Page 58 of Puck Daddies
“I wouldn’t be near this if you hadn’t handed me the mic.”
“You did the work. If the timing works with games and you feel good about the setup, go. We’ll still be here.”
“What if it’s now?” I ask. “Like, next month.”
She takes a breath. “Then we make it happen. You’re allowed to be happy, Rocco.”
“I am.” I mean it, and it scares me a little. “I’ve got the shelter after lunch. I’ll call her at three.”
Meg looks at my mouth like she wants to break her own rule again, and then she steps back. “Go. And text me after the call so I can squeal in the stockroom without freaking out the customers.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
“Thank you for telling me first.”
“You were always going to hear first.” I head out through the kitchen and catch John’s eye. He clocks my smile and doesn’t ask. Outside, the air is cold and clean. In the car, I sit for a second and replay the kiss.
I sit with my hands on the wheel and try not to read too much into one kiss. The rule is hers. I respect it. She broke it and thencaught herself. It could be joy for me, not a change for us. I hope it’s both. But I also know hoping isn’t a plan.
At the shelter, I clock in and grab the task list. Water bowls, dishes, laundry, then intake at two. Brownie is lying down when I pass. I hum, and he flicks an ear without lifting his head. Progress.
Midway through dishes, Marta, the shift supervisor, leans in the doorway. “You’re close with the coffee shop crew at Bea’s?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“That man who keeps trying to buy the building—Addaway?”
“Luke.” The name tastes bad.
She makes a face. “I shouldn’t gossip, so pretend I didn’t say this. People have been filing complaints about his dealerships for years. Shady financing. Yo-yo loans. People drive off and get called back because financing ‘fell through’ and then they get hit with worse terms. Power booking. Add-ons they didn’t agree to. We hear about it because folks whose dogs we help get their cars repossessed and can’t get to work.”
I wipe my hands and keep my voice steady. “Anyone ever put it in writing?”
“Some. The state AG has files. CFPB too. I don’t know where it went. There was a rumor about someone looking into their paper last year. Quiet now. I only bring it up because if he’s playing dirty with loans, he might be playing dirty with property, and he ripped off my brother-in-law last year. Nearly got him arrested because after the predatory loan, Addaway repo-ed his car, and there was almost a fistfight over it. Be careful.”
“We will. Thank you.”
The thought sits there while I walk the next pair of dogs. If there’s smoke on his lending, there might be a fire somewhere we can point to. I’m not a lawyer. I’m not a reporter. But I can put the idea in front of someone who knows what to do with it.
At three, I step outside and call Siena. She lays out the plan in clean lines. “I book a small Steinway room in a Midtown studio for three weeks with buffer days. You and a pianist build the set in week one, record in week two, and fix any extras in week three. I like small, honest mics for your sound. Repertoire can be classical and crossover, but it must be baritone. We’ll get you a coach who won’t try to push you to tenor.”
“Timing?”
“I have a block starting four weeks from Monday. If that’s too tight, I can shift it to early summer, but the pianist is free now.”
Four weeks. My stomach tightens. “We’re in season.”
“Of course. I don’t want to screw your team. I want a record we’re both proud of. We can hold the dates for a week while you check. I’ll email a simple term sheet.”
“Thank you. I’m interested. I just have other pieces to fit.”
“Understood. Figure it out and get back to me.”
We hang up. I text Meg and get a heart and a bee back. She’s busy, but supportive. Always.
I finish my shift at the shelter with the list running in my head. If I do New York now, I’ll miss a chunk of games. If I wait, the window might close. If I say yes to summer, we need to keep my voice steady until then. I file all of it and drive home.
Oliver is in the kitchen chopping peppers. Hudson is on the couch with his laptop open to video clips. He’s paused on the hit from last night and scrubs back and forth, studying footwork and angles. He looks more focused than angry. Good.
