Alone.
Crying.
"She's back," I manage, and my voice cracks on the words.
"Yeah." Nacho's voice is carefully neutral. The voice he uses when he's trying not to influence a witness. "She ran. From the wedding. Mrs. Whight called the station to report a 'suspicious vehicle' and then spent fifteen minutes telling dispatch the whole story."
Jessica ran from her wedding, and she's in Largo Waters.
"I'm calling a meeting," I say, because that's what I do. When things fall apart, I try to hold everyone together.
"Already texted Pedro and Carlos. They're on their way to the house."
Of course they are. Because that's what we do. That's what pack does. When something happens, we gather. We talk. We figure it out together.
Except this isn't something. This is Jessica.
And there's nothing to figure out. She's Callum's. They’re both betas, they both match. It doesn’t matter if she's back in town.
She's still his.
Isn't she?
"I'll be there in twenty," I say.
"Make it fifteen. Carlos's already pacing."
I hang up and stand there for a moment, alone in the empty rink. The ice gleams under the fluorescent lights. Cold and clean and uncomplicated.
Nothing like the mess waiting for me at home.
I grab my bag and head for the parking lot. My truck is the only vehicle left, sitting under a light that's been flickering for three weeks. I keep meaning to tell maintenance. I keep forgetting.
The drive home takes twelve minutes. I know because I count every single one of them, trying to get my head straight before I have to face my brothers. Now the evenings are getting dark earlier now, leaves skittering across the road in the wind.
Even when I'm falling apart inside.
Jessica's back.
She ran from her wedding.
She's in Largo Waters.
The thoughts circle like vultures, picking at something I buried a long time ago. Something I wasn't supposed to feel. Something that made me the worst kind of friend.
I fell in love with my best friend's girlfriend.
Not right away. Not the first time Callum brought her home and introduced her with that smug smile of his, like she was a trophy he'd won. But slowly. Gradually. In the small moments that added up until I couldn't ignore them anymore.
The way she laughed at Carlos's stupid jokes. The way she'd curl up on the couch between Pedro and Nacho during movie nights, all soft curves and warmth, so relaxed she'd fall asleep. Like she belonged with us. But she’s a beta, being with her, meant we could never physically be together, because she justcouldn’t handle our knots. It wasn’t fair to do that to her, or maybe we should have given her an option. No. There was no option. Callum is a beta. She’s a beta. And he’s our best friend.
You don't betray your friend like that.
You bury it. Deep. And you try to be a good person. A good friend.
Even when it kills you.
The packhouse comes into view, and I see three vehicles already in the driveway. Pedro's practical sedan. Carlos's work truck with the Negrorio Carpentry logo on the side. Nacho's patrol car, because he apparently came straight from the station.
