Chapter 80 Willow
Willow
The music fades behind us as we step out into the night air, the pulse of the club replaced by the hush of the city. My feet ache and my ribs still throb, but I don’t care. Nationals are over. We won.
And my world looks different now.
Graham walks beside me, his hand grazing mine, his presence warm and steady. Carson and Hunter are a few steps ahead, arguing about whether the afterparty had decent tacos or if they were a disgrace to tortilla culture. Finn trails just behind, silent, camera slung around his neck.
But I don’t look at any of them.
I slow my pace.
Wait.
And just like I hoped, Landon drifts to my side.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just matches my steps, hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead as if he’s afraid to break whatever fragile thing we’re balancing on.
I glance over. “Thanks for walking with me.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, not quite looking at me. “We’re going to the same place.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I say slowly, my heart in my throat, but I don’t want to miss this moment. I just need to find the words to say that ask him to really stay with me, with my pack.
He finally looks down, eyes shadowed under the glow of the streetlights. “You going to tell me that kiss was adrenaline? A heat-of-the-moment, championship high you regret?”
I stop walking, swallowing hard.
He does too, immediately, turning toward me. But he’s already bracing himself—I see it in the way his hand lifts to the back of his neck, rubbing as though he’s trying to scrub the memory away before I do it for him.
“That kiss,” I say, “was everything I didn’t know I still wanted. Actually, it’s everything I did know I still wanted, I just gave in to it, instead of fighting it.”
His hand freezes. His eyes snap to mine.
“And I want more moments like that,” I continue, softer now. “If you’re okay with the fact that I’ve got a pack. That I’ve got people who love me, and who I love back.”
He stares at me, silent for a beat. Two. “You’re serious?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”
Landon exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing, though there’s still a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “You want me…with them?”
“I want you,” I say. “And I want them. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. So, yeah. Together.”
He blinks, as if I’ve just flipped the world upside down and made it better.
Then—quietly—he says, “Okay.”
My breath catches.
“Okay?” I repeat.
He nods, his voice rough. “Yeah. I’m in. If you’ll have me. If they’ll have me.”
“They will,” I whisper. “They already do.”
Landon grins, boyish and a little stunned, like he can’t believe this is really happening. Then he leans in and brushes a kiss to my cheek. “Then yeah…I want more moments too.”
We start walking again. His clean linen musk wraps around me as he links our fingers. My world is almost whole. Who knew I’d find my pack in the most unexpected places?
I squeeze his hand. “I have to talk to Finn too.”
“Offering him the same deal?”
I smile. “Yeah, you’re still good with that, right?”
“I’ll be with you, Willow. I didn’t think I even had a chance for that. You can add fifty more people to your pack, and I’ll still be here. I love you.”
My breath catches, and I slow again. “I love you, too, Landon. I never stopped. And I’m sorry for pushing back then, when you weren’t ready.”
He lets go of my hand to cup my cheeks. “If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have ever woken up and realized what I was missing. I just wish I would have seen it before I pushed you away.”
I don’t answer with words.
I rise onto my toes—pain be damned—and kiss him.
It’s not the same as the chaotic kiss after Nationals. This one is slower. Deeper. No noise. No crowd. Just the two of us under the glow of the streetlight, as though the world has paused to give us this second chance.
His hands stay cradling my face. Mine curl into his shirt. Everything about it feels right.
When we finally break apart, breathing a little heavier, I blink up at him.
“Ahem.”
I twist around—and there they are.
Carson, arms crossed, brow cocked.
Hunter, wearing a faint smirk and a knowing look.
Graham, stone-faced but with a suspicious softness behind his eyes.
Finn, leaning on a streetlamp post as if he’s been there the whole time, camera nowhere in sight for once.
Carson grins. “So I’m guessing that’s a yes.”
Landon lets out a breath and shifts beside me, not pulling away, just steadying me with one arm.
“Welcome to the pack,” Carson continues, tone way too casual. “Now we just need to seal it with a bite for all...yeah?”
“Carson,” Graham says flatly, but I hear the amusement tucked beneath it.
Hunter chuckles under his breath. “Only you would make an emotional moment weirdly ceremonial.”
“I’m just saying,” Carson shrugs. “It’s tradition. Sort of. Probably. I read it somewhere.”
Finn steps forward, expression unreadable, eyes locked on mine. “You told him,” he says softly.
I blink, thrown. “Told him what?”
He tilts his head slightly, like the answer should be obvious. “That he’s part of the pack.”
Landon tenses at my side.
I glance at Finn, then at the others slowly forming a semi-circle around us, and the realization clicks.
“You think you’re already part of the pack,” I say, my voice a little breathless.
Finn shrugs, completely unbothered. “You accepted me last night. I knew you would. Things take time, but I’m patient. And I didn’t know there was a formal application process.”
