Chapter 19
GRACE
Tonight was one of our better shows. A sold-out crowd, barely any prop failures. Then there was that split-second when Connor locked eyes with me during the second act, where for a breath, we were the only people on the ice.
I wanted to ride that feeling a little longer, but Connor’s not in the main dressing room, and most of Reverie’s cast has already poured into the attached lounge for after-show pizza. Stories and laughter fill the air. I search for Connor amongst the crowd.
There he is, pacing by the tunnel that leads to the main arena with his phone clamped in his palm. He’s still in costume. He hasn’t noticed me, which is a minor miracle considering my scent is doing cartwheels.
I’m halfway there when he checks his phone again. His skin goes the color of the moon. Not just pale—emptied. Something ugly in my chest reacts.
“Connor.”
He doesn’t look up when I call his name.
“Connor. Are you okay?”
He turns and sets his jaw hard. “I need to get to St. Joe’s. Now.”
St. Joe’s is the nearest hospital. I look him over. “Are you hurt? Is it—”
He exhales hard. “Not me. It’s Fowler.” His grip tightens on the phone. “Zev just texted. He got injured up on a fire call. It’s bad.”
I reach out on instinct to grab his arm. “What happened?”
He shakes his head, mouth twisted like he can’t decide between anger or worry. “Zev said there was a roof collapse. Fowler was underneath.” He speaks fast. “They’re both at the hospital.”
Tears well in my eyes while panic grips my heart. “Can I come?”
I have no claim to ask, no reason for Connor to say yes. Right? They rejected me. I rejected them back.
But we’re friends now. Or at least, warm acquaintances, and it’s clear Connor’s understandably worried.
“Please, I care about him,” I add. “About you all. This is probably the worst time to say it.”
But we kissed.
But we all are still scent-matched.
Our bodies agree we are a pack despite what our minds say.
Connor nods slowly. His peppermint scent flares. “All right, yeah. Come on.”
We wind through the backstage chaos. I grab my bag from the lockers. Connor is silent, following with the kind of force field that keeps everyone ten feet away. When we hit the parking lot, the world is abruptly cold and the sky feels indifferent, huge and gray with city light.
“I’ve been keeping my car here.” Connor gestures to the back row of the lot where a lone Traverse sits. “Let’s take that.”
I follow him over. He opens his car door. I slide in and buckle up. The interior is clean—no fast food wrappers, not even a stray bottle cap.
Connor doesn’t start the engine for a second. He grips the wheel and stares out at dark. “I know we’re not…” He trails off, chewing the words. “You don’t have to come, I mean.”
Since we’re not a pack. Barely even friends.
I hold his gaze. “I want to. I told you I care.”
He nods, then puts the car in gear. Whatever we are now—something less than a pack but more than enemies—has shifted, but now isn’t the time to think about it.
I watch the arena shrink in the rearview as we pull away.
Hospitals have the worst air. It’s cold, recycled, and heavy with every human feeling. The bright lights blare down on everyone, too.
We check in at the desk. Connor’s voice remains steady enough to not sound like a scream. A nurse directs us up a floor, then down a corridor of blue-tiled purgatory. The walk takes an eternity. I trail a step behind Connor, partly so I don’t have to keep seeing his fists clenching and unclenching.
We find Zev first. He’s slumped in one of the hard plastic chairs outside Fowler’s room, a posture so un-Zev-like it takes a second to process. His chin is tucked to his chest, eyes closed and hands folded on his knees. His nostrils flare, then he looks up and sees us.
My scent probably gave us away.
“Hey,” he says.
Connor sits next to him. They share a look. Zev almost hugs him, but he catches himself, settling for a hard clap on the shoulder instead.
“Fowler is awake. I just needed a minute.” A moment passes. “We almost lost him.”
Connor asks, “How bad?”
Zev shrugs, and for a guy who is built like a fridge, he looks suddenly too small for the world. “Broken leg, mostly. A few bruised ribs. But he really smashed it up.” He sags back against the chair. “They say he’s lucky it wasn’t worse, especially with smoke inhalation.”
I swallow hard. “Can I—should I—” I gesture at the room. Already, a chorus of beeps rings out from inside.
Zev pins me with a soft gaze. “He’ll want to see you. He may not say it, but he will.”
I glance at Connor, who gives a reassuring nod. “Right. Okay.”
I push open the door and head inside. Fowler is propped up in bed, bare-chested except for the bandages and leads, his red hair mussed like a scarecrow and one eye bloodshot. He looks like he lost a fight with a truck. The vision of him sitting there makes my legs weak and the room do a quick spin.
Fowler grins lazily. “Princess, didn’t know I’d warrant visiting.”
His voice steadies me, which is good because I thought the floor was about to come up to greet me.
I roll my eyes. “I came for the Jell-O. Heard the orange is the good one.”
He snorts, then immediately winces and presses a hand to his side. “They should make a warning label: don’t joke post-bruised-ribs.”
I perch on the edge of the chair near the foot of his bed. There’s no one else in here, just us and the machines. “You look like shit.”
He barks out a laugh, careful this time. “I was going for rugged. Guess I overshot.”
We sit in silence. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, slow and deliberate, and think about how grateful I am that he’s here at all after such danger.
Fowler’s eyes meet mine, a flash of green under the bruising. “Seriously, though. I’m glad you came.”
My mouth suddenly dry. “Me too.”
The door creaks open and Connor slips in, Zev behind him. The energy in the room doubles, then settles—an old pack muscle memory, everyone falling into their slots.
Except me, the omega who doesn’t belong.
Fowler gives a lazy salute. “Look, both my favorite idiots in one place.”
Zev leans against the wall with his arms crossed. Connor hovers by my chair.
Fowler looks at me again, softer this time. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me. Us.”
I shrug, but the motion feels brittle. “I figured I’d regret it if I didn’t.”
Nobody says anything for a while. It’s not awkward, though. More like everyone’s recalibrating to the new gravity. Like I don’t need to say I care for you all after all out loud because it’s easy to read in my face.
Fowler breaks the silence first. “So, are you here because I’ve earned a second chance with my mortal peril? Or are you just visiting the invalid?”
He says it like a joke, but there’s an edge to it. An eagerness for truth.
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.