13. Vivian
VIVIAN
The community room might be the happiest place on earth today, and I’m not even exaggerating. Not even Disneyland could compete.
The girls are everywhere—spread out at tables, leaning over sketches, passing things back and forth, trading compliments like it’s second nature. It’s loud in the best way, full of laughter and the kind of focus you only get when no one’s overthinking it.
I move between them, answering questions, offering suggestions, trying to keep up. It’s been a good morning. A really good one.
Ty claps his hands once, sharp and bright, like he’s calling a team back to center ice. “Alright, that’s a wrap, ladies. Let’s clean it up.”
I glance over my shoulder, already smiling. “You’re not the boss in here.”
He shrugs, completely at ease. “Feels like I could be.”
“It absolutely does not.”
“Agree to disagree.”
The girls start filing out anyway, backpacks slung over shoulders, voices overlapping in that end-of-session chaos that somehow feels louder when it’s winding down.
“Thank you, Vivian!”
“Today was so fun!”
“Don’t forget charms next week!”
“I won’t,” I promise, laughing as I dodge a last-second hug. “Go, go—before he makes you run drills.”
“I heard that,” Ty calls out from his spot at the back of the room. One of the girls’ moms has pulled him to the side, and from the looks of it, they’re having a bit of a convo about something.
“You were meant to,” I toss back easily.
A few of the girls still linger, hovering near the table. They take their time packing up, comparing pieces, holding them up to the light like they’ve created something far more important than charms on a chain. And maybe they have. That’s kind of the point.
“Okay, out,” I say finally, clapping my hands once. “I need to lock up before I get charged rent for being here after hours.”
They groan, but it’s half-hearted. They’re already heading for the door, when I notice the pair who’ve stayed back.
Hannah and Clara. I can’t ignore the quiet tension threading between them.
It’s subtle if you’re not looking for it, yet obvious if you are.
It showed up during the trophy design. Twenty minutes of focus that felt just a little too argumentative.
It’s like watching two alphas trying to figure out who the “big dog” is when they’re really just puppies.
So, I don’t step in. Instead, I lift Clara’s sketch. “You forgot this.”
She turns, shoulders tight, then loosens just a fraction when she sees me.
“It’s good,” I say. “I like the stars.”
Her lips twitch. “Thanks.”
Hannah edges closer, quick and almost defensive. “It was my idea to layer them like that.”
Clara glances at her, something tense passing through her expression before it fades. She takes a breath and nods, the moment already slipping away.
“It was. Thanks, Hannah. It does look nicer.”
I watch as Hannah nods her head, accepting the praise. They’re not fixed, but something is a little bit better. By the time they head out, even I can’t deny the air feels lighter.
The room shifts in energy once they’re gone. Less noise, less movement. What does linger is the echo of a great workshop, evidence that something good has happened here.
I turn, catching sight of Ty as he wraps up his conversation with one of the moms—Ava’s, I think. She says something to him with a tight smile, then glances past him toward me and threads her arms tightly across her chest.
The look she gives me could take someone out at the knees.
I blink twice, totally caught off guard, instinctively checking myself—did I say something? Do something? Miss something? Did I forget deodorant? Nothing comes to mind.
Ty doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t react to it. He stays calm and steady, the way he does everything, and steps away like the conversation is already behind him.
The door shuts and the room settles into a quiet stillness. He looks my way and grins. It’s the kind of smile that doesn’t ask for anything in return. It simply is, and annoyingly, it’s as if he knows who his audience is, because it lands.
It’s not just the smile. It’s the way he carries himself—like nothing sticks to him unless he wants it to. Like he knows exactly where he is in a room and doesn’t need to prove it to anyone. Like he’s comfortable in his own skin. In his space. In a way that feels…so very rare.
I shouldn’t be noticing that. I definitely shouldn’t be noticing the way his sleeves are pushed up enough to show his forearms, or how he looks like he could walk into any situation and handle it without making a big deal out of it.
Or the fact that when he’s not talking, when he’s just standing there, there’s something quieter about him, more centered.
Like there’s a whole other version of him he doesn’t hand out easily.
That part—that is the gooey center I want to know.
But, it’s also the part that is actually scary for me.
I know I kissed this man a couple weeks ago, opening up a can of worms I can’t seem to put away now, but…
having him in my face, a part of my world, and threaded into my being?
