34. Buzz
BUZZ
NOW
The first thing I noticed about Lo and Ezra’s backyard was that someone had tried very hard to make it elegant.
The second thing I noticed was that the Frosthawks had already begun threatening that elegance as a species.
There were pale linen-covered tables arranged across the lawn beneath strings of white lights. Flowers spilled out of low ceramic bowls. Little cards with hand-lettered script labeled desserts.
There were tiny lemon tarts. Cream puffs. Chocolate-dipped strawberries. Cupcakes with soft green frosting. A whole table of cookies shaped like moons, stars, baby bottles, and, because this was Northbend, tiny Frosthawks jerseys.
Someone had tucked little ember-red pacifiers into the floral arrangements.
Bea sat beneath the shade of a wide cream umbrella near the patio, one hand resting on the round curve of her belly, looking overwhelmed enough that even Marco had lowered his volume by ten percent.
She wore a soft white dress that made her look like sunlight had decided to become a person, her dark hair loose over one shoulder, gold at her ears, her mouth trembling every few minutes like the amount of love pointed at her had become physically inconvenient.
Alois stood behind her chair. He had one hand resting on the chair back, not touching her, exactly, but close enough that the entire yard understood he could reach her in half a second if she needed anything.
Water. A fan. A different chair. The head of anyone who asked whether she was sure she should eat another cupcake.
Bento sat on Alois’s shoe. The cat looked furious about it. Alois looked resigned, which for him was practically a love poem.
Rafa stood a few feet away with a glass of sparkling water in his hand, watching Bea like he was seeing every age she had ever been and every age she was about to become all at once.
He had been introduced to me before, briefly, in the way men were introduced at events where the women around them mattered more than they did.
He was handsome, composed, and clearly using every ounce of that composure to keep from becoming a public emotional problem beside a dessert table.
Ezra stood near Lo at the patio doors, sleeves rolled once, expression caught between host and man who had accidentally grown a second family around himself and did not know where to put all of it.
Lo touched his arm as she spoke to one of the servers. He looked down at her, his face softening in a way that made me glance away because some kinds of love felt private even when they happened in full daylight.
And then there was Lucy.
She stood near the far end of the dessert table with Dottie’s leash looped loosely around one wrist, talking to Freya while Arlo hovered nearby with a plate and the expression of a man who considered hovering a legitimate form of sibling security.
Lucy was not dressed for work. That hit me harder than it should have.
No blazer. No director armor. Just a deep green sleeveless dress beneath a light cream cardigan, her curls pinned back on one side, her glasses catching the sun when she turned her head.
Dottie saw me before Lucy did. Her ears went up. Her tail started. Lucy looked down at the movement, then followed Dottie’s attention across the yard.
Our eyes met. Lucy looked at me, and her mouth softened by half a breath before she remembered herself. Then she looked away.
I stayed where I was and I took the drink Zee shoved into my hand. “What is this?” I asked.
“Something with cucumber.”
“Why?”
“Lo said hydrate.”
“She said that to you?”
Zee nodded solemnly. “I felt seen.”
Across the yard, Marco had found a tiny clothespin clipped to his shirt and was interrogating Reed Bishop’s oldest daughter about the rules of the game.
“You cannot say the word,” she told him, stern as a referee.
“What word?”
She narrowed her eyes.
Marco narrowed his right back. “This feels like entrapment.”
“It is,” Harry snickered, passing behind him with two cookies stacked on a napkin. “You’re losing to a nine-year-old.”
“You said baby four times,” the girl scoffed.
Marco looked personally injured. “This party is about one.”
She took his clothespin and walked away.
Harry smiled into his cookie. “Tough league.”
The whole yard had that strange, fragile brightness of people trying to celebrate while pretending there was not still a season hanging by one last frayed thread.
Nobody said it. Not with Bea glowing under the umbrella and Alois watching her like the world had handed him something breakable and sacred and he was not sure he trusted his own hands.
We had one game left.
One more game. One more time through the tunnel. One more night pretending the math had not already become a language nobody wanted to speak.
Then Lo appeared in front of me, smelling like expensive perfume and lemon sugar. “Ty Burns,” she said, which somehow sounded both affectionate and like I had been summoned for judgment.
I straightened automatically. “Lo.”
“You look like you’re deciding whether to run or eat six cupcakes.”
“Both are valid options.”
“Eat first.” Her eyes sparkled. “Then I need to introduce you to someone.”
