“Beau, I… I’d love that,” I say, and mean every word. “Really.”
His shoulders ease, like something he’d been holding finally lets go.
“Good,” he murmurs. “I think she will, too.”
We make one last slow circuit before he guides us back toward the boards. He helps me off the ice with the same care he brought me onto it, large hands warm and sure, lingering just a second longer than necessary—enough to say something without words.
We sit down as we unlace our skates, and I catch him watching me.
“This,” he says quietly, gesturing to the empty rink, the quiet, the us, “feels right.”
“Yeah.” I look up at him and smile. “It does.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Beau
My dad’s truck is already in the drive when we pull up.
My chest tightens automatically, old instinct kicking in before I can stop it. Emery must feel it through the bond, because her fingers twitch from where she’s sitting in the passenger seat, then settle more deliberately. She glances at me, not questioning—just…there.
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I say, because that’s what I always say. Then, after a second, I add, “He’s… not great. Just—don’t take him personally.”
Her mouth curves, small and steady.
“I won’t.”
The house looks the same as it always has: squat and sturdy, white siding dulled by years of weather, porch light glowing warm against the snow. This place raised me: taught me how to be careful, how to bequiet.
How to take up as little space as possible, even when everything in me wanted to expand.
I cut the engine and sit there a beat longer than necessary.
“Thank you,” I say finally, staring straight ahead.
“For what?”
“For coming.”
“Of course.” She doesn’t hesitate. “I wanted to.”
That lands somewhere deep and tender, and I open the door before I can sit with it too long.
Inside, the house smells like tomato soup and antiseptic cleaner—warm and sharp at the same time, comfort braided with decline. It’s the scent of home as it’s been for years now: love and vigilance, routine and quiet grief.
My mom’s voice drifts from the living room, light and animated, aimed at someone who isn’t there anymore.
“—and then Beau said he didn’t want the red one, which I thought was ridiculous because red is very striking, don’t you think? You should never turn down red, it makes people notice you—”
“Mom,” I call gently as I shrug out of my jacket, hanging it on the hook she insists still works even though it wobbles. “I’m here.”
There’s a beat of silence, then movement.
She appears in the doorway like she’s been waiting just out of sight, eyes brightening instantly when she sees me.
“Oh! There you are,” she says, relief flooding her expression.
