6. Leo
Leo
The café is quiet when Daniel says he'll stay behind to help his mother tidy up. I clap him on the shoulder, tell him not to break his back doing dishes, and follow Gray out into the cold.
The air bites, crisp and clean, and the snow under our boots gives that satisfying crunch that always reminds me of early hikes before dawn. Gray shoves his hands into his coat pockets, exhaling a visible breath.
"I could use a drink," he says, voice rough with fatigue.
I grin. "Pretty sure we can find a place around here that sells something stronger than cocoa."
He huffs a laugh, and we head into the main lodge to check in with Mrs. Lacey. She's sitting behind the counter with her reading glasses sliding down her nose, sorting through a stack of papers. She looks up when we come in and gives us a warm smile.
"Back already, boys? How was skiing?"
"Fantastic," I say, setting my gloves on the counter. "We didn't crash, so that's a win."
She chuckles, then leans forward a little. "You're in luck, if you're looking for a pint. Bluejay Bar and Grill—down the main road, left at the old gas station, can't miss it."
Gray gives her a polite nod. "We'll try not to get lost."
Mrs. Lacey laughs again, shaking her head as we thank her and take the directions. We head upstairs to our rooms, the old wooden steps creaking underfoot. My room smells faintly of pine and laundry soap. There's something about this cozy place that makes my chest ache in a good way.
While Gray disappears into his room, I flop down on the bed for a second and stare at the wooden beams overhead. My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I groan, thinking it's Daniel, but it's a work call. I swipe to answer.
"Sandoval," I say.
"Hey, boss," comes the familiar voice of Jenna, one of the guides at Summit High Adventures, my company. "Just wanted to check in about the winter itinerary. The bookings for Breckenridge and Estes are full, and we've got two corporate groups asking for add-ons."
"Add-ons?" I sit up, running a hand through my hair. "Night treks again?"
"Yeah, but the guys are saying we're low on snow gear. We could rent locally, or—"
"Order from our supplier," I interrupt gently. "Same bulk discount as last year. Make sure you tell the group leads to check the avalanche advisories every morning. I don't want a repeat of last February."
She laughs softly. "Got it. Oh, and the review from the Denver Gazette came out—you're going to like it."
"Send it to me later," I say. "Appreciate you checking in."
We hang up, and I stare at my reflection in the dark window for a second. Sometimes I forget how far I've come—from the college kid leading weekend hikes for pocket change to running one of the top adventure companies in Colorado.
But even with all that success, there's something about this small town that hums under my skin. I can see myself owning a place like this one day—a rustic lodge, firelight flickering in the windows, laughter drifting through the halls.
The thought makes me smile. I grab my phone, scroll through the group chat I have with Daniel and Gray.
Gray's last message from earlier: Remind me never to let you talk me onto a mountain again.
Daniel sent back a smug selfie with his goggles on.
I snort, type a quick reply—Survived. Barely.
Beer time soon.—then snap a photo of myself in the mirror, still half-dressed in thermal layers, grin crooked.
You gonna laze around all night? Gray texts immediately. Get dressed so we can leave.
I send a middle-finger emoji back.
After that, I shower, change into dark jeans and a black henley, and throw on a leather jacket. When I head out into the hallway, Gray's leaning against the wall outside his room, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His eyes are on the cigarette, debating whether to smoke.
"You okay, man?" I ask, walking over and plucking the cigarette from his hand before he can answer. I drop it into the small trash bin nearby.
He looks at me with tired eyes but doesn't argue. "Just needed a minute," he says. "I'm fine. Really. Just… tired."
I nod. "Then let's go get that drink you wanted."
Downstairs, Mrs. Lacey waves us off with a motherly smile. "Be careful on the roads, boys. Snow's picking up again."
"We'll be fine," I say, jingling the car keys. "This thing's a tank."
We climb into the SUV, the engine rumbling to life. Gray's in the passenger seat, his phone glowing as he opens the map. "Down the main road, left at the old gas station," he says.
I nod, easing us onto the snow-covered road. The headlights carve soft tunnels through the white.
Five minutes into the drive, Gray breaks the silence. "What do you think about Mara?"
The question comes out casual, but it lands heavier than expected. I scratch the back of my neck. "She's pretty," I admit. "Why?"
