“No, not your body. I mean your head. You looked—” I catch myself, but it’s too late.
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Connor. I’m not some experiment for your pack to poke at.”
That’s fair. I swallow it. “I’m still allowed to care about you. You matter, Grace.”
Grace doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t smile, either. “If that’s true, why’d you try to get me kicked out in the spring?”
She says it so casual, it almost sounds like a joke. But the memory lands like a sucker punch: three alphas turning on the only omega who’s ever matched them stride for stride. The room swims for a second. I didn’t think she’d ever say it out loud inside Reverie’s walls.
“We were scared,” I offer miserably. “That’s not an excuse. But that’s the truth.” A weak one months too late.
Grace’s mouth twists. “Congratulations. You got what you wanted. Maybe Director Hannah kicks me out after all for falling.” She sighs heavily, then, “Are we done here?” She’s already walking away from me.
I keep pace, half a step behind. “Let me walk you to your apartment.”
She stops again. “Why? You think I’ll fall down on the sidewalk, too?”
“No, I just—I want to make sure you’re okay.”
She stares at me. “I don’t need a pack. Or an escort. I need you to stop acting like I’m your problem.”
I grit my teeth. I want to argue, but I also want to respect what she’s saying. “Fine. You’re not my problem. But you are my friend.”
Grace’s lips twitch. “Sure. We can befriends, Connor. If by ‘friends’ you mean castmates and nothing more.”
And then she’s gone, walking on back to her apartment alone. I don’t try to catch up. I’m nowhere near as resilient as her.
How are we going to get through the next three months ifthisis how night one of shows went? Even if Grace trusts me on theice, she’ll never let me anywhere near her off the ice ever again. She’s made that very clear.
I didn’t exactly expect her to forgive us and for Zev, Fowler, and I to suddenly want Grace anyway. So why the hell does this hurt so much? Why is it all so confusing?
I roughly mess up my hair and then leave the arena myself. But I can’t bring myself to walk in the direction of the cast apartments just to see Grace at a distance again.
Any distance between us feels like hell.
One I deserve.
CHAPTER 9
GRACE
The walk back to my cast apartment sucks. Not in a dramatic, end-of-the-world way. More like a bone-deep, can’t-really-catch-your-breath situation that’s always worse than the actual injury. The cast apartments are three blocks from the arena, and I can see the blue glow of the vending machine in the laundry room before I even cross the first street. My whole life now fits into this one sad rectangle: arena, apartments, vending machine, repeat.
I’m almost to the corner when I hear the footsteps behind me. The strength of his chocolate alpha scent gives him away while I once more curse the minor failure of my suppressants.
I square my shoulders, which is idiotic because he’s like a foot taller than me and probably sees my silhouette tensed up like a pufferfish. Still, I don’t turn around. If I ignore him, maybe he’ll get bored and fuck off.
No such luck. “Grace,” he calls, just a little out of breath. “Grace, slow down.”
I consider speeding up, but I can’t really. So I stop right under a burned-out streetlamp and let him catch up, my hands shoved deep into my jacket.
Zev looks better than anyone deserves at this hour. His black hair is askew and slightly sweaty, and he’s wearing a hockey jacket over a threadbare T-shirt. He studies me with a seriousness that makes me want to shrink in on myself. It’s like I’m hisjob. So I immediately know what this is about.
Like I should be surprised.
Everyone’s going to ask me about this for at least a week.
Zev nods at my hip. “You should get that looked at.”
