Page 21 of Puck Daddies
“They won’t,” she says. “But Aqua already knows. And I think Bex picked up on things. They won’t say shit, though.”
I take a breath. “Scheduling. We pick windows when no one is wrecking tomorrow.”
“Good,” Hudson says, simple as that.
Rocco taps the table. “One more. We share space even if someone is in a bad mood. No stomping around. No icing people out. If you can’t be decent, go take a walk.”
“Agreed,” Meg says.
I look around. “We need a safe word. Something that cuts through noise.”
“Red?” Hudson suggests.
“Too common,” Rocco says. “We hear it on the ice too much.”
Meg tilts her head. “Hive.”
Hudson’s mouth moves. “Hive works.”
“Hive it is,” I say. “If anyone sayshive, everything stops. Period.”
We sit with the list. I watch their faces. No one looks trapped. No one looks angry. It reads simple and clean.
Meg looks down at her hands, then up at me. “I need to ask something.” She takes a breath. “Is this just friends helping a friend?”
Hudson answers first. “Friends.”
Rocco nods. “Yes. Friends.”
They both look at me. I hear my mouth say, “Yes.”
Inside, the word doesn’t match the lift in my chest when I picture the other night and this morning, and what happened around my table tonight. Itisfriends. It’s also more for me.
But I put that away for now. She needs us to be her friends. Not more than that.
Meg watches me a beat longer, like she can hear my head when I’m quiet. Then her mouth tilts. “Okay,” she says. “Friends. Helping a friend.”
Logistics come next, and the meeting ends without drama. It feels like a clean start. Hudson stands and stretches. Rocco stacks the water glasses and carries them to the sink. Meg lingers.
Hudson catches my eye and tips his head toward the hall. “I’m going to hit the gym,” he says. He’s giving us space.
Rocco gets the message and says he’s going to walk around the block. The door clicks. It’s just me and Meg in the dining room with the empty water glasses and the paper where I wrotehive.
“Oliver,” Meg says. It hits in the center of my chest. It always does.
I keep my voice soft. “To the team and fans, I’m Fitz.”
She steps closer again. “I’m more than a fan.”
I agree before I think about it. “Yes.”
She looks at my mouth and then at my eyes. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Thank you for trusting us,” I say.
She leans a hip on the table. “Limited public PDA,” she reads. “What counts as public?”
“Anything that makes it to the outside of this apartment. Or the stairwell. Or the garage. Or Sticky’s.”
