“Wait, wait,” Gael jumps in, grinning. “I gotta say something too.”
“Oh God,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
“Nah, for real though.” Gael’s expression goes more serious. “Harper, you gave us more than jobs. You gave us a place where we could actually grow as artists. We didn’t have to deal with toxic shop drama or owners who treated us like shit. You always hope to land at a shop that feels like family. And I know I speak for everyone here when I say we’re proud as hell to work with you.”
The tightness in my chest expands, pressing against my ribs.
“Hear, hear!” Reina says, and suddenly they’re all talking over each other.
“Remember when that guy came in wanting the racist tattoo and Harper literally threw him out?” Ramiro says.
“And banned him from every shop in town,” Ximena adds. “We had his photo up in Elio’s place within the hour.”
“Or how she got us recognition in the Statesman for the mural we volunteered for?” Gael says.
“Best press we ever got,” Elio agrees.
I’m trying not to cry. I’m not a crier. But fuck, this is... this is everything I never thought I’d have. Community. Respect. People who chose to be here, working with me and building something together.
I look down at Bruiser, who’s watching me with big eyes and a smile, and my heart damn near explodes. This is what I wanted. For him to see that you can make your own family and build something from nothing.
“You guys are gonna make me lose it,” I say, voice rougher than I’d like.
“Good,” Ximena says. “You deserve to feel all the feels, boss.”
I’m about to respond when I see Bruiser’s face light up. He’s looking past me toward the shop entrance, and I know before I even turn around.
Z.
Finally.
I turn, relief flooding through me. Late is better than never, and maybe we can salvage?—
But the second I see him, the relief evaporates.
He’s stumbling. Actually stumbling, catching himself on the doorframe. His eyes are unfocused, and even from here I can see the sheen of sweat on his face despite the cool evening air.
This isn’t just drunk.
He’s high on something. Fuck.
“Heyyyyy, everybody!” Z’s voice is too loud, slurring at the edges. “Sorry I’m late to the party!”
The celebration noise cuts off like someone sliced through it with a knife.
Bruiser’s smile falters. “Dad?”
My stomach drops to somewhere around my fucking feet.
“Ximena,” I say quietly, not taking my eyes off Z as he weaves his way onto the patio. “Take Bruiser to Rosalita’s.”
“On it.” She’s already moving, scooping Bruiser up even though he’s getting too big for it, distracting him with some bullshit about needing help finding something next door.
“I’m f-fine, I’m fine,” Z is saying to no one in particular. He’s got a beer bottle in one hand—where the fuck did he get that?—and he’s grinning that loose, sloppy grin that makes my blood run cold. “Just needed to celebrate with my girl. My beautiful, badass girl who’s too good for—” he gestures vaguely “—all this shit anyway.”
The crowd is melting away. I don’t blame them. Elio catches my eye, a question in his expression—do I need backup?—but I shake my head slightly. This is about to get ugly, and the fewer witnesses the better.
“Z,” I say, my voice flat and cold as concrete. “Let’s go talk. Inside. Right fucking now.”