Chapter 2
ZACK
My boots thudded a little too loudly against the polished floor of the pack town hall.
I was already regretting the jacket, the thick fabric trapping heat against my chest and sticking uncomfortably to my skin by the time I rounded the last corner of the corridor.
My breath came faster than it should have. Not from the run itself, but from misjudging the timing. Again.
I slowed just as the double doors came into view.
“Hey! No running,” Cathy said, sharp but amused, looking up from the stack of flyers she was arranging on one of the folding tables outside Cooper’s office.
I skidded to a stop, palms braced on my thighs, trying not to look as out of breath as I felt.
“What are you talking about?” I said, pushing out a grin. “I'm just speed-walking. Kind of.”
She snorted. “They’ve already started. If you’re going in, best do it quietly.”
I nodded, grateful. “Thanks.”
I sucked in a breath, straightened up, and tried to slow my heart before reaching for the door handle.
It creaked anyway. Loudly.
A few heads turned. Someone near the front paused mid-whisper. Heat crawled up the back of my neck as I slipped inside, offering an apologetic half-smile.
Within seconds, attention drifted back to the front of the hall, and I let myself breathe again.
I scanned the rows for an empty seat, trying not to hover like an idiot. Then I spotted Tony in the far corner.
I made my way down the row, murmuring quiet excuses as knees shifted and people leaned back to let me pass.
Tony saw me coming and, without looking up, lifted his bag off the empty chair beside him.
“Thanks,” I muttered, dropping into the seat with a quiet sigh.
Tony hummed in response, eyes glued to the tablet in his hands. Some kind of graph filled the screen with lines and numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me.
I fanned myself with one hand, tugging at the collar of my jacket. Definitely a bad call. I should’ve taken it off outside.
I leaned closer. “Did Cooper talk about the Winter Festival yet?”
Tony’s voice was flat with boredom. “Nope. Still on bridge construction.”
I sagged back in my chair, relieved. “Thank God.”
Up front, Cooper finally moved on, shifting papers before launching into the next item on the agenda: the Winter Festival. My attention snapped back immediately.
It was the first major event the whole town was putting together since, well, ever, really.
Three days long. Music, food, drinks. Humans and the pack working side by side. Cooper talked about schedules and volunteer rotations, about booths, permits, and crowd control.
He also spent an unusually long time praising a particular secondhand bookstore and the specials it would be running during the festival.
I rolled my eyes and pulled my phone out, angling it low.
As Cooper kept talking, my gaze drifted around the hall. Noah wasn’t here. Neither was Ethan.
Furrowing my brows, I flicked through my notifications. There they were. Messages from both of them, received two days ago. Of course they couldn’t make it.
I closed my eyes briefly, resisting the urge to bang my forehead against the back of the chair.
Right. This was what I got for not checking my messages.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket and exhaled loudly. It was fine. They were probably busy. Everyone was, lately.
At least I was here.
Cooper eventually shifted the agenda again, and my attention snapped back the moment he said the word “entertainment.” Then he mentioned live music.
I straightened in my seat without even thinking about it.
Although the Winter Festival was supposed to be a fun, low-pressure, festive event, Cooper made it clear there would still be auditions.
Only a handful of acts would be picked for the main stage, and the biggest slot of all would be New Year’s Eve, right before the countdown.
“We want good bands and performances,” Cooper said mildly, a hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Good singers. You’ll be representing Pecan Pines, after all.”
“Not you, Maurice!” a voice shouted from the crowd.
A hoarse voice immediately shot back, “Hey! My bluegrass band is coming along great!”
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Cooper shook his head, clearly amused. “Maybe after this meeting, you can stop by the clinic and ask Ethan for some throat medicine first.”
“That’s our sound!” Maurice protested. “Our sound!”
The laughter grew louder, and Cooper raised a hand in surrender, nodding along. “A sign-up sheet will be outside after the meeting. Auditions will be scheduled after that.”
He scanned the room, eyes flicking from face to face, eventually landing on me.
“No—ah, Zack. Will you guys be joining?”
“Yes,” I said without missing a beat.
Cooper smiled, satisfied. “Good.”
Then he moved on, pointing toward someone else. After going through a few more people, he finished his sweep of the room. “Anyone else interested in participating, go ahead and sign up.”
I sank back into my chair, heart racing. Maybe I’d jumped the gun. What if Noah and Ethan weren’t free after all?
