5. Willow
5
WILLOW
The plane lands in Texas, and I find myself unable to move. I am torn between wanting to stay on the plane forever and wanting to get off and face the truth. But there is no escaping it now. Damien was right about me. I am heartless. I am a murderer.
Cast looks at me with his bag thrown over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
I take a deep breath. “Everything…nothing.”
“Willow-” he sighs, dropping the bag onto the seat and staring at me with his perfect green eyes. Goddamn, Cast is perfect.
“If I get off this plane, I have to admit my father is dead,” I whisper, giving him a partial truth. “I don’t want to admit that just yet.”
His lips twist into a frown. “ Sitting here won’t bring him back, Willow.”
I clench my jaw, my hands fisting in my lap. “I know that.”
He studies me again, then reaches out, his fingers brushing against my wrist. It’s light. Barely there. And still, it nearly undoes me. “Come on. We will face it together.”
Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I nod, forcing my legs to move, but the moment I stand, my knees buckle. Before I can even think about hitting the floor, Cast is there, arms around me, lifting me effortlessly into his hold.
I stiffen. “Cast, put me down.”
“No.” His grip tightens as he moves us toward the exit. “You’re walking out of here one way or another, Carina. Might as well make it easy.”
I don’t fight him. I don’t have the energy to. I sink into his shoulder and let the smell of ash and whiskey lull me into a false sense of security.
Cast carries me down the narrow aisle like I weigh nothing, his arms steady, his steps confident. The humid Texas air wraps around me when we step off the plane, thick and suffocating. He strides toward the parking lot, where a sleek black car waits, tinted windows gleaming under the harsh daylight.
I should pull away. I should demand that he put me down so I can walk on my own. But I don’t.
Instead, I press my face deeper into his neck, breathing him in like he’s the only solid thing in a world crumbling beneath my feet.
I expect him to put me down when we reach the car, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shifts me effortlessly, freeing one hand to open the passenger door. Then, just as effortlessly, he sets me down on the seat like I’m delicate.
I stiffen at the touch, but Cast is already stepping back and moving to the driver’s side.
The second he slides in, the weight of everything starts creeping back in.
My father is dead.
Ricardo is dead, and I am the one who killed him.
And I’m going home with him—with Cast. I will see Vincent again. I will see Damien.
I let out a shaky breath, staring out the window as he starts the car.
___________________________
The drive is silent as the city of Dallas unfurls before us. The city blurs past in streaks of neon and headlights, the hum of the car’s engine a low, steady purr beneath us. Dallas at night is alive—towering buildings, bustling streets, the occasional red glow of a brake light catching in the rearview mirror. But I don’t see any of it.
I just see him.
Cast’s hands grip the steering wheel, veins prominent against his tanned skin. He drives like he does everything else—with effortless control. One hand shifts gears, the other resting casually, but I know better. He’s always calculating, always watching.
And right now, I hate that I find comfort in that.
The reality of my father’s death presses down on me, thick and suffocating. I can feel it clawing up my throat, wrapping around my lungs. But then?—
Then I remember his lips.
Cast’s mouth on mine, fierce and all-consuming. The way he kissed me was like he was claiming a part of me he already owned—the heat of it, the violence of it.
I squeeze my thighs together and slam the memory out of my head. Not now. Not when I’m barely holding myself together.
I turn to look at him. “How much longer?”
He flicks me a glance, amused. “Eager to be alone with me, Carina?”
I scowl. “I want to sleep.”
His smug look deepens, but he doesn’t push. “We’re almost there.”
Minutes later, the car pulls into an underground garage, the air shifting from the warm Texas night to the cool sterility of concrete and steel. Cast parks effortlessly, shutting off the engine before stepping out. He rounds the car, opening my door before I can even reach for the handle.
“Come on,” he murmurs, offering his hand.
I ignore it and step out on my own, but the second I do, the exhaustion slams into me. I sway, and before I can catch myself, Cast’s hand is at my waist, steadying me.
He doesn’t say anything. Just holds me there for a moment longer than necessary before releasing me and leading me toward the private elevator.
“What happened to your mansion?” I cough out a little sharper than intended.
He chuckles to himself. “We wanted a place in the city.”
“We?”
“Yup, all three of us live here.”
I nod to myself. Dallas is only thirty minutes away from Thornhaven but I like the city better than our town. As we step into the penthouse, the stillness is eerie. The glass windows reveal a breathtaking view of the Dallas skyline, the city lights twinkling like stars in the night sky. In the reflection, my figure appears ghostly and hollow, a stark contrast to the vibrant cityscape outside.
My limbs feel heavy, my thoughts a tangled mess of grief and exhaustion, but beneath it all, a single truth sharpens like a blade in my chest.
I don’t belong here.
Being back with Cast, with Damien and Vincent, is too much. Too close. Too dangerous.
They can’t know.
They can never know what I’ve done.
My stomach twists, nausea rolling over me as the truth of it settles in. I can still see Ricardo’s body, the blood on my hands, the moment his eyes went glassy, vacant. It replays in my mind like a sick, looping reel, and every time I close my eyes, I’m back there—kneeling in the darkness, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my ears.
If Damien finds out, he’ll never forgive me.
If Vincent finds out, he’ll look at me like I’m a monster.
And Cast? I don’t even want to imagine what he’d do.
I glance over at him, still standing by the elevator, watching me with those sharp, knowing eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Cast sees me in ways no one else does, and if I stay here too long, he’ll see the truth.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t let that happen.
I wrap my arms around myself, pressing my nails into my palms to keep from shaking. I’ll stay for the funeral. I’ll bury my father, say my goodbyes, and then I’ll disappear.
I’ll be gone before any of them can put the pieces together.
Before any of them can look at me like I’m broken.