It’s all feeling very real. As much as it feels surreal, if I’m being honest.
I shake it off almost immediately and reach for the nearest tray like I suddenly have a very important job to do. Can’t have Ty catch me spiraling over him, now can we?
“You done making friends out there?” I ask, keeping my tone light. But it comes out just a little too aware, and with a squeak on the end.
“For now.” Ty picks up a tray of beads like he’s been assigned the job. “You keeping tabs on who I talk to?”
“You wish,” I manage, taking the tray from his hands. “You seemed to be busy with Ava’s mom.”
“Yeah.” He grimaces. “She’s kind of aggressive.”
“Really?” That makes me pause. “What do you mean?”
“Agressive in a glittery kind of way.” He laughs, shaking his head. “She’s really nice, but pushy. She asked me to come over for dinner tonight to talk about Ava’s technique.”
“Oh.” I bite the edge of my lip, holding back a laugh. “That’s a little awkward, isn’t it? How do you get out of that one?”
He stops mid-step and looks at me. “I told her I had plans with my girlfriend.”
I put a hand on my hip. “You have one of those?”
Am I fishing? More like flirting. I think. This is flirting, right?
“Not really,” he says easily. “But I think the person who is standing in as one will forgive me when she finds out I used her as an out. Karmically, she owes me.”
My brows lift. “Karmically?”
His lips twist into a half grimace, half grin as his hands cover his eyes. “I told her you were my girlfriend.”
My jaw drops, and a choked laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Oh my—” I shake my head, still laughing. “That’s a good one. You got me. You really got me.”
He doesn’t laugh right away, which is what makes me look at him. When I do, he slowly lets his hands fall away and he looks right at me. There’s no laughter in his eyes, no jokes, just a certainty that rocks my insides. And suddenly, his words land differently.
I straighten slightly. “Wait.” One beat. “You didn’t.”
Ty holds up his hands. “Eye for an eye, my friend.”
“Seriously, If I get jumped by Ava’s mom next week, you have to take care of me when I’m recovering.” I snort, reaching for a tangle of chains as Ty moves to another table to pick up more beads and a scattered assortment of charms. “You don’t have to help me, you know.”
“I know.”
He doesn’t stop. I watch him for a second as he methodically works through a knot like it personally offended him.
“You’re very committed for someone who never wanted to be in this room.”
He glances up. “I contain multitudes.”
“That feels like something you read on a quote graphic.”
“It absolutely is.”
I shake my head, smiling as I start stacking trays. “At least you say what you’re thinking.”
“Always. It feels like honesty.” He sets the charms down, then nods toward the door the girls just left through. “Saw you talking to Hannah and Clara.”
I pause, just briefly. “Yeah. Those two seem to be having a ‘who’s in charge’ competition. I noticed it last week over where they were sitting and with who. I can’t call them mean girls, but they’re close to it. Rude-adjacent?”
He leans a hip against the table, arms crossing. “They’re like that on the ice, too.”
That surprises me. “Surely it’s not good for the team.”
“It’s not. Part of why Emma wanted to do the team bonding, I think. They are the best two on the team.” He exhales a quiet laugh. “Also the most likely to take each other out mid-drill.”
“What?”
“Full-on collision course energy. Doesn’t matter what Emma tries. Switch lines, separate them, put them on opposite sides…” He shakes his head. “They still end up in each other’s orbit.”
“Strong personalities. High standards. Probably both think they’re right.”
“Accurate,” he says. “And very insightful.”
“Well, I am a girl. I understand my people.” I tilt my head. “Do you know why they’re like that?”
He hesitates before shaking his head. “No.”
It’s simple. Honest in a way I didn’t expect.
“I mean,” he adds, pushing off the table, “if I had to guess? They’re too similar.”
“That usually does it.”
“I think Emma signed them up for this whole thing hoping they’d magically bond over beads and emotional growth.”
“Did it work?”
He gestures vaguely toward the door. “Ask me in a couple of weeks.”
I smile, but something about the way he said it lingers. “You care.”
He looks at me like that’s obvious. “It’s my sister’s team.”
“That’s not what I meant.” There’s a flicker there. Quick. Gone just as fast. He grabs a box, stacking it with a little more force than necessary. “They’re good players. It would be better if they weren’t constantly trying to prove something to each other.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“Tell me about it.”
I study him for a second. “You’ve seen that before.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Once or twice.”