Chapter 71 Willow
Willow
Silence.
Not cold—just dense. As though the air itself has paused to hear what I just said.
I’m still perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly. My taco is forgotten beside me. All three of them are staring.
Hunter moves first. He steps closer, placing his hand on the counter just beside my thigh. “You mean that?”
I nod, heart pounding. “I’m not saying I’m ready. Or that I even know how this would work. But…I needed to say it.”
Hunter’s eyes flicker down to my legs—his hand brushes just beneath my knee, grounding me. “Then we needed to hear it out loud. And if they’re what you want…” He shrugs. “This house is big. My arms are bigger. And my patience is decent—as long as they don’t hurt you.”
There’s an edge to his voice now, that protectiveness rearing up behind his calm.
“They do, though?” He tilts his head. “I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Carson snorts into his drink. “Hunter means he’ll smile politely after he breaks their kneecaps.”
Hunter shrugs again, not denying it.
Carson swivels in his stool until he’s facing me full-on, propping an elbow on the counter beside my hip.
“I’m gonna say this carefully. I don’t love it.
But not because of them, exactly—because Landon already got it wrong once.
And Finn…” He raises a brow. “Well, the whole lurking-in-the-shadows thing would’ve gotten anyone else tased. ”
I open my mouth to argue, but he lifts a finger.
“That said,” he continues, voice softening, “I’ve watched you with both of them.
I see the sparks that are still there with Landon and the newer ones with Finn.
If this is something you need to explore, I’m not gonna stand in your way.
I’ll be the guy showing them where we keep the soap and explaining how the dishwasher works. ”
My lips twitch. “I’m sure you don’t even know how the dishwasher works.”
“Exactly. Power move.” He smiles, a little sideways. “Either way, I’ll still be here. Probably buying them matching towels and assigning bathroom schedules. But here, with you.”
“You are not assigning anyone anything,” I mutter, trying not to cry.
Carson raises his brows. “You want me to start a group chat now or later?”
Graham hasn’t spoken yet. He’s been watching me. Just watching, searching for something under the surface.
He steps between my knees, resting his hands lightly on either side of my thighs on the counter. His gaze is steady. When he finally speaks, his voice is low. Quiet.
“You’re not reckless with your heart, Willow. You love loud. So if there’s still room in it for them…I’d rather know that than have you pretend otherwise.”
I exhale slowly, emotions tightening behind my ribs.
“I can share space. I can even share you.” His jaw flexes. “But I won’t share you with people who make you question your worth. So if this happens, it’s on your terms, and they meet us where we are. Not the other way around.”
I blink fast.
“You can love us and still be untangling what they mean to you.” He leans in just slightly. “They hurt you again, though? You won’t even have to ask. I’ll handle it.”
I nod, throat thick.
“You won’t lose us for being honest,” Hunter says, still by my side.
“Hell no,” Carson mutters. “You think I stuck around after listening to you moan over tacos just to dip now?”
That earns a teary laugh from me.
Graham leans in just enough to rest his forehead lightly against mine. “You can figure it out. We’re not going anywhere.”
With his words, the fear starts to melt. Not all of it. But enough.
Enough to breathe again.
Then Carson clears his throat, nudging my thigh with the back of his hand. “Okay, but I do need to point out something deeply alarming.”
I glance over, wary. “What?”
He gestures to the half-eaten taco beside me. “You let a perfectly good taco go cold. That’s... unforgivable.”
A laugh breaks out of me, sharp and unexpected.
“Seriously,” he goes on, mock-horrified. “We might need another visit to the nest just to cleanse the vibes.”
Hunter snorts. “Pretty sure that’s not how nesting works.”
Carson shrugs. “I’m willing to test the theory. For science.”
I roll my eyes and reach for the taco. “You’re a menace.”
“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “But I’m your menace.”
Hunter chuckles beside me. “Let the girl eat, Carson.”
“Gladly,” Carson says. “But if she doesn’t make that sound again in the next five minutes, I’m staging an intervention.”
“Fine. But I’m not moaning again just to feed your ego.”
“It’s not just for my ego,” Carson says with a wink. “It’s for morale. Team bonding.”
I take a bite.
And yeah…maybe a sound slips out.
Graham exhales a quiet laugh near my ear. Hunter presses a kiss to my shoulder.
Carson pumps a fist in the air like he just won something. “That’s what I’m talking about. Morale restored.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I murmur, but it’s warm and fond. Safe.
My eyes sweep over the kitchen—the warm lights, the mess of dishes, the empty plates scattered across the counter. The laughter still lingering in the air.
This. Right here. It’s not what I expected when all of this started, but it’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
Hunter leans against the counter beside me, rubbing lazy circles against my thigh. Graham is still close. And Carson…he’s already reaching for another taco, pretending we didn’t just have a group therapy session over dinner.
My heart settles.
Not because everything is figured out, but because I’m not doing this alone.
Not anymore.
I take another bite, licking sauce from my fingers, and glance at the three men who turned my world upside down just to put it back together again.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Let’s figure it out. Together.”
The tarmac smells like heat and jet fuel.
