Showers hiss in the background and sticks clatter into racks. Jake drops into the stall across from me, towel around his shoulders, and a grin on his face.
“Bachelor’s booked,” he announces. “Whole arcade’s ours. Beer, skee-ball, the works.”
Chase laughs, shaking his head. “You’re pathetic, Brooks. Guy’s got an NHL income at his disposal, and he’s choosing Pac-Man and bad pizza?”
Jake smirks. “Better than watching you eat pavement outside another bar. Place had to mop you up during Ryan’s Bachelor night.”
“That wasone time,” Chase fires back. “And the sidewalk came at me first.”
Laughter ripples down the row, and even Reid huffs a quiet breath, tugging his hoodie over broad shoulders.
Jake shrugs. “Anyway, it is what it is. Charlie doesn’t want flashy, so neither do I.”
That part I already know. They’re getting married in February at the town hall, nothing extravagant. A quiet ceremony when the league breaks for the Olympics, then a party downtown. It’s exactly what Charlie wants, which is the only thing Jake cares about.
Chase grins. “Low-key wedding, low-key Bachelor party. Should’ve expected it.”
Eli snorts, yanking his shirt on. “Based on what Zoe told Tamara, it sounds a lot better than her first wedding. Didn’t Alex throw money around like he was trying to buy class?”
The air dips for a second. Alex—the manipulative asshole Charlie married before Jake—still slinks around the edges because of the kids. Barely calls, rarely visits. The only reason Jake hasn’t flattened him permanently is that Noah and Meadow share his DNA.
Jake doesn’t rise to the bait, but his mouth hardens. “Don’t even say his name.”
“Sorry,” Eli mutters. “That guy’s still on my shit list.”
“He’s on everyone’s shit list,” Reid adds.
Jake shakes his head, throwing gear into his duffel. “As long as she’s mine, I don’t give a damn. She could marry me in a parking lot, and I’d show up in a tux.”
“Jesus,” Chase groans, fake gagging. “Some of us are trying not to puke in our mouths.”
“Shut it, Walton.” Jake pelts him with a tape roll.
The room shifts again when Eli blows out a groan. “Speaking of flashy, Tamara’s been torturing me all week. This sequin theme for the bachelorette has had her sending me pictures of the hottest outfits. I’m not gonna survive it.”
Chase chuckles. “Sounds like a skills issue.”
“Shut up, I’m serious.” Eli scrubs a hand over his face. “My dick’s gonna fall off before we even get there.”
Laughter roars around the locker room, guys pelting him with tape rolls and chirps. Even Reid shakes his head, muttering something about stamina.
“Tam’s been helping Lulu find something, too. Which is weird, ’cause Lulu’s usually first in line for sequins. Remember that Harry Styles concert? Had to wear sunglasses around that jumpsuit she wore.” He shakes his head. “Now she can’t find anything, and she’s all stressed out. Stressed as hell over that dumb school play the PTA roped her into.”
He pauses then and sharply points around the room. “And you bastards better come watch it, or I’ll ride your asses into the ground. You know how she gets. She’s a drama queen.”
A few of the boys laugh, and Reid mutters something that sounds like “runs in the family,” which earns him a towel to the head. Eli grins, and so do the guys, but I’m not laughing.
Drama queen, my ass.
I’ve seen the way Lulu chews her lip raw when people dismiss her. How her smile falters when someone underestimates her. She hides it well, sure, but sometimes the cracks show. And the thought of her sitting at home feeling like shit while Eli shrugs it off makes something in my chest burn.
I peel the tape off my stick a little too hard.
“She’s not a drama queen,” I mutter, too low for most of them to hear, but Eli’s close enough, and he glances over.
I keep my head down and continue. “She just cares. That play matters to her.”
He sobers a little, the grin slipping from his face as he blinks.
