Chapter 24
GRACE
The road outside my apartment blurs with the usual parade of early risers.
I wipe my tired eyes as I make my way down the apartment stairs toward the building’s door.
It might be a double coffee day once I get to rehearsal.
Last night was so beyond anything I could have ever thought would happen with Reverie Pack again.
If they have changed—and I do believe they have—this could definitely work.
But wow these walls are still up. Not as high or thickly-built as before, but they’re there, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I hope it doesn’t.
I push open the front door on my apartment building to find someone already out there. Fowler.
He’s leaning against the banister with two coffees in his hands and one singular crutch under one arm. “Morning, Grace.” He holds one coffee out to me. “I was on my way in to the station for my first desk-shift and figured you’ll probably also need coffee.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And Connor?”
Fowler chuckles. “Can find his own coffee. Here, take it.”
I do and tuck in next to him. “This is nice of you, thank you.”
“We kept you out late, this is the least I could do.”
I turn toward him. “The festival was so worth it, though. That was a lot of fun.”
He grins, then pushes off the banister. “Can I walk you to the arena?” He offers his arm.
“Yes.” I link mine through his, and we carry on across the street.
As we hit the arena’s parking lot, he asks, “It’s a double today, right?”
I sip my coffee. “Yeah, so it was great we had yesterday off.” She smiles up at me. “How about you? This walk isn’t too far, is it?”
Fowler is walking with a heavy limp even with the one crutch. He should have two and be seated somewhere, not walking me to the arena.
He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Yeah, well, hard to walk your lady to work with a full set of crutches, isn’t it? I’ll grab the other from my truck after.” He nods to the front of the parking lot where his truck is in the area closest to the arena’s doors.
I stop walking and look up at him. “Fowler, you have to be careful so your leg heals.”
He shrugs. “I’m okay, Grace. I want this time with you, and it’s not that far a walk.”
I trace the distance between the arena and my apartment building with my gaze. It’s incredibly far with a broken leg. “I understand and even admire that, but please take it easy, Fowler. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
I look at him again. His brow is creased and concern wrinkles the corners of his eyes.
I wonder if he’s thought about last as a fluke, too, and like it’ll all fall apart again.
“I promise. Maybe we’re both being stubborn, but I want this with you three just as much as I did before.
But you can’t be there for this if you don’t heal your leg. So please take it easy.”
Fowler nods again. “Noted, no more long walks after this morning.”
I lay my head on his shoulder as we walk toward the arena. “Thank you. If I don’t catch you and Zev tonight after the show, I’ll make sure Connor and I make it over tomorrow.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I look forward to it.”
We slowly walk the rest of the way to the arena. By the time Fowler’s dropped me off and is heading toward his truck, he’s limping even heavier. One crutch will not cut it. But I see the second one poking out of the back seat.
I wave as he drives away, then head inside for rehearsal.
Rehearsals bleed into showtime with a slow inevitability. By the time we’re getting ready for performance number two for today, I’m already half-feral from nerves and caffeine, holed up in the cast dressing room with my tiara and sequins. The air in here is thick with hair spray and floral perfume.
I’m in front of the mirror at my ready space in the dressing room, redoing my eyeliner for the third time, when the door opens and Connor steps in. He’s still in warmups—navy joggers, black logo pullover— from between the shows, but he’s already in full Prince mode.
Then I see it. A bouquet of pink and purple flowers in one hand. The floral scent isn’t quite strong enough to block his peppermint scent, but it comes close.
“Hey.” His soft voice is barely loud enough for anyone else to overhear even if there’s practically no way the bouquet will go unnoticed. “For the Princess.”
“Connor, these are beautiful.” I take them automatically, almost dropping them because of course my hands are trembling. “Thank you.”
A sheepish grin lights up his face. “You’re welcome. Figured maybe I could liven up your ready space here.”
