Chapter 41
Landon
She’s laughing with her teammates.
Really laughing.
Head tossed back, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright as one of the girls—Daisy, I think—says something that makes them all burst into another round of snorting, full-body laughter. It’s unfiltered, genuine. The kind of laugh she used to give me before I ruined everything.
Before I kissed Dee and watched Willow shatter.
My throat tightens as I lean against the rail, half-pretending to listen to the ideas Coach Crusher is laying out while I watch them.
She’s still got that fire in her—the one that pulled me in from the start. But there’s something else now. Strength. A kind of quiet resolve in the way she carries herself. Her team clearly looks to her. Hell, they orbit her as though she’s the gravity holding everything together. And maybe she is.
I had that.
And I threw it away, as if she didn’t matter.
It cuts deeper now, seeing her like this. Confident. Alive. Healing. The ache in my chest isn’t dull anymore—it’s sharp and razor-edged, tearing me apart from the inside out.
Because this Willow—the one leading her team, skating as if she has nothing left to prove—she’s everything.
She’s even more perfect than the girl I fell in love with.
And the only reason she even had to heal from anything is because I fucking broke her.
Not just with the kiss, but with the silence that followed. With the way I didn’t fight for her. I told myself I did it for her—because she deserved freedom, deserved better—but that was bullshit.
I was scared.
And now I get to sit on the sidelines and watch the bodyguards become her center of gravity. I saw the way that he kissed her. The way she melted into him.
Maybe she does.
And I’ve got no one to blame but myself.
I stay by the rail long after the break ends. Willow’s back in motion, darting between teammates, her movements fluid and precise. She’s made to move this way.
I should look away.
I don’t. I can’t
“Hell of a view, huh?”
The voice is too close—and too damn smug—to be anyone but one of her bodyguards. Carson, I think I heard her call him.
I don’t flinch, just drag my eyes off Willow and onto him. He’s lounging next to me, arms folded, that ever-present smirk tugging at his mouth as if this is all a game. And he already knows the outcome and has won.
Maybe he has.
“She’s doing good,” I say, keeping my tone level. “Stronger than I’ve ever seen her.”
“Yeah.” Carson doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay locked on the rink. “Turns out heartbreak builds some solid muscle.”
I don’t take the bait. Not right away.
“She deserves to be happy,” I murmur, because it’s the only truth I have left.
Carson finally looks at me. And for once, the teasing fades. What’s left in his eyes isn’t smugness—it's a warning. Possessive.
“She does,” he agrees. “Which is why we’re here.”
We. He doesn’t say I. He says we like they’re already a unit. A pack.
“She was mine first,” I say quietly.
Carson tilts his head. “No, man. She was hers first. She isn’t property to be owned. You just got a shot and blew it.”
I suck in a breath, the words hitting me where it hurts.
And he knows it.
But Carson doesn’t press. He just nods once, sharp and final, then pushes off the rail. “We don’t have to be enemies, you know,” he adds over his shoulder. “Unless you want to be.”
I watch him walk away, back toward his pack. Which, if it doesn’t already, will include Willow with them soon.
Them.
The door I slammed shut might still exist, but there’s a whole new one forming now. And I’m on the wrong side of it.