I take a breath. “I don’t know. I mean—Reverie’s almost half over, and after that, who knows. I’ve got my senior year at college.”
Connor speaks for the first time. “You’re not our omega, but you’re… you can be our friend again, if you want.”
It’s not what I expected to hear. I turn that over, testing the weight of it. “That’s a start.”
I stand as impulse tugs me forward. I lean in and kiss Fowler’s uninjured cheek, then pull back before anyone can make it a Thing.
“Get better, or else,” I say.
He grins. “If you keep that up, I’ll be healed by morning.”
Zev makes a low, contented sound. Connor smiles for the first time since we left the ice.
We let the moment linger. Nothing needs fixing, just acknowledging.
Eventually, Zev checks his watch. “Visiting hours are almost up. Connor, are you walking Grace out?”
Connor nods. “Yeah. We drove here together”
I kiss Fowler’s cheek again and then head out with Connor. We slip out into the corridor.
We walk in silence to the elevator. I let myself lean into him, and he doesn’t pull away.
If this is what starting over looks like, I’ll take it.
CHAPTER 20
GRACE
The drive across town takes less time than I expect. Then again, after the torture of waiting through the entire performance tonight to go back to the hospital, anything is quick.
Grace sits shotgun. A bouquet of “GET WELL SOON” balloons bob over her head from the backseat like helium-puffed seraphim. I have a plastic bag wedged between my knees—half a rack of ribs from Fowler’s favorite barbecue joint.
Grace silently traces the window condensation with her finger, sometimes glancing at her phone but mostly zoning out. I want to say something reassuring, she already knows that Fowler is going to be okay. Another night or so in the hospital and then he’ll be out. The road to recovery is long, sure. But he’s okay.
We make it to the hospital not long after and take the elevator to Fowler’s floor. The moment we step out of the elevator, we can hear his unmistakable bark of a laugh.
I grin. “Guess that means he’s feeling better.”
Grace chuckles. “Seems so.”
I nudge his door open with my elbow. “We come bearing gifts,” I announce, lifting the bag of ribs like a championship trophy.
Fowler sits propped up at a weird angle, leg hoisted in a nightmare of braces and foam wedges. He looks like hell with a black eye, IV port taped to the crook of his elbow, and a pair of disposable hospital socks like oven mitts on his feet. His eyes light up when he sees us. Zev’s already in the room, slouched on the family cot, looking like he’s trying to nap but grinning despite himself.
Grace threads her way through the maze of machines and wires. “Hey, we brought these for you.” She offers the balloon bouquet. The foil ones reflect the room, including warped funhouse versions of all four of us.
Fowler gives her a one-armed squeeze. “Thank you. Are you two fresh off tonight’s show?”
Grace blushes. “Connor didn’t want to wait until tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, I couldn’t wait,” I say. I may have asked Grace if she wanted to come along, but she agreed to just as quickly.
I drop the food on the tray table and push it toward him. “Eat before the nurses catch you.”
Fowler’s hands shake a little as he tears into the container. “You’re a god among mortals, Jones. Zev, you want some?”
Zev shakes his head. “I’d never come between you and your favorite ribs.”
