Page 13

I repeat the words to myself like a mantra as I move toward one of the picnic tables.

I prop my rear on the edge of the wood, adjusting the apple bag in my lap as Sadie laughs at something Robbie says.

Robbie, who is definitely seeing someone even if he won’t confirm it to the public.

Robbie, who isn’t lusting after our peppy little trainer.

Robbie, who is taller than me, but not more muscled.

And I know where he likes to dump all his shots on goal. He rarely gets one past me.

“Hi.”

I almost jump at the voice. Which is embarrassing given my reflexes on the ice.

The woman next to me can look me directly in my eyes—she’s that tall. Her hair is a riot of orange, and she’s also wearing a chunky, too-warm sweater.

“I’m Quinn,”

I know she is. I once helped Erik and Vic put together a grand romantic gesture for her.But I keep that thought to myself. Sadie said smile, not correct. Quinn has mossy green eyes. If they were blue, we could have been twins.

“You’re Ragnar right?” I meet her eyes and hold them, pulling my lips wide in a friendly smile.

“R-Ragnar ólaffson.” What do I do next? Reciprocate the question? I hold my hand out for her to shake. Or something. “And you are? Right. Never mind. Quinn.”

Her laugh is kind. Chuckling because I said something funny, not at my social blunder or how quickly I forgot her introduction. There’s now a slightly lower chance I might vibrate out of my skin, even as shift my gaze to Sadie.

“I’m glad you came today. I’ve been meaning to ask you about your helmet. Tristan mentioned your sister designed it?”

I nod.

“She said you didn’t mind talking about it, but if it’s too personal, I understand.”

I shake my head before I remember Sadie’s advice and force a smile. To Quinn’s credit, she doesn’t flinch, but her eyes seem brighter than before.

“M-my h-helmet is a gyrfalcon. They’re an Arctic b-bird of p-prey and the n-n-national bird of my home country.

” I suck in air and bring my eyes back to Quinn’s face.

They’ve been hovering on a cluster of leaves just over her left shoulder.

She nods as I catch her gaze again and I wonder if she noticed my lack of eye-contact.

“I heard your sister painted it?”

I nod again as Quinn inspects the apples in her bag like they’re the most interesting things in the universe.

I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to break the silence.

It’s not that I don’t like Quinn—I do—but I’m just not great at making small talk.

Especially when I think everyone’s watching me, like some kind of science experiment.

I look beyond Quinn at the rest of the party.

They all turn away, laughing too loud and crashing into each other in an elaborate effort to appear like they weren’t watching us like a sideshow.

Am I supposed to say more? Keep talking? Across the grass, Sadie circles her fingers and gives an exaggerated nod, her head tipping toward Quinn. Expand. Say more. Got it.

“She’s an a-a-amazing a-artist. M-most g-g-goalies have d-designs on..on…on their h-helmets. It made s-sense to a-ask Katrín.”

Quinn’s face brightens, and it knocks me a bit off balance. Her green eyes crinkle at the corners, and there’s something easy about her energy. She’s not waiting for me to impress her or fill the silence between us, but I still managed to do both.

“I’ll admit I saw a picture of it on the Arctic’s page,” she says. “It’s sick. The detail in the feathers, the way it looks like it’s about to take flight. Honestly, it’s one of the coolest masks I’ve ever seen.”

Yes. My single foray into the world of social media under Tristan’s expert guidance. I’m glad Kat got some well-deserved recognition out of that post. Even if she rolled her eyes and drew my name out into a long whine when she first saw the post.

“How long did it take her?”

I huff out a short laugh. It’s mostly pride, coupled with disbelief, that Kat pulled it off. She was barely ten when I asked.

“Sh-she w-w-worked on it for a whole s-summer straight. I, uh, I brought h-her all her f-favorite candy and made s-s-sure she had water. Otherwise, she’d f-forget to take b-breaks.”

“Did she paint the actual helmet? Or…” she trails off, but the meaning is clear. Even to me.

“F-first she p-painted it f-flat. On p-paper.”

“Watercolor?”

I nod. “Th-then w-we wrapped the b-bird around my p-p-practice h-helmet.” She hadn’t liked the way the first two paintings transferred, the proportions of the eyes and feathers changing as they curved around the polycarbonate.

She’d started over again and again, to the point I thought she was going to throw her paints across the room. Or quit.

Quinn presses a hand to the front of her chest, as her eyes go suspiciously shiny.

“That’s perfect. I love that you two are close, and that you support her art.”

