10. Chapter 9 #2
"It wasn't soft. It was—" Beck starts laughing before I can even finish the sentence. I roll my eyes again. "Just… Shut up. You're so annoying."
Beck laughs and leans back into his chair, soaking in the sun and looking damn good doing it.
"It was fine," he says. For a half-second, the grin slips into raw honesty. "She's good, actually. Asked me a lot of questions I didn't want to answer."
"Did you answer them?"
He squints at the sky like this requires deep thought. "Some of them."
"That's… actually good, Beck."
"Awww. There it is again. The soft voice." He turns his head on the lounger to face me, those bright blue eyes catching the sun and making my insides melt. "Keep going. Tell me I'm brave. Tell me you're proud of me. Tell me you want me to come over there and—"
“Beck!”
Zoey’s voice cuts through the air like a domestic goddess conjuring family unity. She's shouting from somewhere near the margarita station, and thank Christ she is, because I have no idea where that was going.
“Go and help Diego with the platter and get over here. You too, Darcy. We've got some bonding to do!”
Beck exhales dramatically but stands anyway, giving me exactly zero distance as his long fingers swipe my nearly empty margarita glass before he holds the other hand out to help me up.
"Seems we've been summoned." He yanks me up with one strong tug. "Come on, you're sitting next to me."
Minutes later, my first live experience of a Morrison family meal spirals into full-blown sun-drenched chaos as we surround the massive outdoor table overlooking the pool.
Diego’s margaritas glow like liquid sunshine, paired with a gallery-worthy spread of chips, guac, salsa, miniature tacos, and sliders so hauntingly perfect that Josie actually catches Declan smiling.
From there, the afternoon unfolds the way I imagine Morrison family meals always do… loud conversation, overlapping banter, and completely immunity to any concept of an agenda.
As Beck loads up my plate with three delicious smelling tacos, Morgan, at ten years old and operating at approximately the energy level of three adults, holds us all captive from the end of the table with yet another long-winded story from school.
"—and then Coach said I had the best wrist shot in the whole under-twelves, which obviously I do because Uncle Beck taught me, but also Colt says my stance is wrong and I should—"
"Who's Colt?" Beck asks immediately, mouth full of smoky beef slider.
Zoey goes very still.
"Mom's hockey boyfriend," Morgan announces cheerfully.
"He's not my—" Zoey starts.
Beck points at Zoey with a corn chip. "You have a hockey boyfriend?"
"He plays for the Snow Leopards," Morgan adds helpfully. "He's very tall and he smells good and he taught me the butterfly save."
"You're ten," Declan says, which is either about the save technique or the boyfriend commentary. Hard to tell with Declan.
Zoey redirects with the practice of a woman who has been deflecting Morrison chaos since before most of these people were born. She tops up the margarita glasses and turns to Beck.
"Be a good boy and get Darcy another one of those, would you?"
Beck gets up without question.
I stare at the back of his head, exchanging glances with Josie. He got up without question? No comment? No quick comeback?
Zoey catches my eye and smiles as Beck returns. He sets a fresh margarita in front of me, and drops back into his seat like this was a completely normal occurrence.
"Anyway," Zoey continues innocently, "how's the whole trade situation going, Beck? Anyone keeping you in the loop on that?"
Beck reaches for another slider. "Oh, you know. My analyst thinks I'm hot. So business as usual."
"He what?" Zoey looks at Declan.
Declan looks at Mason.
Mason looks at the salsa bowl.
"Um… You do know Darcy's the one recommending the trade, right?" Josie says casually, looking from Zoey to me then back again. "She's the Bears' performance analyst. Beck's been doing the full evaluation with her for days now."
Zoey turns to look at me with an expression I can't quite read.
Is she pissed at me? Is she shocked? I can't tell.
"You're the one trying to trade my brother?" Zoey asks directly, not even blinking.
I shift awkwardly in my seat. "Um, well, yeah. I submitted the recommendation—"
"Mason." Zoey turns to him, ignoring me. "Declan." She turns to him too. "Neither of you thought to mention this?"
"Pretty sure I mentioned it, Zo," Declan says.
"You said there was a trade discussion. You didn't say Beck was sitting next to her at my welcome lunch."
Beck gestures broadly at Declan with his now-empty margarita glass. "To be fair, Declan's truth-telling hasn't exactly been his strongest skill lately."
The table goes briefly, carefully quiet.
Josie was right. The tension in this family is off the charts.
Then Mason picks up the guacamole and offers it to Zoey without a word, which is apparently the Morrison version of we're changing the subject.
Zoey takes the guac, and just as I start to thank my lucky stars that the moment has passed, Zoey turns back to me.
"So. What's the verdict then, Darcy? He staying or going?"
Every eye at the table finds my face. I sit up straighter without meaning to.
"The evaluation is ongoing," I say. "But, to be fair, Beck's off-ice presence and recent performances have shown me things I didn't initially account for. He's doing well."
Silence.
Then Beck puts both hands flat on the table.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Can we just—" He turns to the whole table. "Did everyone hear that? Darcy Madden just said I'm impressing her." He presses a hand to his chest. "I would like this recorded. Diego, can you get it engraved on something?"
"It's not a compliment, it's a—"
"She's impressed." Beck tips his face to the sky like he's receiving a blessing.
"Does this mean you're changing the recommendation?" Josie asks, ignoring the little dance Beck is now doing that sends Morgan into a fit of giggles.
"The evaluation isn't complete. We have the game this weekend, which will be an important part of it."
It comes out more clipped than I intend, because the real answer is complicated.
Colin's emails have been getting shorter and more urgent all week. Other teams are circling. Another team is interested. Like he already knows the value is there and he doesn't want to lose it.
If I approve the trade, it needs to happen sooner rather than later to get the full value of his contract.
Zoey, apparently satisfied, pivots immediately. "Are you an only child, Darcy?"
I try to stop my brow from crinkling. "Uhhh… yes. Why's that?"
"Oh my God. No one stole your Halloween candy either," Morgan says, gleefully. "It's so good, right?"
"It absolutely is," I confirm, despite the fact I've never once been trick or treating because my mother thought it was "an organized excuse for children to beg from strangers."
"So that also means no one locked you out of the bathroom for forty-five minutes before school either then," Zoey adds, pointing at Declan.
"It was one time—"
They start arguing again, and suddenly, despite me feeling like I'm behind enemy lines, I'm smiling again. I can feel it, maybe warm and loose from the margaritas and the sun, but this is exactly what I never had.
A family who can disagree on things, but simply… moves past it.
You're not made to feel bad, or imperfect because you don't agree with something. You just… accept it and move on.
By the time the food is demolished and the margaritas are mostly gone, I've stopped feeling like an intruder, and started… just being here. Joining in the conversations, laughing at their banter, learning more about their lives growing up together.
It's nice, and Zoey is actually really easy to like. Shockingly easy.
She talks about her bakery with the same passion Beck brings to every conversation, and when she catches me listening, she tops up my glass and asks if I want the recipe for her famous cinnamon rolls.
I say yes before I even think about it.