He huffs a quiet laugh, something warm and pleased flickering through the bond.
“Careful. Compliments go to my head.”
“Good,” I tease. “Might soften you up even more.”
He arches an eyebrow, skating backward now so he can face me, hands still light but steady at my hips.
“You saying I’m soft?”
I consider him—this version of Beau, relaxed and grounded, laughing easily on his own ice.
“I’m saying you’re… different. In a good way.”
He nods slowly, accepting that without deflection.
“Pack’ll do that.”
The word settles between us, heavy but welcome.
We drift toward center ice, the rink vast and quiet around us, lights humming overhead. It feels like the whole place belongs to us for these few minutes: no crowd, no whistles, no expectations.
We skate in companionable silence for a moment, the scrape of our blades the only sound in the vast, empty rink, then Beau clears his throat.
“Hey,” he says. “Can I ask you something?”
I glance up at him. “Yeah. Of course.”
“How’s that feel—being here?” he asks, vague on the surface but not really. His eyes stay forward, fixed on the far boards. “With… all of this.”
I understand exactly what he means.
“It feels steady,” I say after a beat. “More than I expected.”
He nods, like that matters to him.
“My mom’s doing alright,” he comments, and it takes me by surprise. He doesn’t speak about her that often, but when he does, I hang on to every word; remembering what Coach told meabout his past. “Better than she was a few months ago. She likes the new nurse. Thinks she’s very competent.”
“High praise,” I smile.
He huffs a soft breath.
“She still forgets I’m bonded, though. Keeps trying to set me up with her friends’ daughters.” A pause. “I think it’s her way of pretending things haven’t changed.”
I nod in understanding.
“I’m heading over there Sunday morning,” he adds. “Said I’ll take some groceries. I’m also supposed to be fixing a shelf she’s convinced is crooked.”
We slow slightly, drifting closer together as we circle the rink.
He looks at me then:reallylooks.
“I was wondering,” he says, voice lower now, steadier through the bond than out loud. “If you’d want to come with me. Meet her.”
My breath catches.
“I don’t want to push,” he continues. “But… I’d like her to meet you. If you’re comfortable.”
The bond warms instantly: a soft, affirming pulse that makes my chest ache in the best way.
