Page 83 of Puck Daddies
We go home. I cook because I have to do something with my hands. I still can’t believe we won. Pasta, salad, garlic bread. Hudson opens sparkling water. Rocco sets the table and hums his new song under his breath. Meg sits and kicks off her shoes, and rubs the spot under her knee where she carries stress. We eat without planning the next hour. After, we load the dishwasher and leave the sink empty because that small win helps tomorrow.
On the couch, Meg puts her head on my shoulder. “You wore the boss suit, and you knocked it out of the park.”
I stare at her blankly for a breath. “Did you really just use a baseball metaphor on your hockey player boyfriend?”
Her laugh echoes through my soul. “Okay, you smacked it past the goalie. Better?”
“A little,” I tease. “And I could only do it because I had help.”
“You always do. So do I.”
Hudson sits on the floor, leaning back against her leg. Rocco stretches a hamstring and says he isn’t old yet. We watch the late game and don’t talk until the second intermission. And when we do, we don’t talk about much, other than ignoring invitations to Sticky’s after the win.
It would have been a hell of a party, but I prefer this one.
I almost ignore another text, butDadcomes through on the ID. That can’t be good. I click it.
Saw what you did today—the case. The game. Well done, son.
I’m not prepared for the wave of something strange in my chest. It must show on my face, because Meg asks, “You okay?”
“I don’t know. But I think my dad might be proud of me. A little.”
She and the guys blink at that, so I show them the text. Hudson grunts, “The old man is full of surprises.”
“I’ll say. Thought for sure I’d be getting booted from the will any day now.”
Rocco shakes his head. “Your father likes winners.”
“True.” I sigh. “Guess I’ll have to keep winning.”
Meg nuzzles against me. “Bedtime?”
“Whatever you want.” Because that feels like winning too.
I lie down in my bed, and Meg curls against me, falling asleep before the sheets warm up. There’s a chance we might get everything we ever wanted. I can’t wait to find out.
29
MEG
We callit a Grand Re-Opening even though the doors never stayed shut for long. But it feels right to mark the line between before and after. The court order is framed in the office, just in case they try something else. But I don’t think they will.
Thanks to our customers and fans, we were able to raise the money and make enough noise about the situation that we were able to buy the building outright. It helps that Luke’s reputation has been utterly trashed in the media, and with that class action lawsuit against him, he had no legs to stand on when his shareholders demanded that he sell to us.
I beat him and Callie fair and square. The emails have stopped. No visits or calls. No peeps from either of them. That chapter is over. A new one begins.
At seven, I walk the roof with the beekeeper, Lila. Three new hives sit on the rubber matting, painted the colors Aunt Bea liked best. Sunflower yellow, slate blue, brick red. She always said those colors reminded her of kindergarten rooms and Pride parades. Bright and unmistakable.
We have obtained permits, installed the barrier railing, and taken all the other safety precautions that come with having a small apiary on a roof. Lila checks the entrance reducers and the water source. The bees are calm in the morning coolness. We named the apiary Bea’s Roof.
Back downstairs, the crew clocks in. I hold a short huddle by the hex wall. “Thank you for getting us here. Today is for Aunt Bea, for this block, and for you.” I hand each of them an envelope. “Bonuses. Three months’ pay. You more than earned it.”
Tom stares with wide eyes. “Meg.”
“Take it. No speeches.”
Bex hugs me anyway. “I’m buying a new oven mitt for the shop with mine.”
