5. Willow
5
WILLOW
I am on my feet before I can think twice about it. “Cast!”
Vincent’s hand wraps around my bicep, stopping me with a grip that feels almost too tight, but I don’t care. The urge to run after him is too strong, and the anger I feel boils over.
“Willow, let him—” Vincent’s voice is low.
“Let go of me, Vincent.” I snarl, my voice raw with frustration.
I yank my arm out of his hold, feeling the sting of his touch even as my blood burns hotter, and I take a step toward the door. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I don’t even know if I’m doing this because I’m angry or because I’m desperate for Cast not to leave me again. When he said carina, staring at me. Fuck, that broke my heart.
Vincent steps forward, blocking my path. “Willow?—”
“No,” I snap, my hands shaking, my voice rising with every word. “I can’t let him leave like this. I won’t. I won’t just stand here and?— ”
I take one last look at Vincent, who watches me with a quiet, resigned expression, and then I turn, ignoring the ache in my chest that says I should stop. I can’t. I won’t.
I push through the hallways, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my chest tightening with every step, but I keep moving. I’m running on pure instinct now, my legs moving faster, harder, until I finally see the elevator doors closing at the end of the hall with Cast inside.
Without thinking, I surge forward, my heart hammering erratically, lungs burning as I close the distance between us. The elevator doors are almost shut, but I slide in just as they’re about to close, gasping for air.
I wheeze, my breath coming out in erratic bursts, and I barely have time to process it before I stumble inside, almost collapsing against the wall. My body shakes, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin, but I manage to look up just in time to see Cast standing there, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides.
The doors close behind me with a soft chime, and the silence in the elevator feels like a heavy weight.
"Cast," I croak, trying to steady my breath, my chest still heaving, my legs weak from the effort. "Please."
He doesn’t look at me, his eyes fixed on the floor as the elevator hums to life, moving downward.
I take a shaky step forward, my voice low but desperate. “Please, Cast. I-I can’t lose you again.”
He finally turns, his gaze piercing me like a blade. There’s nothing soft in his eyes, nothing that tells me he still sees me as the same person. Just anger and frustration .
I feel like I can’t breathe. Like if I let this moment slip away, I’ll lose him forever.
And that’s not something I can live with.
My hand flies out before I can think twice, slamming into the emergency button on the panel. The elevator jolts to a stop, the red emergency light flickering on above us. A sharp alarm blares for a second before cutting off, leaving us in an even heavier silence.
His head snaps up, his eyes flashing darker.
“Are you serious, Willow?” His voice is low, biting, edged with a snarl that makes my stomach twist.
“Yeah, I’m serious,” I rasp, still fighting to catch my breath, the pounding in my chest refusing to settle. “You’re not going to walk away from me. Not like this.”
He exhales harshly through his nose, tilting his head back like he’s trying to keep himself from exploding. “This is not the time for this.”
I swallow hard, my hands curling into the fabric of my sleeves to stop them from shaking. The effort is useless. My body betrays me—my chest tightens, a dull ache pulsing beneath my ribs, growing sharper with every unsteady breath. My heart flutters, skipping like it’s caught between beats, like it can’t decide whether to keep going or give up entirely.
“I know you’re mad I was engaged to Vincent, and then the wedding--” My voice wavers, my lips pressing together as I force myself to look at him. The room tilts, a wave of dizziness crashing over me, my pulse pounding unevenly against my skull. “Well, funny thing, I?— ”
A sharp, humorless laugh bursts from him, cutting me off completely. It startles me.
“ That’s what you think this is about?” His eyes flash darker. “You really think I give a shit about that?”
I stare at him, my breath still coming in shallow gasps.
His hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. “I’m mad because look at you, Willow!” His voice cracks, the words raw and ragged. “You look like hell. You look like you’ve been dying right in front of me, and you weren’t even going to tell me. You were just going to let yourself waste away while I stood there, clueless.”
