Chapter 67
Willow
The moment I turn away from Landon, my chest tightens as if I’ve been holding my breath since I walked into the rink.
I try to let the motion carry it away, the burn in my legs, the hum of my wheels, the cold sting of air on my cheeks, but it doesn’t work. Not really. I can still feel him behind me. Still feel the weight of his eyes. And the echo of my own voice rings louder than anything else.
You're still in there…inside my heart.
God, why did I say that?
Because it’s true.
Because no matter how much I love my pack—how safe I feel with them—there’s still this stupid, stubborn thread between me and Landon that refuses to snap. My body doesn’t care that he kissed someone else. Doesn’t care that we broke each other. It just wants him. Misses him.
Daisy pulls up beside me after clearly watching me spiral from across the rink. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, too fast.
She arches a brow. “That’s not a real answer.”
“I’m fine.”
She makes a face. “If you want me to ‘accidentally’ shove him into a wall, blink twice.”
“Cheese will back you up,” Knox adds as she skates by, already halfway into her warm-up.
“Obviously,” Cheese says from the bench, sipping iced coffee, ready to throw hands and then hydrate.
The corners of my mouth twitch. It’s not a laugh, but it’s close. And right now, that’s enough.
I love them.
I really do.
They don’t know everything, but they know enough. That he hurt me. That I walked away. And that, for some reason, he still has this invisible grip on part of me that refuses to fully let go.
I coast toward the edge of the rink and lower myself onto the bench, trying to breathe through the quiet ache in my chest.
And then, as if I called to him, Graham stands up and makes his way down the bleachers. His hands are tucked into his hoodie pockets, trying to play it cool. But there’s nothing casual in his eyes. He watches me as though I’m something breakable. Valuable.
His gaze flicks over my face, then drops to where my sweatshirt slips just low enough to reveal his mark.
He brings his eyes back to mine, unreadable.
“I’m fine,” I say—but it comes out too fast, too forced.
He doesn’t call me on it. Doesn’t push.
Instead, his fingers curl gently around the back of my neck, grounding me. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead—firm, anchoring. A promise that I didn’t ask for, but need all the same.
But his eyes aren’t on me.
They’re locked on something behind me.
Landon.
And even though he stays silent, I see that he’s not mad. He’s…calm. Accepting.
“Did I wrap you around my finger or something?” I tease, trying to ease the ache in my chest. “Why do you feel so calm?”
He shifts his eyes back to me with a small smile. “We have a surprise for you after practice. Nothing’s ruining that.”
“A surprise?” My brows lift. “Does this have anything to do with you disappearing every day for the last couple of weeks?”
He pulls me in for a hug, my whole body going willingly, my skates gliding effortlessly over the floor. I melt into him, his scent washing over me, steady and sure. I love that he’s stopped wearing his blockers, because he smells so good to me, a new sort of home.
“Maybe,” he says against my hair. “You’re just lucky you’re skating first…” he trails off, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “…because I’m not sure how much walking you’ll be doing after.”
A shiver rolls down my spine.
My perfume spikes before I can stop it, giving me away completely.
“I think I like those kinds of surprises,” I murmur, breath catching in my throat.
Graham’s arms stay around me for a beat longer, then he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes.
“Skate your heart out, sweetheart,” he says, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
The knot in my throat tightens for an entirely different reason, but I nod, forcing a small smile before I turn away.
I roll over to the bench, grab my helmet, and slip it on, tightening the chin strap with fingers that don’t feel entirely steady.
The click of it grounding me. Familiar. Necessary.
I grab my mouthguard, shove it into place, and push back onto the rink as if I can skate away from the mess in my chest.
The team’s already circling lazily, warming up.
But I still feel Landon watching me. Still here. Still calling out corrections to the team.
I dive into the first few laps with extra force, the wheels buzzing beneath me, the motion cutting through the chaos. But it’s not enough to block him out.
He doesn’t look away. His gaze stays locked on me, steady, reverent, as if I’m something worth keeping. Every pass sends a prickle racing over my skin, sharp with awareness.
His eyes are soft. Too soft.
And when I catch the flicker of pride there—his pride, aimed at me, as if he belongs here, with me—my breath snags hard in my chest.
I stumble, barely a hitch in my stride, but enough that Daisy notices.