But we always did something for the pack during the holidays. It was tradition at this point.
It was usually something smaller, like playing a set at Griffin’s bar, providing background music for quieter events. But this couldn’t be that different, could it?
Sure, we hadn’t been practicing as much lately. Schedules had been messy, meetups harder to line up. But it was the holiday season. Busy was normal.
We’d always performed together. This wouldn’t be any different. A little spark of excitement flickered in my chest.
No. We’d figure it out. We always do.
By the third song, I was bored out of my mind.
My sticks moved on instinct, tapping out a slow, steady beat on the snare and hi-hat while Noah crooned into the mic and Ethan swayed beside him, both of them tapping lightly to the rhythm like this was the most relaxing thing in the world.
I sighed and let my gaze wander.
Griffin’s bar was decked out in full holiday chaos. Tinsel hung from the beams, plastic snowflakes lined the walls, and every table had a little bowl of pinecones shoved into the center, like someone had gone feral at a craft store.
Behind us, the projector looped scenes of rolling waves, coconut trees, and bright tropical flowers.
Because tonight was Caribbean Night. Again.
Noah held the last note of the song, smooth and effortless, and I ended it with a bit more flair than usual. I ran through a quick fill across the kit before finishing with a sharp crash that rang a little longer than necessary.
Ethan glanced back at me, lifting a brow. I shrugged.
The crowd didn’t seem to notice. Polite clapping followed, scattered and half-hearted.
“That’s all for tonight,” Noah announced, flashing an easy smile. “Thanks for coming out. And if you’ve got requests for next week’s theme, make sure to drop them in the suggestion box.”
I pulled the straw hat off my head and tossed it onto an amp, running a hand through my hair. I was starting to hate that damn thing.
“You good?” Ethan asked, already unplugging his bass.
“Yeah,” I said automatically. Then, more honestly, “Just kind of tired of these request nights.”
Noah shrugged as he set his mic down. “It’s just for the holiday season. We do this every year.”
“Yeah, but I don’t remember doing three Caribbean Nights in a row,” I said. “Who is even writing these in?”
Ethan chuckled, coiling a cable. “Guess someone really wants a beach vacation.”
“I don’t mind it,” Noah said easily. “They’re simple. Kind of mindless.”
“That’s the problem,” I shot back. “We’ve been playing covers for months. I miss our own stuff.”
They both paused, glancing at each other.
“What if we write something new for the Winter Festival?” I continued, words tumbling out now that I’d started.
“Something big. If we’re going for the countdown slot, it should feel special.
Different. I’ve already got a couple of beats, some melodies I’ve been messing with.
We could run through them at the next practice. ”
Noah hesitated. Ethan tilted his head. “Isn’t there a slot on the first day? Maybe during the daytime instead?”
I shook my head immediately. “No. I want the New Year’s Eve slot.”
Both of them looked at me then.
“That’ll have the biggest crowd,” I said, trying to sound casual and failing. “More energy. More people actually paying attention. Daytime sets are fine, but everyone’s distracted, walking around, checking out booths. I’ve played enough festivals to know that.”
Silence stretched for a beat.
I exhaled, forcing myself to slow down. “I just think we can do better than this,” I added, gesturing vaguely toward the beach scene looping behind us. “I think we should try.”
They didn’t say yes. But they didn’t say no either, and somehow that felt like permission.
Ethan shifted his weight, guitar strap still slung over his shoulder.
“I’m not sure I can do New Year’s Eve,” he said carefully. “I’ll probably be on duty at the clinic. Holidays are usually one of the busiest times of the year.”
I nodded, even though something tight pulled in my chest.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “And I don’t even know if I’ll be in town that week. Jackson’s family invited me up to Silvercrest.”
“Oh,” I said.
Then, because I apparently had no self-preservation instincts, I added, “But I already signed us up for the audition.”
They both froze.
“I’m sorry,” Noah said immediately.
“Yeah,” Ethan chimed in. “We should’ve said something sooner.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to ask why they hadn’t told me earlier. To point out that this wasn’t exactly new information, us playing together during the holidays.
But a part of me had already known.
The signs had been there for months. Less songwriting. Fewer practices. We merely showed up, played the same set of crowd-pleasing covers at Griffin’s.
If we had time, maybe grabbed supper after, if our schedules lined up. But lately, even that had been rare.