8. Oliver
OLIVER
Sticky’s opens early for us when we ask. The manager flips the sign and keeps the TV on mute. Me, Rocco, and Hudson take the back booth where the sight lines cover the room. It’s team-only. No girlfriends. No fans. No media. Just the team.
We don’t talk until the mugs hit the table and the server walks away. I lower my voice. “She looked better this morning.”
Hudson keeps his eyes on the steam. “Brave face.”
“Brave face,” Rocco repeats.
“She looked better . We helped. That’s a fact.”
Hudson shifts in the booth. “We also made a choice that can’t be a pattern.”
“I’m not saying pattern. I’m saying the four of us worked. It wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t a fight. It was clear, careful, fun. That matters.”
Rocco rubs his thumb over the rim of his mug. “We have a season to worry about.”
“I know,” I admit. “I’m not proposing we live in her bed. I’m saying we talk about reality instead of pretending it didn’t happen. We clicked. It helped her. It helped us. We can put rules around it and protect the season.”
Hudson lifts his eyes. “Rules?”
“Communication. Consent every step. Aftercare. No jealousy bs. Limited public stuff. We can make this work.”
Rocco shakes his head once, not hard. “We’re not a college house drafting a chore chart.”
“No. We’re three men who don’t want to break a friendship and also want to help our friend. We don’t want to tank a season. We don’t want to hurt her. Rules keep people safe. We already use them everywhere else. Why not here?”
Hudson’s mouth twitches. “You love a rule.”
“I love sleep and winning and not lying to myself. The other night wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a thing that happened to us. She asked. We said yes. It worked.” I let that soak in. “If we act like it didn’t, we’re going to make messy choices by default. I’d rather make clean ones on purpose.”
The food arrives. It buys us a minute. We eat. I let them think while I cut my pancakes into quarters. Hudson eats fast and then slows down, thinking. Rocco takes apart his sandwich and reconstructs it because the egg slid.
Hudson breaks first. “If we set rules, I can stay on the rails.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it. He doesn’t need to. “I don’t want to hurt her by doing a dumb thing on a bad day.”
Rocco exhales. “And I don’t want to turn the whole thing into a secret that rots everything else.”
“So we talk tonight. House meeting. We call it Operation Un-Boring because she said the word out loud. Tactics, not secrets.”
Hudson stabs a piece of bacon and points it at me. “No, we treat it like a fire code. Clear exits. Clear capacity. Clear hours.”
“Fine. A fire code.”
Rocco looks up. “We tell her we’re not promising anything long-term. We’re not labeling. We’re setting conditions for when and how this can happen without wrecking her, us, or the team.”
I nod. “We can’t predict feelings. We can control behavior.”
Hudson snorts. “You should be a counselor.”
“I hammer nails and pour concrete. But thanks.”
We finish with fewer words and more coffee. We walk out together and split at the corner. Hudson heads for the arena. Rocco goes toward the shelter to check on a late intake. I call the site lead about the next job. After the call, I text the group: House meeting 8 p.m. Operation Un-Boring.
Hudson replies with a thumbs-up. Rocco sends a period, which is his version of I got it. Meg sends a bee.
The day moves. I shake hands with the new recipients of the house.
I push the shovel into the soil for the photographs and then step out of the way so the crew can work.
I carry what they tell me to carry and buy the doughnuts.
When I get home, I clean the dining table and bring out the good water glasses because I need the table to tell us what the night is.
I remind myself this isn’t a hangout. It’s a meeting.
At eight on the dot, Meg knocks even though she has a key. Hudson opens the door and steps back. Rocco follows. We sit. I take the chair at the end only because it gives me a clear view of everyone. I don’t want to feel like a captain. I want to feel like a host.
“Thank you for coming to my TED Talk,” I say, then shake my head. “Kidding. The agenda is simple. We make a plan, or we decide to stop. We don’t drift.”
Hudson folds his arms. “Plan.”
Rocco nods. “Plan.”
Meg looks from one face to the next. “I’m listening.”
I keep my voice steady. “It worked because we asked and answered every step. We can keep it working if we agree on rules. If anyone hates this, say so, and we’ll stop and figure out another way to keep the friendship where it belongs.”
“No one hates it,” Hudson says.
Rocco gives a short nod. “No.”
Meg looks at me again. “Say the rules.”
“Communication,” I start. “We say what we want. We say what we don’t want. We say when we need a minute. We say when we need to stop. No guessing. No testing. No picking this apart.”
She nods. “Clear.”
“Consent,” I go on. “We ask. We get a yes. We keep asking when things change. If anyone says stop, we stop. If anyone says slow down, we slow down. No questions asked. No debate.”
“Understood,” she says.
“Aftercare. We assume the person who gets quiet might be the person who needs the most. We get water and blankets. We check in later by text. We schedule a follow-up conversation if anything sticks. No leaving anyone alone with a spiral.”
She swallows and her shoulders sink. “Thank you.”
“No jealousy either.”
Hudson clears his throat. “This is a big one for me. I can’t pretend I’m made of stone. If I feel something ugly, I’ll call it and bench myself for a while.”
“Same,” Rocco says. Meg merely nods.
“Limited public PDA,” I continue. “A friendly hand on a shoulder is fine. Kissing outside this apartment is not smart. We protect Bea’s and we protect the team. None of us want a scandal.”
Meg nods. “I don’t want to mess anything up for anyone.”
