“Do it right, or start typing your resume!”

I’ve lost count of all the times I’ve repeated this phrase over the past six weeks. That’s how long it’s been since our return from Greece. Still, to me, it feels like a whole year. Every single day has somehow gotten longer, more tedious, boring, and filled with all sorts of arguments at work. By the time I go home, I’m exhausted, cranky, and unwilling to speak much, if any. I’d be lying if I said “I don’t know the feeling,” because I do. This resembles a lot the period when I lost Pauline. Emptiness, hopelessness, and a gut-wrenching pain dominated my life back then. It was Stacy that made me believe in love again. It was her kind heart, her wild spirit and that knockout body that gave me that special feeling once more. Now that she’s gone, I’ve just abandoned all hope of finding someone new. I spend my nights alone, with my guitar in my arms, always strumming first the song I was playing when she and I met on that beach: Holiday. Within minutes, I plunge into the recent past. Memories take hold of me, throwing me back into the sweet world that she and I had created.

Things with Ray aren’t much different. Mr. Laid Back has stopped living up to his name. Unlike before, it doesn’t take more than an innuendo or a hint of a bad comment to set him off. Its origin doesn’t really matter. Whether it is from me, Dean or a client of his, Ray is never far from snapping. And, although it doesn’t affect our relationship with him, it does affect his business. He’s built a great reputation over the years. To most of his clients, he’s a tremendous professional who would go out of his way to satisfy them. Yet, his attitude of late threatens to destroy the name he has built for himself. There’s no telling where that will lead, but one thing is certain: unless he finds his former self, Ray will soon be facing unemployment.

On the other hand, Dean has come up with a unique way to cope with heartache. He takes out his frustration on the punching bag in his bedroom. Whenever he feels sorrow closing in, he locks himself in there and tortures that thing. At night, I hear his fists thumping against it and the old, familiar swivel doesn’t let up for at least an hour. He doesn’t even let the bag rebound. Instead, he continues to pound away, until his knuckles hurt or so I believe. Still, regardless of that, the once creative, promising chef is starting to become a thing of the past. Carlo, his boss has called me five times to complain about the kid’s absentmindedness. Dean has been burning chicken, pork, and messing up recipes he’s been working on for years. These are rookie mistakes, and yet, he doesn’t seem able to avoid them. Happily for him, his professional future isn’t at stake for now, because his contribution to making “Carlo’s” one of the best Italian restaurants in Manhattan has been invaluable. However, should he continue to screw up, he will leave no choice to his boss but to lay him off.

The situation between me, Ray and Dean has been rather weird. None of us is in a talkative mood, and when we do have a chat, it’s not like what it used to be. Back in the day, there was a lot of teasing, some nasty comments about any girls we might have been dating at the time and a light atmosphere in general. These days, we stick to minor stuff like what we’re having for lunch, dinner and any groceries we need. What’s even stranger is the fact that none of us – including me – dares to bring up Stacy. I don’t mention her out of respect for what they have been through with her. Perhaps they do it for the same reason. Maybe they’re afraid that talking about her will lead to an argument. I don’t know for sure, but those two appear to have locked away her memory and thrown away the key, as though she’s something sacred that has to be preserved.

Fridays are special to me, because they signal the end of the business week. I don’t have to tolerate faulty servers, worn-out cables and power outages for two days, and this Friday is no exception. I love kicking back with a beer without having to worry about next day’s workload. I’m making a grocery list with the supplies we need for the weekend, whereas Ray has just come back from a business appointment and Ray is searching for a new pair of boots online. Suddenly, our doorbell interrupts me, which is rather odd, considering the fact that no one rang our apartment buzzer.

“Ray, you didn’t leave the entry door open, did you?” I ask, strolling towards the door.

“No, man,” he claims, peeling off his denim jacket. I grab the handle and swing the door open. Once I see who it is, I feel shockwaves shooting down my spine. Five feet, seven inches, blonde hair and sky-blue eyes that can leave a man wondering if they’re real or not: it’s Stacy, with a brown purse around her shoulder and a look of stone-cold seriousness.

“Stacy?!” I exclaim, a happy smile bursting upon my lips. “What are you doing here? Come on in,” Leaning in, I reach towards her, but her reaction turns my joy into sheer disappointment. With her hand on my stomach, she pushes me gently back.

“Hi, Michael,” she speaks in a weak tone, heavy footsteps on the floor telling me that Ray and Dean are approaching. “Hello, everyone,” Stacy goes on as my friends stop on my flanks. “I’m sorry to bother you, but, uh…” she falters. “You need to know about something.” Finishing her sentence, she takes her purse off her shoulder. Fishing her hand into it, she pulls out a small, white envelope. “Okay,” she draws in a sharp breath. “Here goes nothing,” she whispers, setting the envelope in my hand. I pry it open with steady fingers. Still, the content shocks me to my very core. It’s an even bigger surprise than Stacy showing up on our doorstep is. It’s a sonogram. There’s a small object in the middle, no larger than a bean.