Gray shrugs, eyes still on the windshield. "No reason." A pause. "Do you like her?"
I glance at him. "Do you?"
He exhales slowly, watching the snow swirl past. "I don't know. She's… hot, sure. But it's not that. I think Daniel likes her, too."
That earns him a low whistle from me. "Yeah? That's complicated."
"No kidding," he mutters. "But something about her—she's got this calmness. You noticed it?"
I nod. "Yeah. And there's something else, too. Like she's holding her breath."
We're quiet for a moment, the tires humming softly. Then Gray says, "Would you ever want that again?"
"What?"
"Sharing an Omega."
I don't answer right away. Instead, I focus on the road ahead, the way the snowflakes flash silver under the headlights.
"After last time?" I finally say. "You're kidding."
He half-smiles. "Yeah. I figured."
But the memory hits anyway.
I can still see her, Celia, standing in our old Denver apartment, sunlight in her hair, eyes all soft innocence.
We'd thought she was it. Daniel met her at a fundraiser, Gray liked her quick wit, and I…
well, I fell hardest. She smelled like summer rain and vanilla, and when she laughed, it felt like the world cracked open.
The first months were perfect—movie nights, breakfasts together, lazy weekends tangled in sheets.
Then the cracks started showing. The crying fits when any of us had to work late.
The guilt trips. The jealousy. She started tracking where we went, calling hospitals and offices to "check in.
" When that didn't work, she went further—telling me she might be pregnant, saying she needed money for tests.
Daniel found out first. She wasn't pregnant. Never had been. She'd been manipulating us—me most of all—for months. Gray was furious; I was heartbroken. We ended it, but the damage had already settled deep.
I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face. "She nearly broke us," I say quietly. "I'm not going through that again."
Gray nods slowly. "Yeah. I just wondered if you ever thought about trying again—with the right one this time."
I laugh under my breath. "We made a pact, remember?"
He smirks. "Yeah, over too much whiskey. I can't believe we let her use us like that."
"It was the sex," we both say at the same time, and then we're laughing, the sound echoing in the car, chasing away some of the heaviness.
I glance at him. "Daniel text back?"
Gray checks his phone. "Not yet. He hasn't even opened the message."
"Of course not. He's probably polishing silverware with his mom."
Gray chuckles. "He'll join us eventually."
"Let's agree—one beer each. We're still driving back."
"Deal."
The bar's neon sign glows ahead, a flicker of blue light against the snow. I pull into the small gravel lot, kill the engine. The muffled sound of music seeps from inside, mixed with laughter and clinking glasses.
As we step out, the cold bites at our faces, but I can already feel that easy warmth waiting beyond the door. Gray bumps his shoulder against mine.
"You sure about one beer?" he teases.
"Absolutely not." I grin, pushing open the door and stepping into the hum of voices.
The shots appear before I even have a chance to ask for them. Two small glasses of something amber and dangerous slide across the polished bar top, and the guy handing them over grins like he's been waiting for us all night.
"Welcome to the Bluejay," he says. "First round's on the house. Word is you boys are new in town."
I raise a brow, glancing over at Gray, who looks as confused as I feel. "New in town?" I repeat, fingers wrapping around the glass. The liquor smells like bourbon and bad decisions.
The guy chuckles, propping his elbows on the bar. "Small town," he says. "News travels fast. Someone saw you at the store earlier. Said you're staying up at the Hartwell place."
That makes me laugh. "We've been here, what, half a day?"
"Half a day's plenty around here," he says. "I'm Wes Calder."
I blink. "Calder… wait, as in—"
"The Wes Calder," Gray cuts in before I can finish. His grin comes alive for the first time all evening. "You're kidding me. You were a beast on the field. I used to watch your games on the break room TV when I was working nights at the hospital."
Wes's expression softens, surprise flickering behind his eyes. "Yeah? Damn, that was a lifetime ago." He taps the bar, shrugging. "Blew my knee out senior year. Tried coaching for a bit, but it wasn't the same. Came back home, opened this place."
I look around. The Bluejay Bar and Grill is everything a small mountain town joint should be—cozy wood-paneled walls, neon signs flickering in warm golden light, a jukebox in the corner, and that faint mix of fried food, whiskey, and laughter that clings to every surface.
"You did good," I say, nodding at the setup. "Nice spot."
