias wasn't there, but his phone was, pinned under a heavy glass trophy that definitely hadn't belonged to them yesterday. As Leo reached for it, the memories began to strobe back: the neon lights of the Strip, a toast made with something that tasted like gasoline, and a very intense conversation with a man named 'Tiny' who owned a tiger.
"Define 'illegal,'" Leo said, "and maybe pass me that burrito. We have a lot of explaining to do before the church bells ring."
"The wedding is in four hours," Jax whispered, peeling off the goggles. "And I have a receipt in my pocket for... three dozen inflatable flamingos?"