Hudson nods. “I’m not talking about this in the locker room. I’m not even hinting.”
Rocco adds, “If a teammate asks a nosy question, we shut it down.”
I look at Meg. “We keep your staff safe from gossip. We don’t make them carry this.”
“They won’t,” she says. “But Aqua already knows. And I think Bex picked up on things. They won’t say shit, though.”
I take a breath. “Scheduling. We pick windows when no one is wrecking tomorrow.”
“Good,” Hudson says, simple as that.
Rocco taps the table. “One more. We share space even if someone is in a bad mood. No stomping around. No icing people out. If you can’t be decent, go take a walk.”
“Agreed,” Meg says.
I look around. “We need a safe word. Something that cuts through noise.”
“Red?” Hudson suggests.
“Too common,” Rocco says. “We hear it on the ice too much.”
Meg tilts her head. “Hive.”
Hudson’s mouth moves. “Hive works.”
“Hive it is,” I say. “If anyone says hive , everything stops. Period.”
We sit with the list. I watch their faces. No one looks trapped. No one looks angry. It reads simple and clean.
Meg looks down at her hands, then up at me. “I need to ask something.” She takes a breath. “Is this just friends helping a friend?”
Hudson answers first. “Friends.”
Rocco nods. “Yes. Friends.”
They both look at me. I hear my mouth say, “Yes.”
Inside, the word doesn’t match the lift in my chest when I picture the other night and this morning, and what happened around my table tonight. It is friends. It’s also more for me.
But I put that away for now. She needs us to be her friends. Not more than that.
Meg watches me a beat longer, like she can hear my head when I’m quiet. Then her mouth tilts. “Okay,” she says. “Friends. Helping a friend.”
Logistics come next, and the meeting ends without drama. It feels like a clean start. Hudson stands and stretches. Rocco stacks the water glasses and carries them to the sink. Meg lingers.
Hudson catches my eye and tips his head toward the hall. “I’m going to hit the gym,” he says. He’s giving us space.
Rocco gets the message and says he’s going to walk around the block. The door clicks. It’s just me and Meg in the dining room with the empty water glasses and the paper where I wrote hive .
“Oliver,” Meg says. It hits in the center of my chest. It always does.
I keep my voice soft. “To the team and fans, I’m Fitz.”
She steps closer again. “I’m more than a fan.”
I agree before I think about it. “Yes.”
She looks at my mouth and then at my eyes. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Thank you for trusting us,” I say.
She leans a hip on the table. “Limited public PDA,” she reads. “What counts as public?”
“Anything that makes it to the outside of this apartment. Or the stairwell. Or the garage. Or Sticky’s.”
She nods. “So this is private.”
“Yes.”
She takes one step more, and my heart bumps. She reaches out and touches my sleeve. She looks at me like she’s checking my balance. “It would be easy to set this on fire.”
“It would.” I shrug. “We won’t.”
Her hand slides down my sleeve to my wrist, and the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “You’re sure.”
“I’m sure of you. I’m sure of us four together. I’m sure of the rules. I’m not sure of the future. I don’t pretend I am.”
She exhales. “Good answer.”
“Thanks.” I force my hands to stay still on the edge of the table. “We can keep talking, or we can put on a movie, or I can make tea.”
She tilts her head. “Or we can flirt for ten minutes and then behave.”
I grin. “We can do that.”
She steps into my space one more inch. I stand still and let her set the pace. Her eyes are clear. Her mouth is steady. “I like your hands,” she says, eyes dropping to them. “They’re careful.”
I feel heat climb my neck. “Thank you.”
“I like how you talk about rules,” she says. “It makes me feel safe.”
“That’s the point.”
Her smile turns smaller. “I liked your mouth last night.”
I swallow. “I liked yours too.”
She leans up and kisses me once. Not long. Just contact. I don’t move. She pulls back half an inch and searches my face. “Still safe?”
“Yes.” I can hear my breath now.
She kisses me again. This time I kiss back, but I keep the pace slow and the pressure light, no matter how much I want this.
When I feel her hand tighten on my wrist, I ease off by a degree and check her eyes.
They’re clear. I kiss her once more and step back because that’s what the list says we do when the next step would make tomorrow stupid. We both have early mornings.
She laughs under her breath. “You really do follow rules.”
“Especially when I wrote them.”
She steps away from the table. “Movie?”
“Movie,” I say.
Hudson leans in the doorway, hair damp, shirt clinging to his back. “We still being adults?”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes.
Rocco hangs his coat on the hook and holds up a bag from the corner store. “I brought snacks.”
We settle on the couch with too much space between us on purpose.
The movie is average and easy to watch without paying attention.
Meg tucks her feet under her and sips water.
Hudson watches the screen and not her. Rocco passes the bowl without letting his fingers brush anyone’s hand more than necessary.
I sit on the end and count my breaths until they slow down.
Halfway through, Meg leans over and whispers so only I can hear, “Thank you, Fitz. ”
I turn my head. “You’re welcome, Meg. ”
It’s the stupid kind of teasing friends do that makes sense to no one but them. Her mouth turns up at the corner again, and she looks at the screen. I look too. I check the clock and do the math on hours of sleep before morning. We made a plan. We will keep it.
I go to bed and set my alarm for early. We have practice. We have work. We have a plan. I close my eyes and hold the line, no matter how much my heart wants to plow right through it.