Carson snorts. “He’s got a point. Dude skipped the paperwork and just showed up to orientation as though he belonged.”
“I do belong,” Finn says simply, gaze flicking to each of them. “And you all know it.”
Hunter arches a brow but doesn’t challenge him. Graham doesn’t blink. Even Landon just nods, tight but respectful.
“I was gonna talk to you,” I say to Finn, a little dazed. “I hadn’t—”
“You didn’t have to,” he cuts in, gentler now. “I knew.”
Carson claps his hands once. “Great. So that’s two new members. Who’s keeping track of the bites? Do we need a spreadsheet?”
Graham mutters, “You are not making a pack spreadsheet.”
“Oh, come on,” Carson grins, bumping my shoulder. “Little columns for marked, kissed, slept next to—”
“I will throw your phone in the Hudson when we get home,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Carson.
He just smirks.
But I’m smiling too, even as my heart kicks hard against my ribs. I glance around—at them, at him, at us—and something inside me glows.
It’s real.
It’s mine.
“Let’s go,” I say softly.
And they follow.
Because I don’t need to say the rest.
They’re mine.
And I’m finally theirs.
When we make it back to the hotel, no one says anything—we just drift toward my room like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No hesitation. No question.
I swipe the key card and push open the door, but Carson’s the one who steps in first, checking the space with practiced ease. Hunter moves without hesitation, tugging the curtains shut and adjusting the thermostat.
Landon hovers in the doorway until I reach back and lace my fingers through his, tugging him inside. Finn follows. His camera’s still around his neck, but he doesn’t lift it. He just watches me.
Graham’s the last to enter, closing the door behind us and sliding the security latch with a soft click.
My feet ache. I finally glance down and let out a soft, tired laugh. “Why am I still in heels?”
“Good question,” Carson says, already dropping to one knee in front of me like I’m some glittery Cinderella at the end of a very long ball. “Permission to remove the weapons from your feet?”
I nod, and he slips one off with exaggerated care, wincing dramatically. “Jesus, these could kill a man.”
The second heel joins the first, and I breathe out, swaying a little now that I’m flat-footed.
Landon steadies me, his hand curling around my waist, warm and gentle. “Bed.”
“That’s not a suggestion,” Graham adds, already pulling back the blankets. “Middle spot’s yours.”
Hunter disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers, setting them gently on the nightstand. “Take these,” he says, eyes scanning my face. “You’re not going to feel the win in the morning—just the bruises.”
I sink into the bed with a sigh.
Graham crouches down in front of me, reaching for the zipper of my hoodie. “Can I?”
I nod.
He unzips it slowly, pushing the fabric back and gently peeling it from my shoulders as if I’m breakable. I kind of am right now.
“We’ll get the bruises checked tomorrow,” he says. “Arms up.”
I don’t hesitate to follow his command, lifting my arms and letting him pull my shirt off.
Leaving me in just my silky bra and leggings.
Hunter hands Graham one of my sleep tops, and he reaches around me to unclasp my bra.
I should feel exposed with so many eyes on me, watching him undress me.
But I don’t. I feel cared for in a way that brings tears to my eyes.
He removes my bra and dresses me in a tank top, slow and easy.
He pauses as he pulls back, concern darkening his face. “Did I hurt you?” His thumb brushes a tear from my cheek, and I shake my head.
“No. You all are treating me like I’m fragile.”
“Normally, I would say you are anything but that, but in this instance…I think you’ve proven otherwise,” Finn replies, earning him a snort from Carson. He sinks onto the bed beside me as he watches Hunter tug my leggings off and replace them with my sleep shorts.
“So no hot sex tonight?” I quip, trying to break the tension that has fallen.
“No hot sex for a few nights, you need to heal,” Hunter replies.
When I’m finally under the covers, Carson fluffs a pillow behind me and slips a heating pad into place near my ribs without even asking. “You’ll thank me in ten minutes,” he says.
Finn hands me the glass of water. Landon tucks the blanket tighter around my hips. Hunter turns down the lights.
No one climbs into bed beside me.
Not yet.
They just hover. Watching. Protecting.
Loving.
My throat tightens, emotion thick behind my eyes again, but I blink it back and say the only thing I can manage.
“Thank you.”
Carson plops down next to me and throws an arm over my legs. “Just rest, peaches. Tomorrow, we celebrate.”
Hunter leans against the headboard, one hand behind my pillow, close enough to touch.
Graham sits on the floor beside the bed, back to the wall, eyes never leaving me.
Finn curls up in the armchair, similar to a sulky cat, arms crossed, but still facing me.
And Landon lies down on the other side of the bed—on top of the blankets—facing me. Just watching. Just there.
This isn’t the night I imagined. But it might be better, because my pack is finally whole.