Chapter 78 Willow
Willow
The whistle blows, sharp and piercing, slicing through the roar of the crowd—and I take off as if fire is raging behind me.
Second half. New energy.
My ribs ache with every breath, but I push it down. I’ve skated through worse. Maybe not physically, but emotionally? This is nothing. Pain reminds me I’m still here. Still fighting.
I duck low and weave between blockers, eyes locked on the opposing jammer. She’s fast, but I’m faster. I always have been. My body remembers what to do, even when my lungs scream and my bruised ribs throb with every pivot.
I cut inside just as two blockers collapse toward me. One clips my elbow, but I stay upright, in bounds, clean. No whistle.
Then I’m past them.
The ref’s arm shoots into the air. The crowd erupts.
Lead jammer.
My heart pounds as I come around the curve, lungs burning, legs aching—but I push harder. I slice through their wall on the scoring pass, hips swiveling as I duck and twist between shoulders and swinging arms.
The announcer’s voice is lost in the chaos, but I hear Twinkle’s holler and Daisy’s scream of victory behind me as I break through the pack.
I glance up just long enough to see Finn in the front row, camera raised, eyes glued to me.
His expression is intense—like he’s starving and I’m the only thing in focus through his lens.
Just behind him, my pack is a wall of motion and noise. Hunter stands with his arms crossed and a grin that tugs at my heart. Carson’s up on the seat, yelling as if we’ve already won. Graham’s gaze stays locked on me. Unshakable.
And then there’s Landon.
He’s not shouting. Not smiling. Just watching as though I’m the only player on the track. Like I’m the only thing in the world. My chest squeezes, and it’s not just the bruising. It’s him. It’s the fact that I see every emotion he won’t say out loud burning behind his eyes.
I don’t have time to think about it. Not when the other team closes in again and I have to throw my weight against blockers twice my size just to earn a few more points.
One. Two. Three points.
Twinkle’s voice rings from the sideline—“Call it, Jinx!”
I tap both hands to my hips. Once, twice.
The whistle blows. The jam ends.
I skate back, breath ragged, and Twinkle nudges me toward the bench with a knowing grin. “Tag out, babe. Hydrate before you pass out on me.”
I nod, grateful, and let her take the jammer star from my helmet. My legs are jelly as I slump onto the bench and grab a water bottle. The whole team is buzzing now—tired but excited. We’ve found our rhythm. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.
Coach Crusher paces in front of us, barking praise and strategy. Daisy’s bouncing in place. Knox is still bleeding a little from a split lip but grinning like a lunatic.
I look back toward the VIP section, bottle still in hand.
Finn lowers his camera and winks. Hunter blows me a kiss.
Graham meets my eyes, seeing straight through the exhaustion, and I can tell he wants nothing more than to carry me away from here so I can rest. Carson mouths something obscene that makes me laugh.
And Landon…Landon doesn’t look away.
My ribs might be on fire, but I’ve never felt stronger.
This is our game now.
And we’re not giving it up.
The next few jams blur into muscle memory and grit.
Twinkle takes over for two brutal runs, then I’m back in.
Over and over, we trade places like synced machines, reading each other’s cues, anticipating every block and opening.
The other team is relentless—fast, heavy hitters with brutal shoulder checks—but we’ve been training for this. Bleeding for it.
Every time I go down, I get back up. My ribs hurt, but I keep skating. Keep scoring. Keep pushing.
Because we are not losing this.
By the last jam, the score is tight. Two points. One final round to close it out. Coach Crusher is yelling from the sidelines. Twinkle and I nod at each other, and then we’re off again.
I find the gap. Burst through it. My team peels back the blockers like they’re opening a door just for me. I duck low, explode forward, every muscle screaming in protest—but I don’t stop.
The crowd is on their feet.
My skates hit the straightaway, and I pass the last opponent with one final surge of speed. The whistle blows. Points tallied.
We win.
The scoreboard flips. Our team’s name lights up, and for a second, I coast on the track, my heart pounding in my chest.
Then the roar of the stadium hits me.
My team swarms me. Twinkle tackles me into a hug, both of us laughing and sobbing at the same time. Daisy’s shrieking, hoisting her arms in the air. Arms wrap around me, people shouting my name, hugging me, crying, spinning.
