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He stares down at our joined hands like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Goodnight, Quinn.”

I slide into my car and close the door. He waits until I start the engine, gives me a small nod, and walks away.

I sit there a moment longer, staring at the steering wheel. The heat blowing across my face. My heart pounding a little too fast.

Maybe I’m still scared. But I don’t feel quite so alone anymore.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s the beginning of healing.

The beginning of something new.

Chapter fourteen

Wes

I’m still smiling when I get home.

Not the usual smirk. Not the practiced grin I throw on for interviews or charity events. This one’s different. It’s real. Quiet. Settled in my chest like the hum of a favorite song I forgot I knew.

Quinn let me walk her to her car. She touched my hand. And I didn’t screw it up.

That shouldn’t be a victory, but after everything? It feels like one.

I lean against the kitchen counter, still wearing my gloves and jacket, staring at nothing. My kitchen is dark except for the hall light I left on earlier. I peel off my coat and toss it over a chair, my movements slow, reluctant to break the spell of the evening.

Tonight wasn’t flashy. There were no grand declarations or dramatic scenes. Just quiet moments—her laugh, her questions, the way she listened when I talked about the kids at theacademy. The way she looked at me like I was someone she could maybe, just maybe, let back in.

I exhale hard, pushing away the fear that always follows nights like this. The one that whispers, *Don’t get used to it.*

But I want to.

I want to believe we’re finding our way back, even if it’s inch by inch.

***

The next morning, I show up at the rink early. I’ve got youth practice at eight, but I want time alone on the ice first.

There’s something about an empty rink that centers me. The cold. The echo. The silence that’s broken only by the slice of my skates across frozen water. It’s the closest thing I know to meditation.

I circle the ice in slow laps, working out the stiffness in my legs and the noise in my head. Every now and then, I catch myself thinking about Quinn—how she smiled yesterday when one of the girls offered her a donut with pink frosting, or how she’d brushed snow off a kid’s helmet without realizing she was still talking.

She belongs here. Not just in this town. In my world.

I skate until the kids start filing in, loud and excited, and then I switch gears. High-fives. Encouragement. Focused drills. I lose myself in the chaos, and it feels good.

Afterward, Beckett finds me in the locker room, already out of his gear. “You free tonight?”

I raise a brow. “Depends. Why?”

He smirks. “Abby’s idea. She and Quinn are grabbing dinner at that new pasta place. She thought maybe you and I could casually show up around dessert.”

I snort. “Subtle.”

Beckett shrugs. “She’s trying to help. Quinn’s thawing. Slowly. It might not hurt to see you in a normal setting. Plus, Abby swears the tiramisu’s life changing.”

I rub the back of my neck, thinking. “Yeah. Okay. But no pressure. If she looks like she wants space, I’ll back off.”