He takes the phone, squinting at the screen, then lets his eyes run over the headline and the next few lines. I watch his mouthgo slack, then downturned in a way I haven’t seen since prep camp.
Almost like when he first scented me and realized exactly how he’d play that out.
He passes the phone back as his eyebrows crease together. “What the hell is this?”
I cross my arms. “That’s what I was going to ask you. Did you or one of your friends write it?”
“Why would I do that?” There’s no heat in his question, only hurt.
“Because it paints me like a joke and a desperate omega, just like the three of you told me I was.” The bitterness in my voice is stronger than I intended but no less true.
He rubs his face. “Grace, I didn’t even know this was up. I was out cold all night after rehearsal.”
“Maybe Zev or Fowler?”
He shakes his head. “Zev’s with his high schoolers in morning practice until noon. Fowler is on shift at the station.” He glances at me. “Look, I get it. We made a mess of things back during prep camp. But nobody from my end would leak shit like this—ormake up and post something this hurtful.”
But the ache in my stomach doesn’t let me or my desire to believe him off that easy. “It’s a convenient story, though. Alpha rejects omega, omega gets sad, show gets drama, tickets sell.”
He actually flinches. “We never meant to humiliate you, you know.”
“Well, you did.” I hold up the article again. “Enough of the cast knows what happened between us during prep camp. And now anyone who reads this article does. And despite my otherwise flawless performances, all anyone will remember is my fall on night one and my designation.”
Connor leans against the door frame as his expression grows dark. He stands there, silently watching me. “I get why you’re pissed.”
“Good.”
“But I promise, we didn’t do this.”
There’s something about his face—earnest, a little haunted—that says he’s telling the truth. It doesn’t make it less humiliating, just shifts the weight.
I clear my throat. “Regardless of who wrote it, we’re stuck with it now. So what are we going to do about it?”
He blinks in surprise when I say ‘we’. “We? What do you want us to do?”
“Not apologize or explain.” I swallow. “No more of that. We show up as professionals for ourselves and the show, and that’s it.”
“Okay.” He looks away. “I was scared, you know. Not of you. Of the bond. The way it makes everything feel huge and permanent, even when you’re just trying to skate to a fairytale.”
It’s like our bodies can’t tell the difference between a performance of fairytale love and happily ever after, and what we should be having together as a pack.
I understand Connor now. But before I can say as much, he straightens. His shoulders go stiff. “I can give you professionalism, Grace. If that’s what you want.”
Suddenly, I’m not so sure. “Thank you. I have to get ready to meet Hannah at ten. Will you practice the jump with me after?”
He nods earnestly. “Of course, Grace.”
When I step back into the hall, I feel lighter. I’ve got some time before needing to meet with Hannah so once I’m back in my apartment, I call Briar back.
She answers on the first ring. Her voice is a warm memory from a simpler time. “Girl, are you okay? The article was all over my newsfeed this morning.”
“Not dead yet.” Three little words that don’t say nearly enough.
Briar clearly sees through it all. “Tell me everything.”
And I do. By the time I’m finished, we’re both crying and I’m worried that when I go to meet Director Hannah my face will still be puffy and red. But I don’t care.
Some wounds only a best friend can fix. And this is one of them.