She coasts up beside me, elbowing my arm lightly. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I manage, breathless for more reasons than one.
She doesn’t push, just squints toward Landon. “If he keeps staring at you like that, I’m gonna throw my skate at his face.”
I laugh—too sharp, too fast—but it works. I find my rhythm again. We drop into drills. Then plays. Then a full-on scrimmage.
Coach barks orders. Knox plays a brutal offense with Cheese blocking hard. While Twinkle-toes hoards the jammer cap as though her life depends on it. The tension lingers, but the sweat and contact and roar of skates on polished concrete make it easier to breathe.
Landon doesn’t leave. And I don’t look for him. But I feel him. Even when I block. When I spin. When I race past the line with my team shouting behind me.
We’re winding down, lungs burning, legs shaking, grins splitting our faces when Coach blows the whistle.
“That’s it!” she shouts, clapping once. “Three more practices, then we’re on the damn plane to Nationals. So keep your heads on and your asses in gear. The next three practices will be brutal. No slowing down this close to the finish line.”
The cheer that erupts is instant.
Daisy whoops. Knox grabs Cheese and lifts her off the floor in a spinning bear hug. Twinkle does a ballerina spin. I roll in a loose, looping circle, helmet askew, arms slightly out, letting the moment settle in.
Nationals.
It’s real.
The energy pulses between us, electric and wild. But underneath it, I’m still unsteady. Because Graham’s waiting for me.
And Landon’s watching.
And my heart? It’s still a mess I haven’t figured out how to clean up.
The second I step off the rink, my pulse finally slows, but the noise in my head doesn’t.
Everyone’s laughing, celebrating, buzzing about Nationals, but it’s too much. Too loud. Too bright. I mumble something about needing water and duck into the hallway beside the locker rooms, ripping my helmet off as I go.
The second the door swings shut behind me, silence crashes over me.
Finally.
I lean against the wall, head pressing against the cool wall, closing my eyes for just a second, trying to breathe past the ache in my chest. My muscles hum from practice, but it’s the emotional kind of exhaustion creeping in now—the kind that starts behind your ribs and wraps around your throat.
You're still in there…inside my heart.
I never should’ve said it. Footsteps echo behind me. I freeze. Then inhale.
Clean linen and cedar.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
“Thought you’d disappear,” Landon says quietly.
I open my eyes, still facing the wall. “I’m not that lucky.”
He huffs out a soft, breathy sound that’s almost a laugh. “You were incredible out there.”
“I usually am.”
A pause. Then he steps closer. I feel his warmth behind me, not touching—but close enough to knock my balance loose.
I don’t move.
“I wanted to give you something,” he says.
That makes me turn.
He’s standing just feet away, hands shoved in the front pocket of his jeans like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His gaze is soft again—so damn soft—as though I’m something he’s afraid to touch but can’t stop reaching for.
He pulls out a small object and holds it out to me.
It’s a delicate roller skate charm—brushed silver, tiny pink rhinestones on the wheels, and a thin leather loop tied in a knot at the top.
“I had it made a couple weeks ago. Before I knew if you’d ever speak to me again,” he says. “It reminded me of you. Thought you might hate it. Still kinda do.”
My throat tightens.
I take it.
Of course I do.
The charm is warm from his hand, small enough to close my fist around. I don’t say anything right away, because I can’t. My brain is buzzing and blank all at once.
“You didn’t throw the gloves in the trash…you wore them,” he says. “You said I’m still in your heart. That means I have a chance to make things right here.”
“Landon—”
“I’m not trying to take anything from you,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “I see how they look at you. I’m not blind. I just…I need you to know I meant every damn word of my apology. And this time, I’m not walking away. I’m fighting for this. For you, Willow.”
I stare at him.
I want to hate him.
But he smells like home as much as Graham does. And his eyes are full of every memory we never got to make.
My fingers tighten around the charm.
I should go.
I should say something cold. Draw a line. Shut this down.
But all I manage is, “You’re not making this easy.”
He gives me a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not supposed to be easy, Willow. Not when it’s real.”
And the worst part of all of this? It feels real.
I turn before I let my body make the decision for me. Before I lean in. Before I let him kiss me.
The charm burns in my palm as I walk away. And I don’t even realize I’m crying until I taste salt on my lips.