Chapter 72 Hunter
Hunter
The cabin’s quiet now. Conversation faded. Most of the team is half-asleep or pretending to be.
Except her.
Willow’s angled toward the window, but I know she’s not really looking at the sky. Her attention’s behind her, on Landon. I can feel it in the air between them, a tension that is almost bleeding between them. It makes me antsy, and I want to fix it.
He’s seated a few rows back, alone, shoulders drawn tight, trying to take up less space than he used to. Like he knows his presence is a risk.
I watch for another beat, then push to my feet and head toward the rear of the plane.
He doesn’t react when I approach. Just lifts his head, eyes cautious, even if his posture is tired.
“You got a second?” I ask.
His jaw moves, grinding down a response, then he nods. Stands. Follows me into the back galley without a word.
It’s narrow and dim, humming with that soft pressurized silence only private jets have. He leans a shoulder against the bulkhead and waits.
I lean back against the opposite wall, arms crossed. “You planning on breaking her again?”
His eyes flash. Not angry, just resigned. “No.”
“Then help me understand what this is.” I gesture at him and back toward Willow.
I know how I feel about her, what she means to me. So I can only imagine how it must feel being her scent match. He messed up—but he’s not the same kind of man my mom’s ex was. If he were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
“I’m not trying to play games,” he says. “I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. I’m not here to rewrite history, I’m here to face it.”
I study him, looking for any hesitation. “Being her scent match was too much for you once. What makes this time different?”
He meets my gaze head-on. “She’s not the same girl. And I’m not the same idiot who did a stupid thing to push her away.”
I nod slowly. “You’re not trying to tear down what she has now?”
“No.” The word comes out broken. “I see it—what she has with you. With them. I’m not here to break that.”
“You want in on it, though.”
A pause.
“I want her,” he admits. “But not if it costs her peace. I’d rather watch her be happy with someone else than be the reason she breaks again.”
That…hits hard. I watch him for a minute, but he doesn’t take the words back. Something akin to respect fills my chest. He’s not a bad guy, just someone who made a really fucked up decision. And who’s to say I wouldn’t have done the same fucking thing before I was ready.
“You sound like someone who means that.”
“I do.”
The quiet stretches between us, filled only by the muted thrum of the engines.
I let out a breath. “You’re not him.”
His brow lifts, questioning.
“My mom’s alpha,” I say. “The one who made promises and walked away. I thought maybe you were that type, too.”
He looks down, then back at me. “I was.”
“No,” I say. “You weren’t ready for commitment. He was a monster. You’re trying.”
Landon exhales, and something flickers in his eyes. Maybe shame. Maybe relief.
“She’s figuring it out,” I tell him. “We all are. You want a shot at her side? Then keep showing up. Keep being who you’ve been these past few weeks. She sees it—even if she won’t say it yet. Just…make it matter.”
“I plan to,” he says.
I push off the wall and head for the aisle. Before I go, I glance back. “I’ll still be watching you.”
Landon nods once, with a slight smile tilting his lips, and some of the tension when I first approached is him absent. “I’d expect nothing less.”
I head back down the aisle, still thinking about everything he said. About how his eyes didn’t flicker when he said he’d rather watch her be happy than break her again.
I believe him.
Willow’s still by the window, this time pretending not to be watching me, but her chin tilts slightly when I slide into my seat across from her. Her gaze flicks to Landon, who takes his seat again with slow, deliberate ease.
And then—unexpectedly—she stands.
Doesn’t say anything. Just lowers herself into my lap. My hands go instinctively to her waist as I hold her tighter. She leans in close, her breath warm against my cheek.
“What was that about?” she whispers.
I glance over her shoulder. Landon’s looking out the opposite window now, posture stiff again.
I return my gaze to her. “Just getting a read.”
“And?” she murmurs, brushing her nose lightly against mine. “Did he pass inspection, officer?”
My grip tightens just slightly, one hand sliding to the small of her back.
“I think he did, princess.”
Her smile softens. “Yeah,” she whispers, resting her forehead against mine. “Me too.”
She hums—quiet, content. My chest loosens.
I press a kiss to her temple and hold her close.
Yeah. We’re figuring it out.
The drive from the tarmac to the hotel is short, but the energy in the van is all over the place.
Daisy and Knox are half-hungover from the plane’s espresso machine.
Cheese keeps staring out the window, appearing to memorize the palm trees.
Willow’s sandwiched between me and Graham, her thigh pressed against mine, her head tilted toward Carson as he scrolls through something on his phone and makes snide comments about the hotel’s Yelp reviews.
She’s relaxed. At least on the outside.
The van turns off the main road and onto a long stretch of palm-lined drive.
Our hotel rises in the distance—glass windows gleaming in the late afternoon sun, modern and almost out of place against the Texas sprawl.
Daisy hums under her breath, already planning a visit to the hot tub tonight.
Twinkle is taking a selfie with the palm trees through the window.
The energy’s jittery—half nerves, half adrenaline.
Beside me, Willow goes still.
It’s subtle. Her fingers tighten slightly on the strap of her purse, her shoulders rising with a deep breath before she lets it go slowly. Controlled. Graham clocks it too. I feel the tension shift between the three of us.
Not fear. Not exactly.
Nerves.
Game-day proximity kind of nerves. That fine edge before a big moment.
I rest my hand on her knee, my thumb tracing an idle circle through the denim. “We’ve got you,” I murmur. Quiet. Just for her.
She nods but doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are on the hotel entrance now.
And then I see why.
A figure steps through the glass doors, hood up despite the heat, head ducked slightly, hands shoved in the pockets of a black windbreaker. Slim build. Confident stride. He turns just enough for me to catch the jawline.
Finn.
Graham shifts beside me. Carson sees him, too, but none of us make a move. We knew this might happen. It’s not like us quitting our jobs changed the fact that the guy is still obsessed.
She told us she wasn’t sure what she wanted, and we said we’d make space if that’s where her heart pulled her. Seeing him here—showing up for her, showing up for this—it doesn’t feel wrong. I shake my head at my thoughts. When did my view of him change?
“Looks like your favorite stalker made the trip,” I say softly.
“Yeah. Is it bad that I’m glad he’s here?” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a little like… the comfort of home, in a strange place. Kinda silly.”
She lifts her shoulders, then lets them fall with a quiet sigh.
“Not silly,” I murmur, giving her knee a gentle squeeze. “Come on. Let’s check in. Sleep. Eat. And tomorrow?”
I offer a grin. “We destroy them.”
Carson smirks from the front row. “I’m assuming we means Willow and her team. Because I’m not putting on skates.”
Willow finally laughs, the tension breaking just slightly.
The van pulls to a stop, and the door slides open. Carson hops out first, then Cheese and Daisy, practically bouncing onto the curb. Graham grabs Willow’s bag before she can, falling into step beside her. I take the other side, instinct more than strategy.
Finn’s nowhere in sight now, vanished into the shadows. But I know he saw her.
And I know she saw him.
She doesn’t look back, though. Just keeps walking toward the entrance, head high. Ready to face whatever happens next.