George launched into his version immediately, painting an almost cinematic picture of the so-called chaos at the festival grounds.
By the time he finished, the shop felt too small. Mrs. Lim looked uncertain, eyes moving between George, Mark, and me. I swallowed, pulse loud in my ears.
“I was there,” another mother said suddenly, cutting in before anyone else could respond. “I don’t know what you’re on about, George, but he barely even connected. He tripped more than anything. That other singer wasn’t even hurt.”
A ripple of murmurs followed.
Someone else snorted. “Honestly, the bigger crime was that guy was wearing a T-shirt in this weather. Did no one tell him what winter’s like in Pecan Pines?”
A few people chuckled despite themselves. I let out a slow breath, tension easing just a fraction. George, unfortunately, wasn’t done.
“That’s not the point,” he said sharply. “The rule exists for a reason. Have you all forgotten what happened before?”
The room quieted again.
“There were brawls,” he went on, voice dropping. “Small fights at first. Then another pack got involved. A full-on fight in the middle of town. Civilians were hurt!”
My stomach tightened. Everyone in Pecan Pines knew that story.
Mrs. Lim pressed her lips together, eyes flicking between Mark and George. When she spoke, her voice was careful. “That was almost twenty years ago. Things have changed.”
But I didn’t miss the way her hand tightened on Daisy’s shoulder as she said it.
George stepped forward. “And what about that bookshop? Just over a year ago. Thrashed. Thank goodness no one was hurt, but who knows what else could’ve happened?”
A few parents nodded slowly. Others looked uncomfortable.
I’d had enough. I stepped fully into the space between Mark and the parents.
“That’s exactly why things are different now,” I said. “Cooper isn’t the alpha from back then. You’ve all met him. You’ve seen what he’s done since taking over.”
A few heads turned toward me. “He’s put rules in place. Enforced them. He works with the town council, the sheriff. People you trust. He doesn’t ignore incidents like this. He handles them.”
I glanced at Mark, then back at the group. “And he already has.”
For a moment, no one spoke. I held my ground, hoping it would be enough.
“I’m sorry,” Mark said again. “I know trust matters here, I know I haven’t earned it yet. I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right—with the pack, and with the town.”
George clicked his tongue, unconvinced.
I felt something warm settle in my chest. Mark could’ve explained himself.
Could’ve talked about being new to the pack, about Theo’s taunting, about how it hadn’t been his fault alone.
But he didn’t. He just owned it.
I reached out and took his hand. His fingers went still before curling around mine. I gave his knuckles a small, reassuring rub. Then I looked back at the parents.
“We’ll do whatever we can to make sure the Winter Festival is safe,” I went on. “For everyone. And if it helps, if it makes anyone more comfortable, we can step back from the performance.”
Mark’s head snapped toward me, eyes searching my face. Before the silence could stretch, someone scoffed lightly.
“That’s not necessary,” one of the parents said, reaching out to clap George on the back a little harder than needed. “Let it go.”
George’s son chose that moment to tug insistently at his father’s hand. “Dad,” he said, loud and earnest, “I wanna see Mr. Zack play on New Year’s.”
A few people laughed.
