Chapter 23
ZEV
Evenings off for the Reverie cast are so rare. Thankfully, Connor and Grace have it off for Castle Island’s summer festival of lights. It’s one of my favorite things about living in Boston, and my favorite summer nights of the year.
Count me even happier that Grace agreed to spend the night with Connor, Fowler, and I.
It took four tries for me to type out the text to Grace inviting her out. Another two to hit send with how nervous I was. But she messaged back so quickly that my heart nearly somersaulted in my chest.
“I’ll be there.”
I allow hope to swell where there is no confirmed victory. Because it’s coming, right?
The festival is already a zoo by the time our pack shows up.
Beach sand, still sun-hot, grits into my socks and the cuffs of my cargo shorts.
People roam under ropes of LED tubing and fake paper lanterns, sipping “mermaid” cocktails.
The air smells like salt and roasting sweet corn.
Kids in flip-flops dart between ice-cream vendors and the taffy stand.
There are easily five hundred people crammed onto the strip between parking lot and surf.
Connor nudges me in the ribs and gestures to the tent where the festival organizers have set up a small makeshift rink for “Festival on Ice!” demonstrations.
An overt advertisement for the winter festivities later this year.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the way the rink is already melting into a shallow slush pond.
Fowler remains on the boardwalk. He’s on crutches and is getting around okay, but sand is far too uneven for any hope of crutches to work.
We’ll have to help him out to the shore later, but I’m not worried about that.
All my concern is going to how Grace isn’t here yet.
It’s not quite 7 P.M. so she’s not late. But she’s not here.
If she’s rejecting us this time around, at least she’s doing us the kindness of not doing it publicly like we did.
We make a triangle in the sand, pointed toward the pier. Connor is the first to ask, “She’s coming, right?”
I shove my hands into my pockets. I sure hope so. “She said yes.”
“Relax,” Fowler says. “She’ll be here.”
We stand there, saying nothing for three more minutes.
A quartet of high schoolers with glowing headbands dances past, shrieking with laughter.
Someone shouts my name—turns out it’s a dad whose kid I coached earlier this year, and he wants to take a selfie with all of us for his kid’s birthday.
The three of us pose, awkward and towering over the dad. Then he and his kid are gone.
Then, finally, we see her. Grace comes hurry into the crowd toward us, wearing denim shorts and a faded tank. Her hair is twisted up casually with sunglasses perched atop her head.
She’s fucking angelic.
Grace strides up and stops in front of us. “Hey! Finally made it.” She reaches over to hug Fowler so he doesn’t have to move far, then hugs Connor and me.
“We’re glad you’re here,” Connor says.
Fowler’s eyes wander her body. He doesn’t even try to hide it. “You look beautiful.”
Grace blushes. “Thank you. Must be the festival energy, though. This place looks amazing.”
“Have you never been?” I ask.
Grace shakes her head. “I went away for the summer a lot as a kid. But I’m sure I’ve come once or twice before. Shall we?”
We head deeper into the festival. Carnival games with three competitive alphas and an omega who won junior figure-skating regionals at age fourteen is an act of war.
We go straight to the milk-bottle toss, and within three throws, Grace has already won a plush octopus the size of my torso.
She cradles it in the crook of her arm as we move to ring-toss, then whack-a-mole, where she and Connor go toe-to-toe for the highest score.
I try to pretend I don’t care, but every time she wins, a hot wire of pride burns behind my ribs.
It’s easy, in this context, to forget the origins of our friendship with Grace.
Or at least pretend it was another life.
We’re laughing. We’re talking. She lets Fowler put a plastic lei around her neck and Connor buy her a blue cocktail.
It starts to feel like maybe we don’t even need to ask Grace about that second chance after all.
The sunlight dips as the crowds grow for the main event. Soon, the sun will be gone and hundreds of paper lanterns will be out on the shore.
Connor keeps pace with Grace, both of them pilfering samples from every food booth in sight—fried dough, ribbon fries, those tiny donuts dusted with cinnamon sugar. Grace out-eats him two to one which is actually insane.