We did it.
We won Nationals.
I’m still breathless when I spot him, Landon, making his way onto the track, weaving through the chaos.
The second our eyes lock, the noise around me fades.
I push off, gliding across the track with a reckless kind of speed. I don’t think. I just move.
He sees me coming—braces slightly—and then I crash into him, laughing as he stumbles back a step but catches me anyway, strong arms wrapping around my waist to steady us both.
“I have wheels on my feet,” I gasp, breathless and giddy.
“I noticed,” he murmurs with a laugh.
And then I kiss him.
Hard.
Right there, in the middle of the track, with my team watching and the crowd screaming and the whole damn world spinning around us—I kiss him as if it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.
His fingers dig into my back, holding me close like he never wants to let go. When I finally pull back, chest heaving, the look on his face nearly undoes me.
And then he kisses me again.
Softer this time. Sweeter.
The chaos disappears. The victory fades.
All that’s left is us.
Until the familiar sound of wheels on polished concrete pulls me back to reality.
I turn slightly in Landon’s arms, still pressed to his chest, and there they are—Carson, Hunter, and Graham, pushing through the crowd of celebrating skaters with Finn right behind them, camera already in hand.
His eyes shine with happiness. And he lifts the camera, taking a shot he was probably waiting for all night.
They stop just a few feet away. No one says a word.
Carson grins and flicks his gaze from me to Landon, then nudges Finn in the ribs playfully.
Hunter’s arms are crossed, but there’s a softness around his mouth, a quiet acceptance in his eyes.
Graham doesn’t flinch or scowl; he just nods once, subtle but solid.
As though this was always part of the plan.
No jealousy. No possessiveness. Just understanding. Support.
Finn lifts his camera and takes a photo of me still in Landon’s arms. I shift, flinching from the pain in my ribcage, and all five of them notice.
I shift to glance over my shoulder—and pain slices through my ribs like a serrated knife. I suck in a breath and wince.
“Shit,” Landon says, immediately adjusting his hold on me as if I’m made of glass. “Willow, what—was that your ribs?”
Hunter is the first to step forward from the edge of the track. “She took a hard hit during the first half,” he says tightly, already scanning me with assessing eyes. “She’s been down more than once since then.”
“I’m fine,” I start, but Carson’s already at my side, pushing Landon’s arm just enough to get closer.
“Nope. I know that voice. That’s your I’m pretending I’m fine, but I’m definitely hurting voice,” Carson says, brushing sweaty hair from my temple. “You want to sit or be carried? Because those are your only two options right now, peaches.”
Graham doesn’t rush, but he’s suddenly just there, solid and steady at Landon’s shoulder. “Let me see her,” he says. “She should be off her feet.”
“I’ve got her,” Landon says, not quite ready to hand me over. His arms tighten protectively, but not possessively.
“I know you do,” Graham replies evenly. “But she’s ours to protect, too.”
Finn appears last, ducking around the side with that uncanny ability to move without sound. He doesn’t speak right away; he studies my face, eyes perceptive.
“You’re in pain,” he says flatly. “It’s in your eyes.”
Then he steps close enough to press his fingers to my wrist, checking my pulse. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “Tell us what you need.”
I blink against the sudden pressure building behind my eyes.
They’re all here. And none of them are arguing.
Carson strokes my hair again. “Let Hunter carry you to the edge, yeah? Just for a breather.”
Landon looks to me, his hold still gentle, like I might shatter, and his voice drops low. “Just say the word, Willow.”
“I’m okay, I promise,” I say.
“Your adrenaline is probably blocking out most of the pain,” Graham replies.
“I’m good,” I say again. “My ribs are just bruised.”
“We should probably have that confirmed by a doctor,” Hunter says.
The other four chime in to agree with him, and I roll my eyes. I never thought I’d be in this position with one alpha, let alone a whole pack of them, and a beta.
“Okay, just to make you five happy, I’ll get checked out. But when they tell me it’s just a bruise, we are celebrating.”
Carson grins. “Oh, we’re celebrating either way. You just bought yourself a night of very aggressive pampering, peaches.”