Chapter 25 COWABUNGA
Chapter twenty-five
COWABUNGA
Lulu
By the time Halloween finally rolls around, my house looks like the holiday threw up on it. Pumpkins on the porch steps, cobwebs trailing from the gutters, skeletons swaying lazily from the trees lining the street.
They’re accompanied by Betty’s fog machine, currently belching smoke across the yard, thick enough to qualify as a fire hazard. She insisted it was “atmosphere,” but personally, I think she enjoys watching the mailman choke on dry ice.
I’ve been collecting decorations for weeks, sneaking bags into the trunk like contraband.
Logan would glance at them sometimes and mutter something about me running an underground pumpkin cartel, but honestly, this is my thing.
I love occasions. Any excuse to celebrate, to make things brighter, louder, a little ridiculous.
And this year, I’ve had something extra to glow about.
The last few weeks have been a blur of long road trips for the Storm, filled with me stuck counting down to the next video call or stolen hour.
But the team arrived back yesterday, and Logan was in the mood to make up for lost time.
One more fantasy crossed off my list, one more reason I’ve been walking around with a blush I can’t shake.
I can still feel it if I close my eyes: the cold press of his kitchen counter against my hips, his hand splayed heavy across the back of my neck as he thrust into me from behind, breath hot in my ear.
“Lesson whatever. Gonna fuck you like this every time I come home, so you can feel exactly how much I missed you.”
My thighs clench at the memory, heat rushing up my chest so fast I almost drop the tray of spider cupcakes in my hands.
“Uh-huh.”
Betty’s voice cuts through the fog machine haze, sharp with amusement. I blink back into the present to find her watching me from the porch, a broom brandished in one hand, a neon green drink in the other that’s definitely not cider.
I raise both eyebrows as I place the cupcakes down. “What?”
“Don’t give me that innocent look, Sugarplum,” she says, eyes glittering as she taps the fog machine with her broom. It hisses, belching out another plume. “I’ve seen that daydreaming face before.”
I clamp down on my lips and shake my head once, fussing with the orange gluten-free macarons I ordered to look like little pumpkins. “Don’t know what you mean.”
She sips her drink and hums knowingly. “Mmm… Nothing says neighborhood spirit like terrifying small children with animatronic ghouls,” she declares. Then, with a sly smile, “And nothing says I got railed last night like the way you’re blushing into those macarons.”
“Betty!” My face flames hot, which of course only makes her grin wider.
“Don’t worry, Sugarplum,” she adds, giving me a wink. “If Hockey Boy sneaks over after midnight, I won’t mention to Eli that his teammate’s lighting you up like a pumpkin.”
I make a strangled noise, because she’s not wrong.
The schedule gods have finally blessed us with a week of home games, with Halloween falling perfectly across two full days off for the team. Which means tonight is going to be chaos.
The street’s already humming, string lights zig-zagging between mailboxes, someone’s Bluetooth speaker thumping, a firepit spitting sparks two houses down, and Betty’s fog curling off her lawn.
Dusty stretches on my porch step, the lion mane I strapped on earlier framing his head. He blinks up at me, patient, regal, bribed within an inch of his life with string cheese.
“You’re the majestic king of the cul-de-sac,” I whisper, smoothing the ruffled mane Logan has no idea exists.
Engines rumble at the end of the block, before I see two SUVs and Logan’s truck.
They’ve been getting organized at Chase and Zoe’s place, on Chase’s orders.
Dusty’s ears perk up, and he rushes to his feet, trotting down the steps as his mane bounces, to meet whoever’s about to explode out of those car doors.
Tamara hits the curb first. She’s in black and white stripes and a tiny ref skirt, blowing a whistle she absolutely should not have access to. In her other hand is Miso. In a Yoda hood and ears.
Betty chuckles as she sees her. “Tiny she is,” she intones, delighted. “Powerful in the ways of chaos she remains.”
Miso freezes as she locks eyes with Dusty, then breaks into a little gremlin prance, trilling yaps as if she’s announcing his coronation. Dusty accepts the worship with a solemn tail thump.
King and goblin. It’s a vibe.
More doors slam, and laughter flies through the street. I squint through the fog and see a wave of green.
Jake, Eli, Chase, and Logan spill onto the sidewalk in full turtle get-ups. Green from head to toe, foam shells strapped to their backs, masks tied askew with zero shame.
The freaking Ninja Turtles.
Iconic.
And also Reid Hutchison’s worst nightmare. Which, judging by the smug grins plastered on their faces, was a choice made purely out of spite and brotherhood.
Chase, in orange, is already declaring himself the “sexy one,” posing in a vulgar crotch-grabbing thirst trap pose, his shell bobbing behind him as he does so.
