Does singing “Velocity” hurt?
Did you wait for me?
Do you hate me?
By the time I pull up to Marco’s place, my hands are steady again.
Marco lives in a quiet neighborhood with enough trees to make it feel like the city is farther away than it is. His porch light is on, warm yellow spilling across the steps like an invitation.
I take a breath, then knock. The door opens and Marco is there, barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that saysRETIREMENT: 10/10 WOULD RECOMMENDin big block letters.
I huff out something that’s almost a laugh. Marco’s grin doesn’t soften, but his eyes do when he takes me in. Apparently my face is giving all my emotions away tonight. He steps forward and wraps me in a hug that’s firm and familiar, the kind that doesn’t ask questions but still somehow answers them.
“You look like shit,” he says into my shoulder.
“Love you too.”
“I do,” he says, then pulls back just enough to study my face. “Come in.”
Carol appears in the hallway behind him, hair piled messily on her head, wearing an oversized sweater that probably cost more than my car. She smiles like she’s happy to see me, but her gaze sharpens with concern the second it lands on my face.
“Hey, Ollie,” she says softly.
“Hey,” I manage.
She steps forward and hugs me, too, gentle and warm, smelling like vanilla and fabric softener. “We’ve got leftovers,” she murmurs. “And if you say no, I’ll throw a shoe at you.”
“I won’t say no,” I promise, because Carol doesn’t make empty threats and we both know it.
From deeper in the house comes the thunder of small feet.
“Uncle Ollie!” Mina barrels into the foyer like a tiny comet, hair in messy braids, eyes bright. Tucker is right behind her, clutching a stuffed dinosaur like it’s a weapon. They slam into my legs with the force of pure devotion.
I crouch automatically, arms coming around them. “Hey, monsters.”
“We’re not monsters,” Mina informs me very seriously. “We’rechildren.”
Tucker points his dinosaur at me. “Roar.”
I grin, the expression real for the first time all night. “That’s fair.Roar.”
Marco leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching us with that familiar softness that only shows up around his kids. “They’re supposed to be getting ready for bed,” he says, but he makes no move to stop them.
“Bedtime,” Carol calls from down the hall.
Mina groans like she’s being asked to file taxes. “Ughhhh.”
Tucker clutches his dinosaur tighter. “No.”
I glance up at Carol. “Want me to do story time?”
Her face lights up with relief. “Please.”
Mina narrows her eyes. “But you’ll do the voices?”
“Obviously,” I say.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on the edge of Mina’s bed with Tucker curled against my side and Mina sprawled across her blankets like a queen, holding a picture book that smells faintly like peanut butter.
