Page 54 of Puck Daddies
Hudson nods toward the wall. “You did this.”
“They did it. We helped.”
Rocco wipes his hands on a towel and sets it on the counter. “It was a good night.”
“It was,” I say. “I need to say something.”
We move to the stockroom. The door closes. The fridge hums. I hold the edge of the table because I need to feel something solid.
It takes a minute of trying to clear my head to be able to say it. “I have to call a cooldown on hookups. Until the legal mess stabilizes. I’m too stressed. I can’t think straight. I can’t do nights like last week and then come in here and be the person I have to be. I don’t want to lead anyone on. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. I don’t want to blow this up because I can’t hold both.”
Hudson leans back against the shelves and doesn’t argue. He looks like he swallowed a rock. He nods once. “Okay.”
Rocco doesn’t move for a second. He nods too, slow and careful, like he’s counting his own breath. “Okay.”
Oliver steps closer, not close enough to touch. “Thank you for saying what you need. We respect it. We’ll follow your lead.”
“I’m not asking you to wait,” I say, words tumbling now that I started. “I’m not asking you to put your lives on hold. If someone else comes along…” My stomach twists. “Take the opportunity, if you want. I just need the room to get this done. I need something simpler for a while. I need to not wake up in a bed that makes my head spin before I’ve even had coffee.”
Hudson’s mouth tightens and then eases. “We won’t push.”
Rocco says, “We’ll make space.”
Oliver says, “We’ll be here.”
I lay out the practical version because practical helps me. “No sleeping over. No couch naps together. No kissing. No touching that reads like more than friendly. We keep the door open if we hang in the living room. If I need a hug, I’ll ask. If any of you need one, ask. We don’t guess. We don’t test.”
“Deal,” Oliver says first.
“Yeah,” Rocco echoes.
Hudson says, “Yep,” and the word is gravel. He steps forward and stops like he hit a wall. “You need anything else?”
I just shake my head, feeling like an asshole. It’s stupid—this is what I need. But I still feel guilty saying what I need.
They don’t try to hug me. I’m grateful. We look at each other, and then we go back to work like we always do. We finish cleaning. We count the drawer. We lock the door. We carry trash out to the alley and drop the bags in the bin. The night is cold.
Oliver drives me home. We don’t play music. He doesn’t talk unless I talk. I don’t. He walks me to the door of my room but doesn’t come in. “Text if you need anything.”
“I will. Thank you.”
I shower and sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall. My phone buzzes with messages.The wall looks amazing.We donated.Thank you for tonight.I send bees and hearts and thank-yous.I answer Dana’s follow-up withGot it; we’ll be ready,and put the phone face down.
I lie down. I can still feel the crowd around me. I can still hear Aqua’s voice and the sound of tile labels printing, and Tom’s laugh and Bex’s tray hitting the counter. I can still see Aunt Bea’s painting through the doorway. The clock in my head is still loud,but the wall is real. Names are on it. People bought hexes for their memories. They put their fingerprints on ours. That helps.
I don’t like calling it a cooldown. I feel like I’m taking something away.
I also know I can’t hold everything and not drop the thing that keeps all of this standing. I need to be clear. I need to be good at my job. I need to be the person who keeps the room from breaking. I need to not break.
I close my eyes and breathe, one count in, two out. I do it again. I think about the wall and the tiles and the way the panel clicked into the brackets and held. I think about the wordstay.I want it. I will work for it.
I’m scared. Tired. Stubborn.
And tomorrow I will keep going.
Tonight I sleep alone. It’s the right call. It still hurts. I pull the blanket up and tell myself the truth—I can do hard for a while. Then I’ll come home and sit in this bed and see what the room feels like again.
I listen to the building breathe in the dark and make a small promise to the ceiling. I will keep Bea’s alive. I will not let Luke buy it out from under me. I will keep my own life from burning while I try.
