An urge to protect the Sullivan name climbs up my throat. “He has good reasons.”The best reasons.Coach Sullivan is my best friend’s father, the same best friend who threatened to come up to Reverie this summer and deal with Connor and his pack if necessary.
Connor inclines his head. “Right, you told me you’ve met Sullivan.”
I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk to Connorat all.So I bend down to redo my laces. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”
Connor doesn’t reply right away.
I look up at him. “Pretending, I mean. We’re here to skate and nothing else, so let’s just skate.”
He blinks and then shakes his head. He takes a step back. “Right, yeah. Let’s just skate.”
I want to ask him if he was expecting anything different. But why would he? Connor, Zev, and Fowler made their intensions—or severe lack thereof—veryclear during spring break’s prep camp.
We are a scent match. And we’re doing nothing about it.
That’s fine. My parents have all the love in the world and aren’t scent matches. They’re not the end-all, be-all.
But theyarerare. Some might even say they’re fated.
Right now, I just think they’re bullshit.
Connor lingers as if there’s more to say, but in the end he just says, “See you out there,” and walks off.
I release a tight breath. This is going to be a long three months.
At 6:10AM Director Hannah’s voice splits the air. “Connor, Grace! Center, please. Let’s run the lift sequence.”
Everyone on the rink turns to watch. It’s not just the drama—though, let’s be honest, that’s ninety percent of it. Connor, Zev, and Fowler didn’t exactly take precautions to keep this feud secret during prep camp. But everyone’s also watching because this is the money move. The showstopper. It’s when the princess soars and the prince, literally, holds her fate in his hands.
The metaphor is not subtle.
Connor takes his mark, gaze locked on the mid-distance. I line up across from him and try not to think about the last time we did this. How he’d whispered “trust me” under his breath, how easy it had been to let myself believe that maybe,maybe, this was how a pack started.
How wrong I was.
“On my count,” Hannah calls. “Three, two, one?—”
We go. The music rises, the beat hitting right as Connor’s hands clamp around my ribcage. The old chemistry is still there, which is humiliating, honestly. Our bodies know each other, even if our hearts want nothing to do with it. He hoists me up. I’m flying, toes pointed and arms thrown wide. The crowd—Hannah, the crew, and the rest of the cast—erupts in a cheer.
I’m just trying not to think about the feel of his warm, reassuring hands only a few layers of fabric away from my skin.Or how his peppermint scent is lighting up the primal omega parts of my brain.
Connor brings me down softly, like I might break.
“Beautiful!” Hannah crows. “Again, with the turn this time.”
We do it again. And again. Each time, Connor’s touch is precisely calibrated—never too firm, never too soft. Always just enough to keep me upright, never enough to let me forget who’s in control. He’s so careful it’s almost insulting. I can’t decide if he’s trying to prove he’s changed, or if he’s just afraid of setting me off.
The third time through, I catch Zev and Fowler leaning over the rail in the stands. They’re not supposed to be here—nobody is, not on day one—but there they are, taking up a full row like it’s a VIP box. Zev’s arms are crossed and his face is blank, but Fowler’s eyes are locked on me, but I can’t tell if it’s in support of an eagerness to watch me fail.
Connor must see them too. His grip tightens for a heartbeat, then relaxes. “Ignore them.”
I don’t answer as I’m too busy ignoring the part of me that wants to look up and see their reaction to every move I make. I hate that I want them to see me and be impressed. I want them to regret every shit thing they ever said or did.
We finish the sequence, skating side by side to the end of the rink.
Hannah waves us off. “Great. Five minutes, then we’ll try the full run.”
Connor lets go first and steps back like the ice between us is radioactive. He rakes a hand through his hair. “Are you okay? I hope I didn’t hold too tight.”