Are we close? We text every day. I visit. I have her dog, but I still live an ocean away. Honestly, giving my artsy little sister a chance to paint my helmet was the least I could do to make her feel like she’s a part of my life here in Quarry Creek.

I should have said something in response. Now there’s an awkward lull, both of us shifting our weight and avoiding eye contact as the sounds of people laughing and the crunch of footsteps in the grass fill in the gaps.

What was I supposed to do? Smile? Check. Answer direct questions? With words? Ask questions? Right.

I scratch at the back of my neck, my skin hot from the fall sun. “I, uh… h-heard you d-do… um… a-art stuff t-too?”

Quinn’s brows lift, visibly surprised, then she grins.

“Guilty. I teach at the elementary school which doesn’t leave a ton of time for my own projects, but yeah. I used to paint a lot. Haven’t picked up a brush for fun in ages, though. How’d you hear that?”

I hesitate, embarrassed. “Y-you did those charity p-prints f-for the youth l-league last year, right? The s-silent auction? I…um…bought one. F-for my sister.”

Her face lights up as she claps her hands together. “No way! You did?”

I nod. “She, um… she l-loves the one w-with the… the a…a…arc…arc… the w-winter fox? The s-snowy one.”

“That was my favorite too,” Quinn says, her smile turning soft. “Tell her thanks for me. If she’s interested, I’m always willing to talk tricks of the trade.”

Kat would love that.

“I will.”

Another pause stretches between us, but this time it isn’t heavy.

I scan the orchard, watching kids dart between the trees, hearing the engine of the tractor and wagon somewhere in the distance shuttling eager patrons to the apple trees.

A few feet from us, Maddie uses both of her hands to shove Spags back a step. He laughs.

This is nothing like I’d thought it would be. It’s… not comfortable, but it’s not much different that team events. Tolerable.The whole situation is tolerable.

It would be better if Sadie—

“So, be honest. How’s the party treating you?” Quinn leans her hip on the table beside me.

I glance over at her as she raises one eyebrow to her hairline. Her curls remind me of Kat.

“B-better than I thought,” I can admit. “I w-was w-worried about a p-p-pinata.”

She laughs, and it’s loud. Genuine. A few heads turn, including Sadie’s. Her grin makes my chest squeeze tight and I look away, trying to pull air back into my flattened lungs. I think she might be proud of me.

“Give it a few more minutes. Erik and Vic are probably setting one up as we speak.” She leans in like we’re co-conspirators in a Hollywood bank heist. “Technically, she’s Vic’s sister-in-law, not ours, but twins, you know? We adopted her too.”

I don’t have to force my next smile. The tension in my chest loosening a fraction. Sisters I can understand. A few feet away from us, Spags balances an apple on the top of his head as Vic hands Maddie what looks like a rock and mimes a throwing motion while pointing at the younger man.

I don’t spend a ton of time with the rookie, mostly because he’s never still.

He’s always talking, always engaged in shenanigans, always being social.

He might have been a better case study. I could have asked him for help, but I know my limits.

I will never be that sociable and trying would be physically painful.

Even so, I’m grateful to him. Spags certainly knows how to command attention.

It means I can stay here on the periphery, engage when I’m ready.

Instead of being the oddity everyone stares at.

“What in the William Tell…” Quinn shakes her head and rubs a hand against her eyes. “Do I even want to know what they’re doing?”

“P-probably n-not.” It’s my turn to lean in like a true co-conspirator. “P-plausible d-d-deny-”

“Deniability. Right.” Quinn grins, nudging me with her elbow and I force myself to smile back. “I’m really glad you came out today, you know.”

That surprises me. I look down, fiddling with a loose thread on my jeans.

It’s not that I think I’m a pariah, but I am realistic.

I don’t particularly enjoy small talk or social interactions, so even when I take part, I end up contributing very little to the plot.

And yet, despite not knowing what to say to the woman sitting next to me, she hasn’t acted like talking to me is a burden or a chore for her.

“I a-almost didn’t. C-come.”

“I know.” Quinn’s voice drops. I didn’t realize that I wanted her to understand, and I can’t explain why I think she might actually get it. “Sadie… worries about you. Not to be weird or anything, she just wants you to be part of the crew. You know? I’ve been there too.”

That doesn’t seem right. Not the part about Sadie worrying, I know she does. It’s why she’s a good person. Why she agreed to help me. Why she keeps looking this direction and giving me an encouraging thumbs up.

The surprising part is Quinn feeling like an outsider, too. I frown.