Wes grins. "Thanks, man. It pays the bills and keeps the beer cold."
Before either of us can reply, a loud whoop cuts through the noise. Music swells—some fast country tune—and someone hollers from across the room. Wes laughs and waves to the bartender at the other end. "Looks like you two picked a good night. Drinks are flowing."
"What's the occasion?" I ask.
He gestures to the far end of the bar where a girl in cutoff shorts and a black tank top is carrying a tray stacked with shot glasses. Her hair is a dark, shiny brown pulled up in a messy bun, and she's grinning at everyone like she owns the place.
"That's our waitress, Nina," Wes says. "She's moving to New York tomorrow, so the whole crew decided to throw her a goodbye party."
Right on cue, she catches me looking and waves. "Hey, boys!" she calls out, her voice light and teasing. She sets the tray down and leans against the counter beside Wes. "You're not drinking those without me, are you?"
"Wouldn't dream of it," I say, tipping my glass toward her.
She laughs, eyes sparkling. "Good answer. Wes, make them a carajillo."
I glance between them. "A what now?"
She smirks. "A Mexican cocktail. Espresso and liquor. Keeps you awake long enough to make bad choices."
That earns a laugh out of me. "You're Mexican?" I ask in Spanish, and her grin widens instantly.
"Claro que sí," she says, switching languages without hesitation. "Y tú también, ?no? I can hear it."
"Sí," I reply, the familiar rhythm of Spanish slipping easily from my tongue. "My parents are from Mexico City. I was born in Denver."
"Then you're practically my neighbor," she says. "Too bad I'm leaving tomorrow. We could've hung out."
"Too bad," I say, mirroring her tone. "Maybe we still can. Tonight."
Her eyes dance with amusement. "Depends," she says. "You gonna keep up with me?"
I lean closer, lowering my voice just enough for her to hear over the music. "Try me."
She laughs and walks away to grab the next tray, hips swaying, confidence radiating like heat.
Beside me, Gray chuckles. "You should totally go dancing with her."
I shake my head, smiling as I take another sip of bourbon. "Nah, tonight's guys' night."
"Leo," he says, exasperated but grinning, "you and I both know I'm the monk of this group. And I can smell you, you know. You're practically vibrating."
"Gross," I mutter, laughing despite myself. "You need to stop saying that."
"Just saying," he teases.
I roll my eyes and pull out my phone when it buzzes. A message from Daniel pops up in the group chat: Still cleaning up. I'll meet you in an hour. Don't get into trouble.
I show Gray the screen. "Designated driver confirmed."
Gray lifts his glass. "Then I revoke your excuse. Go. Have fun."
I hesitate—not because I don't want to, but because something about tonight feels different. Maybe it's the quiet way the snow falls outside, or maybe it's the flicker of guilt at how easily I slide into old habits.
But Gray nudges me again, and I finally grin. "You're an enabler."
"I'm a realist," he says. "Go."
So I do.
Nina finds me near the jukebox, a carajillo in one hand and that same mischievous look in her eyes. "Come on," she says, tugging my wrist. "You dance?"
"Not well."
"Good," she says. "Neither do I."
The music shifts to something fast, heavy on the drums, and before I know it, she's pulling me into the small crowd. The air smells like sweat and liquor and something electric. Her laughter rings bright as she spins, her hands brushing my chest.
"You're trouble," I tell her.
"Only if you're lucky," she fires back.
I can't help it—I laugh. She's bold, fearless, the kind of girl who thrives on attention and doesn't apologize for it. We move with the rhythm until the beat slows, and she leans in, eyes glinting.
"You wanna see something better than this?"
"Always."
She grabs my hand again, leading me through the back door and out into the freezing night. The contrast hits hard—the music fading behind us, the sound replaced by the hush of snow and the soft hum of wind through pine trees. The stars stretch wide above, sharp and cold and infinite.
"Wow," I murmur.
"Told you," she says, folding her arms against the chill. "Best view in town."
I glance at her profile—the curve of her cheek, the way the moonlight touches her skin—and something in me softens. She's not like the girls back home, the ones who know who I am, what I do, how often I'm gone. There's no pretense here. Just a girl, a night, and the quiet honesty of wanting.
She looks up at me, smiling. "You're thinking too hard."
"Maybe."
Then she leans in, and I don't think at all.