“Eating alone,” she says. “Smiling at your phone like it told you a secret.”
“It might have,” I reply, lifting my mug. “Is that a crime?”
“No,” she says thoughtfully. “Just surprising.”
I arch a brow. “Why’s that?”
She tilts her head, studying me in that way she has—like she’s reading between lines I didn’t realize I was writing.
“Because when you first got here, you looked like someone who needed noise.Distraction.Pretty much anything but quiet.”
I don’t argue, because she’s not wrong.
“I guess I needed quiet more than I realized,” I say instead.
Bev hums, satisfied.
“Funny how that works.”
She pauses for a moment, then gestures vaguely at me with her pot.
“You’re glowing, you know.”
I laugh under my breath. “You’re going to make me check my reflection.”
“Don’t need a mirror,” she says. “It’s not that kind of glow. It’s the kind you get when you finally stop holding your breath.”
I look out the window at the slow fall of snow, at the empty street and the familiar storefronts beyond it.
Iron Lake isn’t flashy, or fast. It doesn’t demand anything from you except that you show up and stay awhile.
“It’s been good for me,” I admit quietly. “Being here. Away from the city. Away from… everything.”
Bev nods, almost as if she’s been waiting for me to say that.
“Small towns have a way of doing that. Stripping things back. Letting you remember who you are when you’re not performing for anyone.”
I take another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle.
“I didn’t come here looking for a pack,” I say. “I just wanted a job. Some space.”
“And instead,” she says, smiling faintly, “you found something better.”
I think of the house. The rink. The laughter. The bond humming steady and sure beneath my skin.
Of Beau. Connor. Theo.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “I really did.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Theo
The hotel smells like money and lemon cleaner.
It’s not unpleasant so much as it’s unfamiliar, though it’s a little too polished, as well as too quiet.
Away games are always strange, but this one today feels heavier.
