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13.

In twenty-four years of friendship, he and Dave had never gone so long without speaking, even when his drinking had been at its heaviest, even when he and Kari had joined forces with his mother and Holly to stage an intervention. Aside from a few episodic disagreements over the years, they'd always remained close.

He'd done and said stupid things while he was drinking, things he apologized for and thankfully, was forgiven for. And he would've understood if Dave had called him, tried to atone for his shitty behavior but he hadn't heard a word from anyone, save from Kari, who was mortified by the circumstances and to have him thank Stefani profusely for the flowers and note she'd sent over.

"He truly feels awful," she had told him over the phone on Monday night. "I think it was just the shock of having someone of her caliber at the house...plus, that reporter hiding in the bushes and he really did drink way too much, Brad. We don't blame her in any way. She's a very sweet woman. It's just her lifestyle is going to take some getting used to, especially for Dave."

"She isn't something to "get used to," Kari. She's in my life and he can either accept it or not. And if he can't, then I'm sorry, but please don't expect Lea and I for brunch anymore."

When he reiterated their conversation to Stefani later on that evening, she listened carefully as he expressed both his disgust with Dave's behavior, as well as Kari's excuses for it and to the revelation that he'd decided he wasn't going to go to their house until something gave.

When he had finished, she took both of his hands. "I'm not telling you how to live your life, Bradley. I would never do that. But please believe me when I say, he's not the first person to make blantant assumptions about me based on what he's seen in the tabloids and he certainly won't be the last. He's one of your oldest friends and I know he wants what's best for you. I get it...Bo feels the exact same way and you saw how Natali gave you the third degree."

"Difference is, they never made disparaging remarks about me like Dave did to you." His throat tightened at the memory. "How can I possibly forgive him for what he said about you?"

"B," she replied compassionately, "he doesn't know me. But you do. That's all that matters. You know my heart. What is it you said? Everything else is just noise."

When he got to the restaurant on Tuesday, he tried to retain the sentiment but the instant he'd stepped through the door, he was halted by Sam, the older man stopping to clap him on the back with a strength Bradley didn't know he possessed.

"Hey, Sam," he said amusedly, "not that I don't appreciate the enthusiasm, but what's going on?"

"You sly dog, you," Sam said heartily, a smile lighting up his face. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Bradley shook his head, betraying his confusion. "Okay, I must really be dense here. Say anything about what?"

"Look at you, trying to be all nonchalant," he drawled, "about the lovely lady you're seeing."

Fuck," his stomach soured. The tabloids.

Though they'd spoken about it at length and they'd agreed not to make any formal statements and allow Leslie to field any questions, he couldn't help but feel self-conscious that his personal life would be fodder for discussion at work.

"Ah, well, you know me. I just keep my head down," Bradley shrugged. It seemed best to keep things casual. "Uh, how did you happen to find out?"

The inquiry seemed to make the older man slightly uncomfortable and he smoothed down his mustache. "Oh, the guys happened to mention it. I'd be on the lookout for the boss, though. He seemed a little up in arms about the whole thing, if you know what I mean."