Chapter 4 - The Uninvited Guest at Breakfast
Before Cassidy could muster another excuse, a sharp, urgent knock rattled the front door.
Grant frowned, walking past the living room and pulling the door open. Nolan stood on the porch, looking haggard, his red golf polo wrinkled and his hair sticking up on one side. He looked like a man who hadn't slept a wink, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"Grant, thank God," Nolan breathed out, stepping forward as if to clap a hand on Grant's shoulder.
Grant didn't move an inch, his broad frame blocking the doorway. His eyes locked onto his best friend of fifteen years with a cold, dead intensity that made Nolan halt mid-step.
"You've got some nerve showing up here," Grant said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register.
"Man, let me explain," Nolan stammered, looking past Grant into the foyer where Cassidy stood frozen by the kitchen island. "I didn't know what was going on upstairs. Swear to God, bro. Some people from out of town came with a group, and when I found out what happened... man, I kicked those guys out immediately. I swear to you, I had no idea."
"You hosted the party, Nolan," Grant replied, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "It was your house. You let three random guys wander upstairs into a bedroom while my wife was supposed to be sick."
"I was downstairs grilling, Grant! I was dealing with thirty other people!" Nolan’s voice rose defensively, panic leaking through his bravado. "Look, I value our friendship. We can fix this. Don't throw away a marriage over one stupid night. Everyone makes mistakes."
"Everyone makes mistakes?" Grant let out a short, cold laugh. "A mistake is forgetting to salt the steak, Nolan. Inviting a trainwreck into my home behind my back is a choice. And you covering for it because you didn't want the vibe of your little party ruined makes you just as pathetic as she is."
"Grant, please," Cassidy begged, rushing to the hallway, her face pale. "Don't take this out on Nolan. It was my fault, entirely mine—"
"Oh, I know it's your fault," Grant interrupted, turning his cold gaze back to his wife. "Both of yours. Now, get out, Nolan."
"Grant, come on—"
"I said, get off my porch before I forget every year of friendship we ever had and put you through that front window."
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Nolan swallowed hard, reading the absolute finality in Grant's eyes. He took a slow step backward, muttered an awkward "I'm sorry, man," and turned down the driveway, hurrying toward his car.
Grant closed the door with a heavy, final thud, locking the deadbolt behind him.
