“So I’m no one’s emergency contact,” Jake huffs, flapping his arms. “In case of emergency, when one of the three loves of my fucking life may be in actual mortal peril, I’ll have as much right to get a phone call as Poseidon?” Hearing his name, the dog barks again. “I cannot believe that I’m a literal fucking doctor, and yet not a single one of you put me down as your emergency contact,” I say. “Guys, this isn’t a big deal,” Caleb reasons. “It’s just a name on a form—” “Easy for you to say,” Jake snaps,
