Chapter 40 Willow
Willow
I’m so busy thinking about Carson’s offer—whether or not I should take him up on it, whether or not I should want to see Finn again—that I completely forget about the other complication in my life.
Landon.
The second I step inside the rink, my breath catches in my chest.
Fuck.
He’s already here. Already moving effortlessly across the rink, demonstrating something to Twinkle and Knox. His skates barely make a sound against the floor, his balance so perfect it makes my stomach twist.
It sucks that seeing him still brightens part of my day.
Because it shouldn’t.
Not after what he did. Not after he took my heart, shoved it into a blender, and watched as it shredded into a thousand tiny, unrecognizable pieces.
Nothing about Landon should make me feel anything but regret. Loss. I shove it away, burying it deep where it belongs. But not before Hunter catches whatever the hell must be on my face.
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, pushing forward.
His response is almost instant. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”
I grit my teeth, stepping further into the rink, eyes locked on the back of Landon’s head. “Well, it is.”
Hunter doesn’t buy it.
I can feel his eyes on me, and he’s peeling back every defensive layer I’ve ever built and getting a good, solid look at what’s underneath.
It makes my skin prickle, my shoulders tighten.
Because I don’t want to talk about it.
I don’t want to admit the way my chest clenched the second I saw Landon glide across the rink. The way his presence still stirs something raw and aching inside me.
I don’t want to remember the Landon who made me laugh. The one who kissed me as though I was the only person in the world that mattered.
And I sure as hell don’t want to acknowledge the fact that, despite everything, despite Finn, despite Carson, Graham, and Hunter, despite all the chaos surrounding me right now—
I still feel the pull.
To him.
Hunter knows it. He’s not saying anything, but I can feel him watching, his steps slowing as I move toward the benches, waiting for me to do something stupid.
Waiting for me to run to Landon instead of skating as far away as possible.
I shake it off, force my focus back on practice.
Crusher steps onto the floor, clapping her hands, snapping my attention away from the way Landon turns his head—sensing me, too.
“All right, ladies,” Crusher calls. “Let’s get to work.”
I take a breath, forcing my shoulders to relax.
I’m here to practice.
I’m here for Nationals.
Not Landon.
Not any man.
And definitely not the way my stupid, traitorous heart still skips a beat when Landon looks at me.
Practice starts.
I fall into rhythm—skating, weaving, jamming through blockers, calling out plays. But I feel eyes on me. Not just my usual shadows. Landon’s. Watching me with an intensity that burns right through me.
During our first water break, I drift toward the benches, wiping sweat from my brow when his voice wraps around me.
“You’re dipping your right shoulder too early on your cutbacks.”
I stiffen, my wheels slowing, my chest tightening.
I glance to the side, and there he is, gliding effortlessly beside me, helmet tucked under his arm, that same lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. A reminder of everything I can’t forget.
“Right,” I say slowly, blinking at him. “Thanks.”
“I’ve been watching the tapes,” he says, voice casual. The way he says it—low, deliberate—hooks something deep inside me. Something that tugs at me, even as I try to ignore it.
I blink again. “Tapes?”
He shrugs. “Your games. From regionals. States. Even some of the older ones—last year’s qualifiers. You’ve always had instinct, but now...” His gaze cuts to mine, more serious now. “Now you’re sharp. You’re dangerous out there.”
My stomach flips.
Because he didn’t even know I played when we were together.
He knew roller derby was something I did, but not that I lived and breathed it.
Not that it owned me the way it does. Not that I’ve fought tooth and nail to make this team something real.
I never even talked about it on Omega in Paradise, preferring to keep that part of me off of the show.
“You...watched my games?” I ask, breath catching on the words.
“Every single one I could find,” he admits, softer now. “I didn’t know how serious you were about it before. I should have. That’s on me.”
Something in my chest pulls tight. Because this doesn’t feel like a line. Doesn’t feel as if he’s trying to sweep in with flowers and charm and fix everything with a kiss.
He studied me. He paid attention—after. When he thought he’d already blown it. When he believed he had no right to know me anymore.
And now he’s here.
My chest tightens with emotions, but this time it’s not just nerves. It’s something quieter. Something honest.
The truth? I went after him hard. I convinced myself it was fate, let myself believe in the way he looked at me, touched me, and spun promises about the future.
Yeah, he was the playboy. But I didn’t care. I dove headfirst into the fire without checking if it would burn.
And when it did, I put it all on him. Every scar. Every broken piece.
Maybe I wasn’t just the one who got hurt. Maybe I helped set the whole thing on fire.
And now...he’s trying. Really trying. Not with grand gestures, but with something real.
“Thanks,” I murmur again, heavier this time. It’s not just about my skating, it’s about all of it. Watching me. Seeing me now. Making me feel I’m not insane for still wanting him.
Making me wonder if this—us—could ever be more than the mistake I swore I’d never repeat.
He nods, then starts to coast away, but not before adding—“You’re better now. Stronger. And it isn’t only skating. They’re good for you. Those three.”
I stand there, rooted in place, watching him go.
My heart stutters. Because he’s right. I am stronger now. Not because of my bodyguards, but because he hardened my heart when he broke it. And that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.
