Lily’s advice keeps echoing in my head—stop putting work before my personal needs. So for tonight, I’m attempting to do exactly that. No thinking about the parade tomorrow and what might go wrong.
Just me and my three Alphas, ice-skating under the stars with dozens of other people.
Easier said than done when the enormous Christmas tree looms in the distance, dark and waiting. That’s my responsibility next week—the tree lighting ceremony for the council celebrations.
Just looking at it tightens my chest.
So many things to coordinate.
“Hey,” Kane says, appearing at my elbow with a concerned look. “You’re doing that thing again where you’re physically here but mentally running through work checklists.” He taps my forehead gently. “Turn off the brain for a few hours. Doctor’s orders.”
Despite everything, I laugh. We’ve been skating for almost an hour now, and I’m continually amazed by how good all three of them are on the ice. They glide effortlessly, turning and stopping and moving backward like they’ve been doing this their entire lives.
Meanwhile, I’m clinging to whoever is nearest like a baby deer learning to walk.
The rink is alive with soft instrumental music playing over the speakers, fairy lights strung overhead, creating a canopy of twinkling stars, and the buzzy warmth of a winter crowd despite the freezing temperature. Breath clouds the air in little white bursts with every exhale. The cold bites my cheeks, turning them pink, and my nose is probably red, but I don’t care.
This is actually nice.
I’m between Chris and Noel at the rail, taking a rest, and I’m aware of how close they’re standing. Like they orbit instinctively around me, creating a protective bubble. Their scents wrap around me despite the cold air and thread beneath my skin, warming me from the inside out.
I shift slightly, trying to ease the pressure, and Chris’s eyes immediately track the movement.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Fine. Just cold.” It’s a lie, and from the way his nostrils flare slightly, he knows it.
Soon enough, we step back onto the ice again, and I try to laugh off my clumsiness, teasing them about how I haven’t skated since I was twelve and even then I was terrible.
I wobble almost immediately, my ankles refusing to cooperate.
Chris catches my waist with one large hand, his fingers firm and warm even through my jacket. “Easy,” he murmurs close to my ear, his breath ghosting across my skin. “Let me lead.”
The ache between my thighs intensifies, and I bite back a whimper. I try again to glide forward, pushing off with one foot like I’ve seen everyone else doing effortlessly. But my balance wavers dangerously, my arms windmilling, and for one terrifying second, I’m falling backward.
Before my ass hits the ice, Noel materializes on my other side, his large hands bracketing my elbows and hauling me upright. Chris slides in front of me, his chest brushing my shoulder, and suddenly all three of them are forming a tight, protective circle around me.
My breath stutters in my lungs while my pulse skitters wildly.
If they keep touching me like this, steady hands on my waist, my elbows, my back, I might actually melt right down into a puddle on this ice.
When I finally steady on my skates, I reach for sarcasm because it’s my favorite shield against overwhelming feelings. “Okay, so maybe I’m not going to be an Olympic figure skater. That dream is officially dead.”
“I’ve got you,” Chris murmurs, winking my way.
Kane tips his chin at Noel, mischief already written all over his face. “Race you around the rink.”
Noel huffs. “You will eat ice.”
“Big talk for someone who almost wiped out getting off the rail.”
“That kid ran into me.”
“He was five.”
Their bickering pulls a laugh out of me. They push off at the same time, cutting across the rink in long, sure strokes, shoulders brushing as they pick up speed. A couple of people whistle when Noel spins at the far end and glides backward. Kane copies the move, adding a cocky little flourish that nearly sends him into the wall. I snort, warmth curling in my chest as they circle each other, still arguing.
Chris stays beside me, one hand light on my waist as we move in a slow loop near the edge. “Ignore them,” he says. “They are genetically incapable of not showing off.”