She dabs powdered sugar off her fingers. “You act like you didn’t just burn a thousand calories at rehearsal.”
“That’s the trick,” Fowler adds, mouth full. “You gotta eat fast, before the guilt catches up.”
Connor just laughs and gives a shrug like he’ll even gain weight from this. I’ve never seen Connor any different than he is now.
As the night goes on it grows harder and harder to resist the urge to close the distance between Grace and I. Her roses scent is much stronger tonight, piercing through my self-control like a tailored missile. I can’t tell why.
At nine, the fireworks start. We’re sitting on a sun-bleached picnic table, me on the bench and Grace perched on top next to the octopus.
Fowler sits sideways with his leg propped up.
Connor sits cross-legged in the sand below the table.
The first volley goes up, a big gold chrysanthemum.
Everyone on the beach cheers. It’s not a fancy show, but it’s loud and beautiful.
The last firework is a massive blue sphere with a ring of red. The crowd roars its approval. Grace watches it dissolve, her lips parted, and I wonder what she would have done if we’d never fucked it all up.
I think we’d still be here together, just not with this tension and question about the future.
By 10 P.M. it’s officially dark enough for the lantern lighting. Hundreds of people gather to grab a lantern and a pen to start scribbling. It’s supposed to be for wishes or letting go, or even remembering loved ones. I always have a hard time deciding what to do.
Not tonight.
I wish we’re allowed this second chance.
Connor, Fowler, and Grace write out their own lanterns, and we get in line to set them off.
Connor and I light ours, watching them fill and drift upward, joining the slow parade of warm lights across the water.
Fowler launches his, but it topples and splutters, then rights itself at the last second and limps up into the sky.
He whoops. “Figures.”
Grace holds the lantern in her hands for a moment.
The wind gusts, and she shelters the flame as she lights the tea candle.
When it’s ready, she stands, holds it out in front of her, and whispers something I can’t hear.
Then she lets go. The lantern wobbles, then catches an updraft and soars.
Grace watches it until it’s indistinguishable from the others.
Curiosity wins. “What did you write?” I ask.
She glances at me, weighing the risk of honesty. “Expectations. I’m letting them go.”
She holds my gaze until it clicks. She means expectations of us. Or what we could be.
I open my mouth to speak, but Fowler fills the silence first. “Which expectations?”
Connor watches intently.
Grace’s smile is lit by streetlights along the pathway. “For us, if… I mean—I have no idea if you’re all interested.”
I choke on words as they fight to be the first out of my mouth. “Yes. We are.”
Connor facepalms. “Smooth, Zev. What Zev means is we would like to take that second chance if you’re willing to give it to us. We’ll prove we’re different now.”
“You already know why we acted like dumbasses,” Fowler adds. “But we’re not scared of this anymore, of this bond with you. Even if you want to reject us in turn.”
Grace looks down at her hands for a long moment before returning to our gazes.
“No one’s rejecting anyone. I think we really got off on the wrong foot during prep camp.
I tried to forget you three, to hate you.
” Her smile goes wide. “Clearly that didn’t work.
So we can try again, but my way this time. ”
Hope officially turns to victory. “Anything you want, Grace.”
“You dictate pace,” Connor adds.
Fowler nods. “We’ll earn this.”
“You already have.” Grace kisses us each on the cheek. “Don’t mess this up.”
“We won’t,” we all say at once. Like we share one fucking brain cell. I don’t care if we do. Not with Grace’s offer and my heart doing leaps in my chest.
We’re getting our second chance.
She tugs the plush octopus under her arm. “Walk me back home?”
“Always,” I say, even though I don’t want this night to end. But the festival is over and there’s nowhere else to go at the very start of a new relationship.
I offer her my arm. Fowler and Connor fall in on either side of us.
We make our way up the beach, four shadows stitched together by lantern light and a flickering pack bond waiting to be made.
If we don’t fuck it up.