“You okay?”
The voice is low. Familiar. Steady.
Hunter.
I don’t need to turn to know it’s him, but I do anyway. He’s standing just behind me, arms crossed over his chest, eyes trained on Landon’s retreating form with a quiet intensity that makes the air feel tighter.
“I’m fine,” I say, too fast.
“Didn’t look fine,” he says, his brow lifting slightly. “Looked like a ghost just walked over your grave.”
I snort softly, looking away. “More like my past just complimented my skating and made me feel things I shouldn’t.”
Hunter doesn’t laugh.
He steps closer.
“You still love him?” he asks, voice carefully neutral.
I blink, thrown. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “But he said you’re good for me. You three.” My eyes flick back to the rink, where Landon’s already halfway across the floor.
“You three?”
I glance up, and Hunter’s watching me now. Really watching.
“He meant you. Carson. Graham.”
Silence stretches between us.
Hunter doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
He just stares at me, making me feel as though he’s seeing something I don’t even understand about myself yet. Then he shifts. Steps closer. And lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger.
“You sound like you don’t believe it. Are you sure he’s wrong?” he asks, voice so low it barely reaches above the hum of the rink.
My breath catches. Because I’m not sure. Not even a little bit.
“I don’t know what I’m sure about anymore,” I whisper.
And then—he kisses me.
Not soft. Not uncertain. But decided. Claiming space he already believes is his.
His hands grip my waist, grounding, pulling me in, and I go. Willingly. My skates drift toward him, arms locking around his neck, the motion pure instinct, inevitable as breathing.
Heat slams into me, fierce and instant, burning away the ache Landon always leaves behind.
Hunter kisses me with intent. Rewriting the story. Erasing scars. Replacing them with something more. Something real.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless. Dazed. My heart thuds wildly in my chest as he brushes his thumb along my cheek. His lips hover close when he speaks.
“If he’s watching...I want him to know.”
I blink up at him. “Know what?”
“That he lost the best thing he ever had.”
The words hit me hard. Not because they’re cruel. But because a part of me thinks they might be true.
And not just because I was something worth keeping—but because he wasn’t ready for who I was becoming. And maybe I wasn’t either.
I stare up at Hunter, lips tingling, my thoughts a mess of old pain and something terrifyingly new.
Carson. Graham. Hunter.
My three captors. My protectors. My constant shadows.
They weren’t supposed to matter. They were supposed to be hired help by my dad, glorified babysitters, alphas assigned to a job they didn’t ask for. But somewhere between the cracked-open moments and the ones I tried to pretend didn’t mean anything, they got in.
They’ve seen me—hurt, angry, reckless—and they’ve stayed. They’ve helped me stand up when I didn’t know if I could. They’ve made space for every version of me, even the broken ones.
And maybe that’s the difference.
Maybe Landon made me feel wanted for a week. But they’ve made me feel safe for weeks.
I take a shaky breath, blinking back the sting behind my eyes.
“I think he knows,” I whisper.
Hunter pulls me in again, gentler this time. His lips brush the top of my head, soft, steady, and it feels solid. A promise I thought I’d never get again.
Maybe they’ve all been making promises from the start—in the way they stayed, in the way they watched me, in the way they treated me as more than a job.
Proof that I’m worth something.
Maybe…maybe Landon was right.
Maybe they are good for me.
And maybe I’m finally starting to believe it.
“Hey, Jinx,” Daisy calls, sliding up beside me the moment I skate off the track and toward the benches, her ponytail bouncing behind her.
I arch a brow at her, trying to play it cool. I know what she’s going to say before she starts. She was overflowing with the need to say something the second practice started back up. She’s only held back this long because Coach would live up to her name if we were distracted.
“What?”
She grins wickedly, nudging me with her elbow. “You and tall-dark-and-broody want to get a room or...should we just clear the track for you next time?”
I nearly choke on a breath. “Daisy—”
“Oh come on,” she laughs, eyes sparkling. “You were melting, babe. And I know good lip action when I see it. That man kissed you like he was about to go to war.”
“He is my bodyguard,” I grumble, sliding down onto the bench and reaching for my water bottle.
“And I am in a committed relationship with my vibrator,” she deadpans. “But if a man looked at me the way that man just looked at you, I’d be naked by now.”
I splutter a laugh and cover my face with one hand. “You’re terrible.”
“You love terrible.”
She isn’t wrong.
Daisy settles beside me, the teasing still lingering in her eyes, but her tone softens just a bit. “So, is it just broody guard guy? Or are the other two in this brooding love triangle too?”
I glance across the rink, where Hunter is now talking quietly with Graham and Carson who must have just arrived. All three of them are watching me—still watching me—even though they’re trying to pretend they’re not.
My stomach flips.
I take a long drink of water, then wipe my mouth and say, “I think that triangle might be more like a square.”
Daisy whistles low. “Damn, Jinx. Four corners of heaven.”
I shoot her a look, but I’m smiling despite myself. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is, sweetheart.” She leans in, bumping her shoulder against mine. “But if they’re making you feel something again? That’s not nothing.”
Her words land somewhere deep in my chest.
Because she’s right.
It’s not nothing.