“That’s very thoughtful.” I brush a lock of hair behind my ear and set up the bouquet in one corner. I’ll take them home after the show and find them a perfect vase. But for now, they do brighten up the space. “You’re all making my day today, I have to admit.”
Connor just winks and leaves as if there’s more to come. Never in my life did I think I’d accept surprises from these three alphas, but here I am excited for more.
The backstage wings are pure chaos. Props tumble past, costumed extras jostle for position, and the lighting techs curse at each other in a language only they understand.
The rink itself glows blue-white under a galaxy of spotlights, the surface so pristine it looks unreal.
From this angle, the crowd is a blur of colors and camera flashes, thirty thousand strangers crammed into the arena, every face turned toward the story about to unfold.
Connor is at my side, now in full costume: tailored navy jacket, gold braid, knee-high boots that make him look even taller. His hair is slicked back, eyes laser-focused on the center circle. The peppermint is stronger now, chasing away my own rose scent, which embarrassingly refuses to fade.
We wait for our cue. My heart hammers loud enough I’m sure he can hear it.
“Hey,” Connor says, turning to me. “Don’t lock your knees during the spin. And if you feel shaky on the lift, just signal me. I’ll adjust.”
“Okay,” I say, voice breathless.
He leans in, lips right next to my ear. “And don’t forget to smile. You’re the Princess.”
I want to say something snarky, but my brain short-circuits. Instead, I nod and hope it looks more confident than it feels.
The overture swells, and suddenly we’re in motion—gliding out onto the ice together, every eye in the place on us.
The story is simple: a Princess, trapped in a dream; a Prince, doomed to fight through illusions to save her.
It’s every fairy tale ever, but tonight it feels personal, like someone wrote it just for us.
Connor’s grip on my waist is secure, almost possessive.
We spin and leap and trade lines, and every time he lifts me, I swear he’s holding back, afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he tries too hard.
We’re supposed to act out falling in love, but I can feel the real thing pulsing underneath.
I see it in the way his eyes soften when I laugh, or the way he touches my hand between steps, like he’s checking that I’m really here.
The alpha/omega pull is a living thing, a current sparking between us.
I catch the cast members watching from the wings, Zev especially, his gaze following every move with a weird mixture of pride and regret.
Fowler, somewhere in the dark, is probably biting his knuckle to keep from yelling.
The whole rink smells like sugar and peppermint and roses, and I know, on a primal level, that every person in this arena can sense what’s happening between us.
We hit the climax: the final sequence, the famous “heart’s awakening” spin, and then the kiss. It’s supposed to be staged, a brief touch, nothing scandalous.
Except it isn’t.
Connor’s hand finds the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.
His lips brush mine, and I go rigid from the shock of it.
For a second, everything is gone: the lights, the music, the crowd.
It’s just the taste of peppermint and the heat of his mouth on mine, soft and then hungry, like he’s wanted this forever and is only just now letting himself have it.
The world snaps back into focus to the sound of the audience erupting.
It’s not polite applause. It’s a full-throated, standing ovation, people on their feet, the sound so loud it makes my chest ache.
I pull away, dizzy and breathless, and Connor is grinning like a fool, cheeks flushed, eyes so bright it’s almost painful to look at him.
We bow together, and I’m barely holding it together, because everything in me wants to drag him backstage and do it again, a hundred times, until I can’t feel anything but him. But there’s still a story to finish, lines to deliver, a curtain to close.
We skate the encore, arms entwined. I can feel the vibration in his hand, the tremor he’s trying to hide.
When we take the final bow, he leans in and whispers in my ear, “You’re incredible.”
Chaos reigns backstage. Castmates swarm us, high-fiving and shrieking.
Someone brings champagne, and Zev lifts me off my feet, spinning me until I’m laughing and squealing.
I catch Fowler’s face in the crowd—he’s grinning, eyes wild, but there’s a tenderness there, too, like he’s proud of me for something bigger than just a show.