Sunlight glares off the sleek white curve of the private plane waiting for us, the kind that probably has leather seats, champagne chillers, and more legroom than any of us know what to do with. A long staircase is lowered, and a uniformed crew member waits at the top as if we’re royalty.
My dad really went all in on this one.
“Holy shit,” Cheese breathes, dragging her suitcase with one wheel that doesn’t roll straight. “Tell me this isn’t ours.”
Daisy’s jaw is still hanging open. “I thought you said plane, not Bond villain lair on wings.”
“It’s just transportation,” I mutter.
Knox whistles low under her breath. “Right. And the Empire State Building is just a tall-ass office.”
Behind me, Hunter chuckles as he adjusts the strap on his duffel. “Your teammates are fun.”
“They’re dramatic,” I say, but I’m smiling.
Carson rolls his eyes, brushing his arm against mine. “Don’t pretend you’re not smug about this.”
“Just a little.”
Graham doesn’t say much as he grabs the last bag from the trunk, but he walks close, his hand brushing mine for no reason at all. Hunter does a slow sweep of the tarmac, his protective instincts humming just beneath the surface even though this is supposed to be the fun part.
And then I feel it.
Before I even see him.
The shift. The familiar scent of cedar and clean linen. The weight of him.
Landon.
I don’t have to search for him—my gaze finds him instantly.
He’s standing by the other SUV, sunglasses in his hand, a simple black hoodie slung over his shoulder.
He’s talking to Coach Crusher, nodding at something she says.
He’s been at the last three practices, quiet and respectful, never pushing.
But his presence lingers. Always.
Just like the charm tucked into the side pocket of my bag.
He glances up, and our eyes meet.
It’s nothing. And everything.
A nod. A breath held too long.
The third time this week, and it still feels like a bruise I keep pressing to see if it still hurts.
Carson shifts beside me. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just...ready to go.”
Hunter follows my gaze, then leans down slightly. “Still figuring it out?”
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t press. Just watches me for a moment, then says, “Take your time, princess. You don’t owe anyone a decision before you’re ready.”
His voice is steady and warm.
I glance up at him. “You sure?”
Hunter smiles, slow and sure. “I want you happy. However that looks.”
Graham catches the tail end of the exchange and slides a look toward Landon, unreadable. Then back to me. “Let’s get inside. It’s too hot to be standing out here pretending this is normal.”
It’s not.
But I follow them anyway.
Inside, the plane is ridiculous, but in a familiar, corporate-elite kind of way. Cream leather seats. Polished wood paneling. Enough legroom to actually stretch. I grew up around this kind of luxury, but seeing them react to it makes it feel new.
Daisy lets out a shriek near the mini fridge. “There are drinks in here! Like…real ones. Sparkling water and tiny cans of soda.”
Cheese sinks into a wide recliner and spins it slowly. “Okay, but are we sure this isn’t some kind of prank?”
“I don’t care if it is,” Knox calls, already trying to get the espresso machine to work. “I will die on this plane before I go back to middle seat life.”
Twinkle drops into the seat beside me. “Who is our sponsor, anyway? Because they clearly don’t believe in economy.”
I shrug and look down at my bag. “Guess they wanted us to arrive in style.”
“Style? Babe, this is how celebrities arrive to rehab,” she mutters. “I’m expecting paparazzi and complimentary robes.”
I snort, trying not to laugh too hard. Across from me, Carson and Hunter are already sprawled out, already claiming their space. Graham drops into the seat next to me, his hand settling on my thigh. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles into the denim.
Landon and Coach Crusher are the last to board, and I try not to watch as he slides his duffel into the overhead bin. His muscles flex beneath his shirt, and for a second, I forget to breathe. Then he turns, and our eyes meet—just for a heartbeat. It’s enough to make my stomach twist.
I look away, chewing the inside of my cheek, hyper-aware of the hand on my thigh and the way Graham’s thumb is still tracing slow, steady circles.
“Wow,” Daisy says under her breath, following my gaze. “He’s still got that tragic ex-boyfriend jawline, huh?”
I groan. “Can we not?”
Twinkle leans in. “Don’t worry, we’ve all agreed, if he so much as breathes wrong near you, we’ll throw him out the emergency exit. Gently. Probably.”
“Definitely not gently,” Cheese mutters, cracking her knuckles for emphasis.
Daisy leans across the aisle, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Tell me we don’t have to like him now.”
“He’s not that bad,” I murmur. “You might want to save the pitchforks for someone else.”
She huffs, but there’s no heat in it. “Fine. But I’m still giving him the stink eye. Just in case.”
Cheese pipes up from a few rows back. “We get free snacks, legroom, and espresso. I say we table all man-drama until after Nationals.”
Knox raises a hand, agreeing with her. “Seconded.”
“Motion passed,” Twinkle calls from the back. “Now, someone tell me if these seats recline. I plan to nap like the elite.”
The tension eases a little as laughter bubbles up around me, but my chest still feels tight. There’s too much to feel and not enough time to sort through any of it. So I focus on the hum of the engines and the quiet weight of the hand on my leg.