“I’m nine weeks pregnant,” she announces, taking yet another piece of paper out of her purse. “I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you this, but I couldn’t do a DNA test until last week. You had all left some hair on my clothes,” she continues, handing me over the paper. With my heart pounding as it had been when we were dating, I unfold it. The name on the top of the page shatters my shock in the blink of an eye. A massive wave of bliss takes its place, sending me to a heaven I thought I would never find myself in again.

“Michael Donovan.”

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to be involved,” Stacy declares, the blueness in her eyes darkening. “I mean, you live too far from me, and…”

“Stop,” I interrupt, my chest heaving, my hand beginning to tremble. I reach, grip her wrist, and ease her inside, before Dean pushes the door shut. “This is the best news I’ve gotten in years, and you think I don’t want to be involved?” I ask her, my voice but a whisper. “My life’s been hell without you.”

“Well, so has mine,” Stacy confesses, her voice wobbly. “What are you suggesting?”

“That you move to New York,” I retort, without thinking about my answer.

“Michael, I’d do that, I really would,” she sniffles, a tear streaming down her face. “But, here’s the problem. I fell for all of you back in Crete. You’re my heart of gold. Ray…” She whispers, shifting her attention to him. “You’re my easygoing charmer. And Dean…?” She turns her gaze right to meet Dean’s eyes. “You’re my caring biker.”

Seeing her eyes sinking under a pool of tears sends my heart plunging even deeper into the hell it’s been in since I lost her. On some level, I expected her confession. Why? Because: both Ray and Dean had been enthralled by her. She kept seeing them, which meant she must have had feelings for them. The solution to our issue strikes me in a matter of seconds. It may be unusual, but it’s the only way for me to watch my child grow up.

“Then I suggest we keep the arrangement we had in the summer,” I state, my voice rising in volume. “We all move in to a bigger house. And you won’t ever have to worry about a thing. We’ll raise this baby together. It’s going to have all the love in the world. I love you, Stacy.”

“I’m okay with that. I love you, too, you crazy girl,” Ray says, pressing his lips together.

“Me, too; I love you, blondie,” Dean confesses, his voice thickening with emotion.

“Oh…” a gasp of shock escapes her as two more tears race down her cheeks. “God, I love you all so much,” she whispers, collapsing into my embrace. One by one, Ray and Dean curve her arms around her, pulling her into a big, group hug. Holding her shaking body, I feel tears rising up in my eyes. My summer night’s dream is back. I’m touching her, I smell her, I can feel her body heat. And she’s brought another dream with her. It’s living inside her, growing up every day. In a few months, I’m going to realize it. And I’ll try my hardest to keep my promise to Stacy. No one will love her and this child more than my brothers and me.

Stacy

I’m lost in their arms, and I still can’t believe my ears. I can call Michael, Ray, and Dean my men again. Mine… I can repeat that tiny little word a million times; yet, grasping its meaning will never stop being hard. Three, incredible studs love me so much that they will not let me go. Last summer has just ceased being a bittersweet memory. They destroyed that bitterness as if it was nothing. Moreover, they’ve sent away the prospect of raising this child alone. It’s going to grow up amongst the men I love. My heart isn’t just pounding. It sounds like a wild horse, stampeding across the wilderness.

“Okay, no more tears,” Michael urges, kissing the top of my head.

“They’re happy tears,” I sniffle, easing back out of their hold. “You’ve just given me the world.”

“Actually, you gave us the world and something else,” He maintains, casting a quick glance over at Ray and then Dean. “Like I said, it’s been hard without you. These two are going to be in trouble if they keep messing things up at work, and so am I for that matter. We hadn’t started bitching at each other yet, but I think it was just a matter of time before that happened.”

“Dean, I don’t mean to pry, but you never told me why you consider Michael and Ray your brothers,” I say, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear.

“I was going to, on the night we crashed,” he says, his face tightening. “I grew up in an orphanage. I was released at age sixteen. I never liked school. After two years in juvie for shoplifting, Michael and Ray found me begging on the street. Michael wanted to give me shelter. Ray wasn’t thrilled with the idea at first, but Michael convinced him. Cooking was the one thing I was good at doing. They paid for Chef College. Today, I’m a chef at one of the most expensive Italian restaurants in downtown Manhattan.”

“Yeah, that’s sixteen grand I’m never going to see again,” Michael says, mock regret sending his voice up an octave.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have said that,” Dean growls, jumping onto him. I burst out laughing, striding past them. I prefer to leave them play their silly game. They may be grown men, but deep down, they’ll always be boys. Just before I enter the kitchen, I look up at them over my shoulder. Michael is behind Dean, his hands locked over his friend’s stomach. He’s lifting him up as Dean thrashes about, attempting to break free from the grip. I love that image. If anything, it’s indicative of their bond. I need that bond to be strong. My happiness and the well-being of my unborn child depend on it. I’m not afraid, though. We put that relationship to the test in the summer, and it passed with flying colors. We did that again just minutes ago, and the results were identical. Soon, the trio will have something else that will bring them even closer. And I do believe Michael’s statement about our child having all the love in the world. If it’s even half the love my men and I share, our baby will grow up in absolute bliss. Michael may be its biological father, but in truth, it’s going to have three fathers. They’re the rocks I can build on; the people who gave my life a meaning: my saviors; my lovers. my own men.