Page 63 of Holly Jolly Heat
Progress was progress, even when it was measured in millimeters.
"You're smiling at your screen again," Ro observed from his position behind the main camera. "The game hasn't even loaded yet."
"I'm thinking about good content," I lied.
"You're thinking about Michelle."
"That too."
Dex snorted from his tech station. His shoulder was properly bruised now, a spectacular purple-yellow that Michelle had fussed over this morning despite his protests. She'd made him ice it, brought him more of Bill's special tea, and generally hovered until he'd agreed to take it easy.
Pack behavior. She just didn't want to call it that yet.
"Stream setup looks good," Dex said, running final checks. "Audio's clean. Lighting's perfect. Ro's already got three angle options. We're ready when you are."
"Michelle still working?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"She's at the dining table," Ro confirmed. "Laptop open. Coffee going cold. Hasn't looked up in twenty minutes."
So normal Michelle behavior.
Except every so often, she'd glance toward the living room where I was setting up. Quick looks, like she was checking I was still there. Making sure I was okay.
Still fussing, just quietly.
My alpha purred with satisfaction.
"Going live in five," Dex announced. "Lucas, you're doing the cozy gaming session, building that gingerbread house expansion you've been planning. Chill stream, no pressure."
"Got it." I settled into my chair, pulling up the game. "Ready when you are."
"Three... two... one..."
The familiar rush of going live hit, thousands of viewers joining simultaneously, chat exploding with greetings, my community showing up like they always did.
"Hey, Cozy Crew!" I greeted, letting the warmth in my voice be genuine. "Welcome to Saturday evening vibes. We're in beautiful Cedar Falls still, and tonight we're expanding the gingerbread house. Lots of building, lots of planning, very chill."
The chat had been obsessed with Michelle since the troll incident two nights ago. Clips of her defending me had gone viral, currently sitting at 2.3 million views across platforms. My subscriber count had jumped twenty thousand. Brand deals were flooding in.
And Michelle was convinced it was going to ruin everything.
"Michelle's working," I said, keeping my tone light. "Like always. Best manager in the business, even on Saturday nights, she's making sure everything runs smoothly behind the scenes."
Which was true. She was working. But she was also listening, and I knew it.
I focused on the gingerbread house, placing walls and planning decorations with the kind of methodical detail my viewers loved. But part of my attention was on the dining room, on Michelle's presence just out of frame.
"Okay, needs good decorations now," I explained. "We want people to feel like they're seeing part of a winter wonderland, not just an isolated house. So we're creating these little clusters of decorations?—"
The stream fell into a comfortable rhythm. I built, explained my choices, engaged with chat. Donations rolled in—mostly positive, supportive messages from regular viewers.
Then an anonymous donation came through with a message designed to sting: "Must be nice hiding in your manager's house instead of facing real life."
The words hit hard. Someone specifically trying to get under my skin about being here, about Michelle.
"I'm not hiding," I said, keeping my voice calm even though my chest was tightening. "I'm working. Creating content. Spending time with my team. That's not hiding, that's living."
Another donation: "Your 'team' or your girlfriend? Because it seems like you're using your manager for content clout."