Jake, in blue, is arguing about weapon accuracy with Eli, in purple, who looks like he’s reconsidering friendship.
Logan catches my eye across the yard, deadpan beneath his red mask.
He mouths, Help me.
I grin at him as he takes a step toward me, but he’s interrupted by Dusty leaping at him in his lion’s mane. “Why does my dog look like he lost a bet?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “He looks like a king,” I repeat, because I’m committed.
Suddenly, another door slams, and a figure in a cloak slowly bends out of the car. Reid trudges up behind the boys, hooded robe dragging the ground, a walking stick in hand.
Splinter.
I laugh, clapping a hand over my mouth. “Wait, why on earth didn’t you want to be a turtle, Hutchy?”
His glare cuts sharp through the fog. “Because turtles are hellspawn, Parnell. You’d know—you keep one imprisoned in a tank in your classroom.”
Betty gasps so loud that several neighbors look over from their yards. “Oh my god, it’s Daddy Rat!”
Hutchy freezes mid-step, ears going pink as he clocks her on her porch. “Absolutely not.”
“Master Splinter,” Betty purrs, lifting her drink in salute. “Sensei.”
Reid keeps his eyes on her as he moves sideways toward me. “That Betty?”
“Mmm,” I hum my reply, holding out a pumpkin macaron as a peace offering. “Best keep clear of her tonight.”
Charlie follows next in a bright yellow jumpsuit, plastic mic in hand, and Theo on her hip, who also dons a lion mane.
“April O’Neil! Oh my god, Charlie, you’re perfect!”
“Thank you,” she says, striking a pose.
I take a step toward her, holding my hand out to Theo. “You are the best Simba ever, buddy.”
“WOOOAAAR!” he replies, committing all of his one-year-old self to the character.
“Oh my goodness, you scared me!” I take a step back and pretend to shriek along with the rest of the crew, who all play along.
I feel Logan’s eyes soften on me as Charlie grins, handing Theo off to Jake. “Here ya go, Leonardo. I need to help Meadow and Noah.”
Zoe struts over next, in a matching costume to Tamara. Referee stripes on a low-cut top, and a black pleated skirt far too short to be legal. She blows her whistle so obnoxiously, my ears ring.
“Who would let you two supervise anything?” I ask with a grin.
“Offside!” Zoe declares, ignoring me as she points at Chase, who is slowly stalking toward her with a filthy grin on his face.
“That skirt should be offside, Zo Face,” he replies, darting to grab her, but she blows her whistle loud again and jumps out of the way, shrieking as he loses his balance and lands on his foam shell.
“Oh my god,” she yelps with laughter, doubling over as he twists and struggles to turn over and get up. “You’re a disgrace to Michelangelo.”
“They’re a disgrace to everyone,” mumbles Hutchy, mouth full of orange macaron.
Ryan and Claire roll up last, hand-in-hand as Fred and Daphne. Poppy, their two-year-old, trots at their heels in a Scooby-Doo onesie, her tail wagging so hard she nearly falls over.
It’s cuteness overload, and I don’t think this can get any better, but then I spot the rest of the kids walking in with Charlie, and my chest actually aches.
Meadow is dressed like a marshmallow bride. Layers upon layers of white tulle and sparkles, a tiara in her hair, shimmery makeup, and holding a pink and white bouquet of carnations that apparently Zoe made for her.
But it’s Jake’s face I’m watching go slack, eyes suspiciously shiny, when he sees nine-year-old Noah dressed in a mini Colorado Storm outfit. Complete with a stick, helmet, and Jake’s number emblazoned across his back.
Chase smacks him on the back. “Can’t believe he picked you as his favorite, Brooks. What’s your plus-minus this season again? And what’s mine?”
“Shut up,” Jake chokes out, voice rough.
I just stand there, hand pressed over my heart, surrounded by fog, chaos, and more love than my front yard should be able to hold.
“Lu!” Eli’s voice rings out from around a large spider cupcake, chocolate mixing with the green face-paint around his mouth. “Why are you not in costume yet?”
Every set of eyes turns to me, murmuring their agreement as they realize I’m still in my jeans and a black cobweb T-shirt.
“Just keeping you all on your toes,” I say lightly. “It’s a surprise.”
That’s apparently all the encouragement they need.
“Sexy witch,” Charlie calls immediately, back to balancing Theo on her hip.
“Cat,” Tamara says at the same time, swinging her whistle. “She gives cute pussy energy.”
Eli makes a strangled noise and nudges her, while Logan grins and turns away, and the rest of us laugh.
Zoe loudly blows her whistle. “Please, Tamara. Use the correct terminology. If she’s gonna be a pussy, she’s basically coming as a giant vagina. She’ll be a walking, talking YONI.”
“Oh my god.” I nearly choke on air as Eli looks ready to faint.