In amongst this chaos carnival, the calls for me to change only get louder.
“Tallulah Parnell!! Costume!” Zoe bellows, blowing her backup whistle.
“Yeah, quit stalling, Lu,” Charlie chimes in, Meadow now at her side in her marshmallow bride gown, with a big splash of Betty’s Baby Booper down the front.
Even Betty joins in, raising her glass. “Get moving, Sugarplum! Show us what you’ve been hiding.”
I laugh, but nerves flutter sharp and fast as I slip away from the porch. Upstairs, the noise dulls to a distant roar, but my pulse doesn’t calm. My hands shake as I dig out the folded Storm jersey, the one that carries his name bold across the shoulders, atop the number eighty-two.
Not just the jersey, though. I pull on the shorts and shin pads I borrowed too, the full effect. For good measure, I smudge a few black stripes of eyeshadow under my eyes—because if you’re going to play dress-up, you may as well commit.
In the mirror, the reflection staring back at me is equal parts ridiculous and terrifying. His jersey hangs huge on me, falling mid-thigh, but the pads and gloves and stick I’m holding give it some weight. Make it look like more than an excuse.
Butterflies riot in my chest.
And then I head back downstairs.
Chapter twenty-six
I’ll be your nobody, then
Logan
Dusty’s nose is buried in the candy table again.
“Drop it,” I mutter, prying a wrapper out of his mouth. He blinks up at me, sprinkles on his muzzle, zero shame in his eyes.
Behind us, Miso is still parading around with Zoe’s whistle clamped between her teeth. Every breath out of her tiny body comes with a shrill blast that makes my ears ring, but I’m just happy that demon is focused on a whistle instead of my face.
The kids are all flying high on Betty’sBaby Boopers, darting across the lawn with juice-stained grins and zero impulse control.
It’s mayhem.
Which tracks, because this whole night has been one long parade of chaos. And yet, my attention keeps snagging on Lulu’s front door. She’s kept her Halloween costume a secret from everyone, which has me equal parts nervous and excited. And half-praying that Betty was wrong about the dominatrix guess—because if she isn’t, I won’t be able to stop myself. And Eli is standing ten feet from me.
Betty’s next to me on the porch, neon drink in hand, chuckling as she watches Reid, who’s been roped into goalie duty for Theo on the lawn. The kid’s holding a foam puck Jake must’ve brought and keeps hurling it a whole three feet before letting out his signature “WOOOOAR!” and charging full speed at him.
Hutchy crouches low, moustache twitching, and rumbles. “All right, Simba. Let’s see it.”
Theo barrels into him, shrieking with laughter. Reid catches him easily, hauls him up under the arms, then tickles his ribs until the kid kicks and squeals so loud, half the block turns.
“Better luck next time, baby Brooks,” Reid deadpans as he sets Theo gently back on his feet and gives him a light pat on the head.
Theo beams up at him, puck already in hand to do it all over again.
Hutchy looks like he was born to wrangle toddlers. Not that I’d ever point it out—he’d probably murder me with his goalie stick.
“If I were thirty years younger,” Betty mutters, soft enough the kids can’t hear while watching Hutchy, “I’d flash that man my tits right here on the lawn.”
I choke on my beer. “Jesus Christ, Betty.”
She just grins around her martini glass. “What? You’re thinking it, too. Don’t lie, Sugarplum.”
I scrub a hand down my face, praying she never ever mentions her tits in earshot of me ever again.
The noise dips when she steps out onto the porch. At first I think I’m imagining it, the way the chatter softens, but then I see her.
Lulu. Inmyjersey.
