Betty came over, brow furrowed. “Grace?”

“Yeah?” She zipped up her suit and fluffed her red hair out.

Betty frowned. “I thought I saw…” She turned Grace around and nodded. “Yeah. You have a ripped seam. Right here.” She pointed at Grace’s side.

“Shit.” Grace craned her neck to look.

“Four minutes,” Mateo snipped.

“I’ve got this,” Betty said, digging into a drawer for a sewing kit. She pulled out white thread and a needle and got to work.

“Three minutes,” Mateo muttered, arms crossed.

“You’re not helping,” she replied evenly, drawing the thread through the fabric.

The time ticked away. She was rushing through the finishing stitches when Francisco began his welcome announcement.

“Shit, sorry.” Betty snipped the extra thread off. “I hope that holds.”

“Thanks, hon. It’ll be fine.” Grace squeezed Betty’s arm as they raced to their places in the wings.

It didn’t hold. Halfway through the show, it came open again. A patch of skin appeared during their particularly rigorous hustle, with Grace up in the air on Mateo’s shoulder, and only continued to grow as she spun around him. She did her best to fix it with duct tape when she had a few minutes off stage, Mateo watching, lips pressed together.

After the show, as they were getting changed, Mateo slammed the door to the greenroom. “Listen,” he barked in the silence. “I need everyone in this room one hour before showtime. Warm-up, hair and makeup, costume checks all done with ten minutes to spare. Got it?”

There were a few murmurs of agreement but Caleb rolled his eyes and threw a cheeky salute. “You got it, drill sergeant.”

Grace and a few others tittered.

Mateo’s eyes flashed but his lips curled in a smirk. “You can be a dick, Caleb, just be a dick in this room one hour before showtime.”

Archer fought the smile threatening to creep across his face.

Mateo’s eyes held his for a second, the hard edges maybe softening.

Caleb tilted his chin. “You realize no one actually gives a shit about a tiny rip in a costume?”

Mateo took a step closer to Caleb, his voice quieting to a near-whisper. “That’s fine, Caleb. I just need you in this room not giving a shit one hour before showtime.”

Caleb glowered. “Can we go eat now, or are you going to control that, too?” He took Archer’s hand and pulled him toward the door.

“Just be back—”

“Yeah, I know, one hour before showtime. Jesus.”

Archer thought he heard the low rumble of Mateo’s laugh as the door closed behind them.

“What an asshole,” Caleb muttered as he marched up the path.

“Mmm,” Archer said, smile now free in the long evening shadows.

14 Things Fall Apart