Epilogue
Cori
TWO WEEKS LATER
D eck stood outside the doorway to a room at the end of one of the Center’s corridors.
When I was a kid, this room had been a multipurpose classroom, but for the past few years, it’d been used for storage.
As the last item on his construction list, Deck had transformed it into something entirely different.
We had a grand reveal planned for later that afternoon. All our friends and family, along with the Center’s board members, would be on hand for the big unveiling.
But for now, it was only Deck and me. He hadn’t allowed me to come in while he’d been working, and he wanted to show me the finished room before everyone else saw it.
He removed the plastic sheeting over the door, and I stepped inside to look around.
Colorful murals celebrating the backgrounds and cultures of the Center's youth covered two walls, courtesy of Reign.
There were dedicated tables for crafting, with organized cabinets of supplies along a half wall.
Kids would have access to everything from crochet hooks to a sewing machine.
The library was filled with books suitable for all ages.
A large section had been designated as a "chill zone" where program participants could simply hang out away from the noise.
Reign had pointed out that the Center lacked a space for that purpose.
Having a calming area would help kids like Reign, whose social battery drained quickly, as well as our neurodivergent youth.
The vision for the room was that it would be a place of quiet creativity and introspection, but Marisol had wisely declared that the room would evolve into whatever it needed to be.
We wouldn’t know what that was until the kids started using it.
I wrapped my arms around Deck, pulling him back to my chest. “He’d really love it,” I said.
“You think?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s fitting that a room designed to make sure every kid at the Center feels welcome and seen is named after him.”
Deck sighed, running his hands along the newly installed plaque he’d made, which read, The Eliazar Moreno Room at the Hope Center, a space for self-expression.
“Is Mia going to make it this afternoon?” he asked.
“No. I invited her, but she couldn’t come. She sends her best.”
Mia had joined the Center’s board of directors, but I hadn’t seen her in person since the gala.
Despite my efforts to be friendly and get to know her better, she was tight-lipped about her situation and how she spent her days.
The only things I truly knew about her were that she was an awesome, big-hearted person and somehow had loads of cash.
“That’s too bad,” Deck said, walking to the other side of the room to open the windows.
I tapped on the plaque. “Love you, Eliazar,” I whispered to the wood. “Wherever you are, I hope you know I’m taking care of your brothers.”
I felt a pang that Eliazar’s other friends were missing this event. Johnny had almost another full month of rehab until he completed his ninety days. Cruz had been MIA since the gala. He was still answering Deck’s texts, but Deck’s plan to convince him to work at J&D was on ice.
Deck didn’t know if Cruz was staying away because he was embarrassed about his behavior, or if the gala had convinced him he didn’t belong with us anymore.
“It’s not true,” I mumbled again to Eliazar’s plaque.
“Deck will always need Cruz, and so will Johnny when he gets back. So don’t worry. We’re not giving up on him.”
“I really think these new windows worked out well,” Deck said, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.
“You did a great job. I can’t believe how much unused space was here." He had removed two walls of built-in cupboards that had been around when I'd attended the Center, freeing up a surprising amount of square footage.
“I’m surprised at how little effort it took for what looks like a total transformation.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re underselling it. Transformation usually requires a little effort.”
He laughed and pulled me into a hug. “But it’s so, so worth it.”
After confirming for him one last time that the room had turned out fantastic, I gave him a quick peck on the lips and left to meet Quincy and Ana in the office.
We’d given ourselves a week to breathe after the gala, but now we were back at it.
The Center wouldn’t save itself. But at least I felt confident that, whatever the outcome, Deck would hold my hand.
No matter how difficult things might get, we’d never take our love for granted.
Ten seconds later, my phone rattled.
Baby.
Heart emoji.