Page 128 of Puck You Both

The chat does get pulled up, and immediately, while a million questions get sent my way, merging into one incoherent blob of a sound with a question mark at the end by everyone but Becker, who’s already casting his phone to my television with shaking hands, tears forming, sworn duty overriding collapse, because archives are sacred, and there it is, four feet wide, on my own TV, in my own living room, timestamped months ago:

Petrov: Maybe Wall has two companions.

Becker: WOULD YOU STOP MOCKING MY INVESTIGATION????

Groover: Petrov, you can't just say words.

Petrov: I am observant. Put me down on $50.

Becker: You are BANKRUPT. Easiest $50 of my life. Logged and pinned.

A sharp “Ha!” shoots out of Petrov, and he’s pointing violently at the TV, in case someone has missed the giant letters on the screen, while the rest of the room morphs into one living, breathing and moving organism.

Wallets come out. Ace pays cash. Groover pays cash. Devon pays and demands a receipt on principle. Kane attempts a bank transfer and is refused, because Petrov wants it, quote, "in paper, for framing."

He collects the pile, straightens it, and bows to the table like the ovation is his due, which, fine, it is. "For months, I am mocked," he roars. "Tonight, there is only one word." He raises his cash. "VINDICATED."

Becker, released from four days of hell, has meanwhile gone to pieces. Big ones. He's crying into his hands with relief while Kane pats him on the back.

"I kept it!" Becker keeps saying. "Four days. I kept it. Ask him. Wall! Tell them what I kept."

"He kept it."

"I KEPT IT," he howls, and then his grief pivots into grievance, and he points at me. "Four days! I aged like unrefrigerated milk, and this man ate a normal dinner just now. In front of me! Chewing!"

"The chewing is standard."

"You're seeing two people!" The finger relocates from me to the ceiling, to God. "You don't get to be the calm one!"

Ace leans back with his arm across Devon's chair, grinning like he’s four and watching a sibling get in trouble. "We do them one at a time in this family, Wall."

"Some of us had to do it via PR," Groover points out.

"I did it on a hot mic," Kane says, still patting Becker, "and somehow you win?"

"Nobody's winning," I say, and they make a collective sound that means everybody heard the lie. Becker stands, wipes his face with one sleeve, and walks to the hallway with a newfound purpose I’d rather not learn, but am sure I’m about to anyway.

He comes back wheeling the whiteboard. "Gentlemen. The standings."

The standings go up in aggressive columns. My place is going to smell like marker for a week and there's nothing I can do about any of it.

"Ace,” Becker starts. “One boyfriend." Tap. "Groover. One boyfriend." Tap. "Kane. One boyfriend, acquired via felony broadcasting." He draws a bracket, and the bracket gets its own box, and the box gets underlined twice. "Wall—" he taps it twice "—said 'hold my Gatorade' and acquired two."

"The final boss of one-upping," Petrov chimes in, from behind the cash he’s arranged into a hand fan.

"Eight years!" Becker's marker is conducting now. "Eight years of 'intent matters' and 'these walls are very thin' and the whole time— Waaaait. When did this even start? What's the timeline? I need the timeline. Actually, hold on, I'm making an axis—"

"No axis," I say.

"One axis—"

Washington stands up.

He doesn't tap anything. He just rises, glass in hand, and gets everyone’s attention like he always does. Becker caps his marker mid-axis and even Snooze, resurrected by the earlier commotion and briefed by Hammer in a whisper I'd pay to have not heard ("Wall's dating two enemy guys, pass it on"), sits up straight.

Jinx lights the candle. Apparently there's a moment.

"Eight years," Washington says, "I've watched you take care of everyone in this team and ask for nothing." He looks at me the whole time, and my jaw sets up its defensive perimeter, and holds, barely. "Took two whole guys to return the favor. Sounds about right."