I glance back at Connor, who’s already looking at me, expression soft and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen. He mouths something I can’t quite hear, but I think I know what it is.
I duck away from the crowd, heart racing, mouth tingling, and for a split second I let myself imagine what it would be like if the story didn’t end here. If the Princess got to keep her Prince, and maybe the two knights on the side, too.
Not love. Not yet. But something close enough that I ache for it.
Don’t screw this up, I think, not sure if I mean me or them or the whole universe. Because I want this, more than anything.
The flowers are still clutched in my hand. I run my fingers over the white rose, careful not to bruise the petals.
Tonight, the story ends with the Princess getting everything she wants.
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll believe I deserve it.
I’m rooting around my hair for all the hairpins when I notice the dressing room has mostly cleared out. Even Connor’s already left for the night. So I nearly jump out of my chair when Zev appears, at least two heads taller than any other member of the cast still lingering.
Zev makes his way past those castmates right over to my dressing area. “Incredible show, Grace!”
I drop my hands and turn to him. “Thank you!” I stand and meet him halfway. He wraps me in a brief hug.
Zev looks exhausted—probably from a full day of coaching high schoolers—but there’s a warm to his tiredness. But he smiles for me. “Just wanted to pop in and tell you that. And offer to walk you home if you wanted.” He eyes the flower bouquet. “Those are pretty.”
“From Connor,” I offer and then turn my head back to him. “You can absolutely walk me home if you’d like. But I need to get these pins out first.”
“Yeah, sure, let me help.”
Zev follows me back to the hair at my dressing space.
I sit, and we work together to find and remove all the pins holding my hair up in princess fashion.
His fingers are gentle. My skin tingles where our hands accidentally brush.
A flush of warmth and, dare I name it, joy fills me whenever I look up and see us together in the mirror’s reflection.
When the last hairpin is finally freed from my hair, Zev holds it up between his thumb and forefinger. “You know, I used to have hair longer than this. Eighth grade. Got gum stuck in it and had to chop it all off. Think it was for the best.”
I can’t help but giggle. “I can’t imagine that on you, honestly.”
He chuckles. “That’s probably also for the best.”
I swallow, suddenly shy. “I liked having you in the audience tonight. You always clap loud enough to make up for the people who don’t. I can always tell where you’re sitting.”
He shrugs, but his ears turn pink. “You’re genuinely phenomenal, Grace. You belong here at Reverie.”
I’m not sure what to say to that level of compliment, so I rise up onto my tiptoes and kiss him.
Zev pulls me in with a gentle arm around my waist, but he doesn’t force me to stay.
The kiss is quick and sweet, his chocolate scent enveloping us.
His hand slips up the back of my neck and tangles in my hair for a moment before he pulls away entirely.
Zev grins. “I should come backstage more often.”
“Hmm, yes.” I feel a little dizzy with Zev’s alpha presence and the kiss—in the best way. “Let’s head out of here.”
We head out into the night. The arena’s security lights make everything look dreamlike and blue.
The sidewalks are mostly empty around the parking lot, and the humid air soft and still.
Zev doesn’t rush. He matches his steps to mine, which I appreciate, because my legs are barely functional after six hours in skates.
We make quick work of the short distance between the arena and my apartment building.
The same walk I did with Fowler this morning, but in reverse and with much less limping.
But I find departing from Zev to be nearly impossible.
It’s like magnets are holding us close together and, somehow, Zev is able to break the pull.
He leans his forehead against mine. “I should probably let you get some sleep.” He murmurs it, but makes no move to step away.
I laugh, giddy. “Maybe just another minute.”
We kiss again, this time with some unseen electricity zipping between us as we stand there tangled under a streetlight. Too soon, Zev walks me the rest of the way to the apartment building’s main door and then disappears to his car.
Leaving me full of a day’s worth of really good, incredibly warm memories of these men.
My alphas.
Memories that just might fully erase the bad ones.