It’s not a retreat. I tilt my chin, catch his gaze, and just for a second I let every raw nerve show. How the pack’s rejection hurt me. How honestly into each of them I was. What it all cost.
It’s not the audience that matters in this moment, but the question in his eyes in response.May I?
Yes.I nod.
He kisses me.Actuallykisses me. This is not a stage kiss yet the arena falls silent all the same—until it erupts in cheers. It’s nothing like the ugly, embarrassing scramble of our first “chemistry test” in prep camp, or the awkward first stage kiss back during rehearsals.
This is slow and deliberate. Our mouths barely part from this gentle claiming.
Connor’s pupils are wide when I pull away. Before either of us can speak, the house lights snap on and the curtain drops.It’s the end of the show while the start of something else wildly kindles.
I stand there, dizzy and not sure where to put my hands.
Connor touches my elbow, steady as a railing, and draws us toward the exit off the ice. “Good job, Grace.”
I feel like something permanent just happened—as if some tectonic plate shifted under my skin.
My walls start to break.
I escapethe post-show buzz before the credits have even finished scrolling across the jumbotron. The backstage corridor is an artery of shouting. I snake past all of it. No one expects a princess in full sequin regalia to jog, but I do—my duffel bag knocking against my hip. I don’t want to answer any questions, not from the gossipy sidekicks or the techs with their knowing smiles.
And Connor is nowhere to be found. Does he regret the real kiss? Does he think this as stupid an idea as I’m starting to think it was?
I make it to the parking lot just as the humid night finishes swallowing the last of the show lights. The air smells like rain on hot asphalt. I just want to get home and drown my brain in old true crime podcasts until I can’t even hear Connor’s voice replaying in my head.
But the universe can’t let anything go unpunished, so I barely make it five steps past the arena doors before I hear him. “Grace, hey—wait up!”
I don’t stop walking, but I slow. We have to talk about this.
He jogs up next to me, still in his Prince costume, crown slightly askew. “You’re fast for someone in tights.”
“It’s just practice.” I shoot back. My heart thumps so loud I’m more than confident he can hear it.
Connor falls in beside me, matching my stride. For a while, we walk in silence, except for the click of my skate guards and his nervous clearing of the throat. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was shy.I definitely know better.
Finally, he hurries ahead of me and stops, so I’m forced to stop walking. “So, um. About that ending?”
I don’t look at him. “Yeah?”
“Was that—” He stops and scrapes a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t just acting, was it?”
My cheeks blush. “Are you asking if I messed up the scene or if I meant it?”
He swallows hard. “Grace, you haven’t messed up a single scene since the show started. I’m asking what that kiss meant. Because I felt something. And I think you did, too.”
So he’s not going to tip-toe around it. Probably for the best.
I squeeze the handle of my bag until my knuckles ache. “Maybe I took it too far,” I mumble. “Sorry if that was weird. You’re right, I did feel something, too. I mean, the bond hasn’t exactly gone away, has it?”
“No, it hasn’t.”
I look into his blue eyes. There’s not a single guard put up against me at this moment. I hate how honest and open Connor is. Where was this honesty months ago?
I glance away. “My suppressants aren’t foolproof against you three, that’s all. Your scents are incredibly strong, and my inner omega sometimes takes lead.”
“‘That’s all,’” Connor echoes. “How can it be that simple for you?”
Anger flits through me. “How can it be thatsimplefor you? You three looked down the barrel of this strong and very real connection, and rejected me like I was a bad organ transplant.”
