Chapter 54
Hunter
I lean against the rail just off the track, arms crossed, casually watching practice. But I’m not watching everyone.
Just her.
Willow’s throwing herself into every drill as though the floor might disappear if she slows down. Tight turns, sharp pivots, the kind of intensity that has Daisy blinking at her as if to say What the hell, Jinx?
“She’s skating angry,” Carson mutters beside me. “She hasn’t even looked our way.”
“She’s not angry,” I say before I can stop myself.
Carson glances at me. “No? She was pretty irritated that we made that plan with Finn.”
“No.” I watch her whip around a corner, her pink hair flying behind her, beneath the bottom of her helmet, her lips pressed into a thin line. She doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t make a sound. “She’s scared.”
That word hangs in the air.
“She thinks if she slows down, she’ll fall apart,” I add. “And she’s probably right.”
Graham’s eyes track her, too. He’s unreadable as always, but I know that jaw. Tight. Ticked off. At himself, probably.
“I think we touched a raw spot that was still healing,” I say. “And now she’s trying to stop the bleeding.”
“She’s pretending we’re not here,” Carson says.
“And pretending last night didn’t happen,” Graham says. Controlled. Too controlled.
We all saw the way she curled into us. The way her scent melted into ours. It obviously belongs there. But now? She’s locked up tight. Focused. Determined.
Unreachable.
And part of me gets it.
Because needing us means admitting this is more than just safety. More than just a job we can quit. More than temporary. It means letting go of the fear that’s ruled her since the mark faded. Hell, maybe even before that.
I glance toward the bleachers and catch Landon watching her too, arms crossed. Some of the other girls try to flirt with him, but he doesn’t even blink their way. He only sees Willow. And I know this is some sort of torture he is making himself endure. A penance for his sins.
She barely gives him anything back. No attention. No reaction. Just silence.
That silence twists something in my chest.
It’s not the yelling that signals someone’s about to break—it’s the quiet.
And Willow’s silent.
I shift my stance, tracking her as she skates past again.
“I’m going to pull her aside later,” I say.
Graham lifts a brow, but doesn’t argue.
Carson just hums. “Don’t push too hard.”
“I won’t,” I say. “But if she keeps running like this, she’s going to break something. Might be herself.”
The second she skates off the track, I can tell she’s running on fumes.
Willow grabs a towel, wipes the sweat from her neck, and drops onto the bench. Her shoulders slump with exhaustion. I’m pretty sure her bones don’t know how to hold her up anymore. Her teammates buzz around her, chatting, laughing, but she’s distant—hovering in that space between fight and flight.
I wait.
Not right next to her. Just close enough that she’ll see me when she’s ready.
Eventually, she glances up. Her brows lift as if she’s surprised I’m still here.
I offer a small smile. “Ready to go?”
For a second, I think she might say no. But then she sighs, drops her towel into her bag, and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
We don’t say anything as we step outside. The air is thick and warm, the kind that clings to your skin, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She keeps her eyes forward, arms folded tight across her chest.
I walk slow. She doesn’t.
Eventually, I ask, “Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
She huffs a laugh. “You mean besides the fact that my stalker sent me a box full of his obsession, and my former scent match is now my roller derby coach? And I fell into bed with the three of you last night?”
I stop breathing for half a second.
Scent match.
I glance sideways at her. She keeps walking, steady, unbothered, as if she didn’t just drop a bomb in the middle of a casual conversation. As if it’s nothing. Just another burden she’s chosen to carry alone.
It’s the first time she’s said it out loud. The first time I get it. That Landon wasn’t just some asshole who hurt her.
He was fated. Her match. Her bond. The very thing every omega dreams of—and he threw it away.
Suddenly, everything sharpens. The way she still watches him when she thinks we’re not looking. The ache in her voice when she says she’s fine. The way she’s let us in but keeps pieces of herself sealed shut. It all makes sense.
How do you compete with something like that?
I don’t know. But I’m not backing down either.
“That’s a start,” I say, voice even. But inside, my chest is tight. Not with jealousy. Not exactly. Something heavier. Something like…grief for what could have been if they had both been ready. If she hadn’t built her walls so high after he hurt her.
She walks a few more paces in silence. Then finally—
“I’m trying to hold it together,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Trying not to fall apart. Because the second I let go, I’m scared I won’t come back from it.”
My throat goes dry. Because she’s not saying it for attention. She’s not playing it up. This is her truth, raw and unfiltered.
“You don’t have to hold it together around us,” I say. “Not with me.”
She doesn’t answer.
So I stop walking and gently tug her to a stop beside me.
She’s not crying. But she’s close. I can see it in the way she clenches her jaw. In the way she won’t meet my eyes.
I touch her elbow, as lightly as possible, and wait until she finally looks up.
“You’re not alone anymore, Willow,” I say. “And I know scent matches…they’re supposed to mean something permanent. Untouchable. But I also know he gave that up. He hurt you. Pushed you away in a really bad way.”
I swallow hard, because this part matters.
“I would never do that. I don’t care what he was. I care about what you need. Right now. And that’s all I want to be.”
Her eyes search mine. And something inside her softens—just a little. Like she’s letting herself believe me. Believe in us.
“I know,” she whispers.
I nod toward the parking lot. “Let’s get you out of here.”
As we walk, she shifts closer. Not enough to touch, but close enough that I feel her heat. Her trust. And just before we reach the car, she slips her fingers into mine.
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say a word.
But that single act?
It tells me everything.
She’s letting me in. And I don’t care if I’m up against fate itself—I’m not going anywhere.