But the truth is I’ve been looking for a way to set this all right from the very moment I could see her heartbreak in her eyes.
This is our last chance.
Better make it count.
CHAPTER 13
GRACE
My chest is killing me this morning, metaphorically and literally. Metaphorical chest-pain because after last night’s article, I’m now the tragic omega centerpiece of a viral clickbait about “toxic hockey culture and pack dynamics.” The literal pain comes from the fact Reverie Ice Arena is kept at the temperature of a meat locker.
Three more warm-up laps, then I’ll run the opening sequence twice. When I’m skating, nothing can touch me, not even the persistent ache of humiliation.
I reach the far end of the rink, slam on the brakes, and for a blessed two seconds, stand in absolute silence. That’s when Connor slides up beside me with his hands jammed into the pockets of his training jacket.
“So,” he says, drawing the word out. “You’re doing extra laps. I hope that means your hip is better?”
I grunt. “Just burning off some nerves. But yes, it’s also nearly back to one-hundred-percent.”
“Good.”
Connor keeps pace as I set off again, this time with company whether I want it or not. We skate in tandem, synchronized like an old pair that can’t help but fall into step. His alpha presencemakes the air vibrate and my body be drawn naturally closer to him than I’d like.
We finish the lap in silence. I let my muscles remember what working together feels like, even if the context is all wrong. He doesn’t talk or even look over, but I can tell he’s thinking about how things used to be. For a fleeting second, it almost feels normal.
At the end of the lap, Connor brakes, spraying up a miniature snowstorm, and faces me. “Listen, this is the last time I’ll bring any of it up. Just wanted to say that if you ever want to talk about it—like, actually talk, without the rest of them—I’m here.”
I roll my eyes, but the gesture doesn’t land as harsh as I want it to. “You’re not my therapist.”
He grins, then immediately sobers. “No, but I could be your friend. Or just your lead, if that’s all you want.”
I let that hang for a moment, watching his breath fog in the air. “I want to get through the summer without drama.”
He nods. “Me too.”
Director Hannah’s voice thunders over the ice. “Grace! Connor! This is not a private rink!”
We both laugh and my ears go hot. I push off toward the center. He falls in step a half-beat behind. He’s intentionally giving me the lead this time. It’s… nice.
Hannah waits with her clipboard and her usual air of exasperation. “Glad you two could make it. There’s a full cast meeting in ten. Don’t be late.”
Connor gives a little salute, then turns to me. “Thanks for hearing me out.”
“Thanks for saying something.” I do hope it’s the last time any of the three alphas who rejected me bring that fact up. But I can’t deny that being at this reset point with Connor feels nice. Right, even.
He winks. “See you at call.”
Connor skates off. His shoulders loosen now that the air’s been cleared. I watch him for a second, then turn back to my own warm-up, but it feels less like an escape.
I didn’t think Zev, Connor, and Fowler would talk to me once the season started, let alone apologize. I didn’t think I’d ever want them to. But something about the way Connor’s voice broke just a little when he did makes it hard to keep the old anger burning as brightly as before.
I’m not ready to trust any of them. Not yet. But hope, like pain, is a thing that grows if you let it.
I hesitate at the edge of the rink, then glide over to the cluster of cast members, chin held high, ready for whatever comes next.
There’sa particular kind of high that only comes after a perfect performance. It’s a private sort, a bright thrum just below your skin, like you’ve swallowed a lightning bug. I’m still buzzing as I leave the arena, hair damp and cheeks numb from grinning through the entire finale.
I walk slowly back to my apartment, letting my body reprocess the last few hours. I savor every micro-memory. My flawless landings. The way the crowd roared on the triple twist.