I glanced past her shoulder toward Lucy without meaning to. Her expression softened for one brief second, then she kindly pretended I had not just revealed half my internal organs in public. She turned and lifted one hand toward the patio.
A kid stood beside the steps with a paper plate balanced in one hand and a hockey stick propped against his leg like he had brought it because going anywhere without it felt irresponsible.
He was lean and wiry, with light brown hair that refused to lie flat and a grin he kept trying to control.
His shirt was tucked wrong on one side. There was frosting on his thumb.
Alois stood behind him like a guard tower. Protective hovering, I realized, had an actual physical form.
“Ty,” Lo said, “this is Robert Collins. Bobby, this is Ty Burns.”
The kid looked up at me. His eyes were bright, assessing, and much too amused for someone who still had frosting on his hand. “You’re Burns.”
“Most days.”
Lo’s smile deepened. “Bobby is Alois’s best man.”
For a second, my brain simply stopped. I had imagined an adult. Some scarred former teammate. A cousin from Germany. A man with a handshake like a vise and stories that began with European leagues and ended with someone needing stitches.
I had not imagined a twelve-year-old with unevenly cut hair and cupcake frosting on his thumb.
Bobby looked at my face and grinned wider. “You thought I was taller, didn’t you?”
Alois’s eyes shifted to him. “Do not start.”
I looked from Bobby to Alois. “Best man, huh?”
Bobby lifted his chin. Proud. Happy. Not shy about it, though something guarded still lived under the excitement, like he had learned not to assume joy was safe just because it had arrived. “Yeah,” he said. “Apparently.”
Alois looked down at him. “You agreed.”
“You asked weird.”
“I asked normally.”
“You asked like someone was making you read hostage terms.”
Bento, still planted on Alois’s shoe, gave a long, offended blink.
Alois pointed one finger at Bobby without moving the rest of his body. “Eat the cupcake.”
Bobby shrugged and returned to his treat.
Lo touched my arm. “I’ll let you boys bond before the games begin.”
“Games?” Bobby asked, immediately alert.
“Baby shower games,” Lo responded.
Bobby looked at Alois. “Are you good at those?”
“No.”
“He lies,” Bea called from her chair without even turning around.
Alois’s mouth moved by a fraction.
Bobby saw it and brightened like he had been handed evidence for later.
The first game was a diaper-changing race.
Six baby dolls lay in a row, each wearing a diaper and an expression of plastic indifference.
Marco stepped forward like he had been born for pageantry.
Harry rolled his shoulders. Zee cracked his knuckles until Freya told him to stop doing that near an infant simulation.
Reed Bishop’s kids climbed onto chairs for a better view.
Oliver’s twin toddlers immediately became more interested in the empty diaper boxes than the actual game.
Ezra stood beside Rafa at the edge of the patio, both of them holding drinks and wearing the wary expressions of men who had survived enough life to recognize a trap.
“Everyone,” Lo announced, “the task is simple. Remove the diaper. Wipe. Replace. Secure. Fastest clean diaper wins.”
Marco raised his hand.
“No theatrics,” Bea warned.
His hand lowered slowly.
Rafa, who had been quiet most of the afternoon, stepped forward and set his glass down.
Bea sat up. “Pai?”
Rafa loosened his cuffs with great seriousness. “I am participating.”
Alois blinked.
Ezra looked delighted in a way he tried very hard to hide.
Rafa moved to the table, took his place beside Marco, and inspected the doll in front of him like it had insulted his lineage.
“Mr. Ribeiro,” Marco said, “I feel obligated to warn you that I am extremely competitive.”
Rafa did not look at him. “I raised Beatriz.”
Bea covered her face.
Freya bent at the waist laughing.
Rafa continued, perfectly calm. “Nothing you do can frighten me.”
That was when I decided I loved him a little.
Lo counted down, and the yard erupted.
Marco talked to his doll the entire time.
Harry swore at a diaper tab. Zee somehow removed the diaper and then could not remember where he had placed the new one.
Jonah offered motivational encouragement to everyone, which helped no one.
Reed’s oldest daughter shouted corrections with the bloodlust of a tiny coach.
Rafa worked in silence. Efficient. Focused. Mildly terrifying. He finished first, lifted both hands, and looked at Bea like he had just won her a championship.
Bea cried. Then laughed while crying, which made Alois take one immediate step toward her before Lo caught his sleeve and said softly, “She is allowed to have feelings.”
Alois stopped.
Bento used the moment to climb from his shoe to the lower edge of his pant leg.