Your phone buzzes just as you're settling in for the night, a half-filled glass of wine in one hand, the other scrolling through an old playlist. Grayson's name lights up your screen.

You swipe to answer, already smiling. “Hey, babe,” you say, your voice soft. “Didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”

But his voice on the other end isn’t the relaxed tone you’re used to. It’s clipped. Urgent. “We need your help,” Grayson says. No hello. No hesitation.

Your smile fades. “What’s going on?” you ask, sitting up straighter. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. “But it’s complicated. Me and the guys—something’s come up. We’re kind of in a situation.”

That tells you everything and nothing at the same time. You know how Grayson and his brothers operate—tight-lipped, fiercely loyal, always in over their heads.

“Grayson, what kind of situation?” you press. “Legal? Dangerous? Should I be worried?”

He exhales heavily on the other end, like he's running out of time. “I can’t get into it over the phone. But we need someone who knows people. And you—well, no one knows how to get things done like you do. You’ve always had the connections.”

You pause. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken history. He knows how many times you’ve bailed him—or all of them—out before. But there’s something in his voice this time. Desperation, maybe. Or guilt.

“I promise,” he adds, quieter now, more personal. “I’ll make it up to you later. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. Just… please say yes.”

You lean back, rubbing your forehead. You should say no. You want to say no. But then again, you've never been very good at denying Grayson anything.

“Text me the details,” you finally say, your voice resigned but steady. “And Grayson?”

“Yeah?”

“You better bring wine. And answers.”

You can almost hear his smirk. “Deal.”

The line goes dead. You're already grabbing your coat.