I glance up, and four sets of eyes are staring at me like I just spoke in tongues.
“What?”
Jake blinks. “Did you just… call him a Gemini?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Relax. I was joking.”
Reid stares. “You weren’t joking.”
Gary cackles from behind the bar. “What the hell are you boys into now? Crystals? Christ, next you’ll be telling me Mercury’s in Gatorade.”
Jake points his beer at me. “That’s something Lulu would say, yanno. She’s always talking about star signs at brunch.”
Something sharp and fleeting flashes across Eli’s face, but I keep my tone neutral as I toss in a bet. “What can I say? I’m a sponge for bullshit.”
The table erupts again, but my chest is tight because it’s a damn lie. I’d listen to her talk about planets, stars, and every damn moon phase, soaking up every word just so I can talk to her about her favorite things.
But for now, I push the thought of Lulu out of my head before I show my hand.
***
By the time I escape, it’s closer to midnight than I intended. My body aches from practice, my head aches from pretending, and all I want is to shower the Rink Rat stink off me and cross the street to her.
I shove my key in the lock, push open the front door—
And stop dead.
The air shifts, lighter somehow, full of movement. Helium balloons fill the entryway, crowding the ceiling, hundreds of them bobbing softly, their silver ribbons brushing against my arms and shoulders as I stand there, dumbstruck.
It takes me a second to realize they aren’t just balloons. Every ribbon has something attached to the end. Little squares, fluttering as the draft from the door catches them.
Photos.
My heart stumbles. I reach for one, fingers clumsy, and pinch the peg free.
Dusty, tongue lolling, sprawled belly-up on the couch. Lulu’s scrawl loops beneath it:Because you’re the best dog dad alive.
I huff out something like a laugh, though it burns on the way up.
Another—me, caught mid-laugh on her porch, head tipped back.Because you make me laugh when you don’t even try.
Another—her, blurry and grinning, holding up a matcha and toasting the camera.Because you always remember my order.
My throat tightens.
I brush past a cluster of balloons and pluck another. It’s from brunch last weekend, me wedged between Zoe and Chase, pretending not to glare while Zoe waved a mimosa in my face.Because you secretly love brunch, even if you complain the whole time.
I choke out a laugh and reach for another. Meadow, perched on my shoulders at a barbecue, both of us sticky with popsicles.Because you’re the best jungle gym.
My vision blurs as I take another. Me in full gear, helmet tipped back, sweat pouring off me after a game.Because you work harder than anyone.
Another—me, blurry mid-high five with Jake on the bench.Because you’re a better friend than you think you are.
Another—me holding Miso at Tamara’s insistence, the little demon actually calm for once.Because animals trust you, even the ones that pretend to hate you.
My hand shakes. I can’t even count how many there are. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Each one a reason, each one proof that someone has been paying attention, seeing me in ways I never thought anyone would.
Not goals. Not stats. Not Miller family expectations. Just me.