I flinch. A sharp pain lances through my chest. My breath catches. For a terrifying second, the world narrows to nothing but the erratic hammering of my heart, the way it stutters, then slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing uneven. “I don’t care about Vincent, I don’t care about the marriage, I don’t care about any of that bullshit. I care about you. And you’re standing in front of me, looking like you can barely fucking stand, and I—” His voice breaks completely, and he turns away, pressing his hands against the elevator wall like he needs something to brace himself.
Tears burn in my eyes, my throat thick, clogged with everything I don’t know how to say.
He lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “You are the love of my life.” The words come out quiet, but there’s nothing weak about them. “You always have been, always will be. And you’ve been suffering—alone. You were never supposed to do this alone.”
My hands tremble at my sides, my whole body shaking from more than just exhaustion now.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whisper.
Cast exhales sharply, his head still bowed, his hands pressed flat against the wall like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.
I take a shaky step forward, my pulse a frantic staccato against my ribs. My fingers hover between us for a moment before I press my palm flat against his chest, right over his heart.
“Cast,” I murmur. I grip my sleeve tighter, my nails digging into the fabric, willing my body to cooperate. Not now. Not in front of him.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t react—except for the sharp hitch in his breath.
My other hand reaches for his wrist, wrapping around it weakly, guiding his palm to my own chest, just over my erratic, too-fast heartbeat.
“I’m alive,” I tell him, my voice raw. “Feel it.”
His fingers twitch against my skin, but he doesn’t pull away. He just stands there, jaw tight, eyes closed, breathing uneven.
I press his hand harder against me, desperate for him to believe it . “I’m here,” I whisper, voice barely audible. “I know I don’t look like it, I know I’m—I know I’m a mess. But I’m still here.”
He finally looks at me, and the storm in his gaze nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
“You’re barely here,” he grits out .
I shake my head. “But I am here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Cast swallows hard, his eyes darting across my face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. His hand is still pressed against my chest, feeling every unsteady thrum of my heart. But my vision swims, black spots creeping in at the edges. I’m not sure if I can stay upright much longer.
He looks away, but I tug at his wrist, pulling him back to me.
His other hand comes up instinctively, catching my waist as I stumble closer, and then, suddenly, we’re too close—his breath warm against my skin, his fingers digging into my side like he’s anchoring himself.
My hands slide up, past the ridges of muscle in his arms, over his shoulders, until my fingers brush the back of his neck.
“Cast,” I breathe—or try to. The name barely escapes before my chest tightens like a vice, crushing the air from my lungs.
And then he breaks .
With a sharp inhale, his hands tighten, yanking me against him as his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is not soft. It’s not careful. It’s desperate, consuming, furious. His lips move against mine with a desperation that steals the air from my lungs, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that leaves no room for hesitation, no room for doubt.
My heart jerks violently, skipping, stuttering, then racing too fast—too uneven—like it doesn’t belong inside me. A foreign, failing thing, but I push through because his lips on mine feel too good after too long .
My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as I kiss him back with everything I’ve been holding inside. Every fear, every regret, every ounce of longing I’ve tried to bury—it all pours into this moment, into this kiss. I want him to kiss the life back into me.
His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips as he presses me against the wall of the elevator. The cold metal bites into my skin, but I don’t care. All I can think about is the heat of his body against mine, the way his mouth feels against mine, the way he’s holding me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
“You’re not allowed,” he growls against my lips, his voice rough, raw. “You’re not allowed to run away from me again. Ever.”
I gasp as his teeth nip at my lower lip, the sharp sting only fueling the fire building inside me. “Cast?—”
“No,” he interrupts, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes blazing with a heat that makes my heart ache. “You’re not allowed to be sick without telling me. You’re not allowed to push me away. And you’re definitely not allowed to die.”
His words hit me like a punch to the chest, stealing the air from my lungs. My pulse flutters, erratic and weak one second, then slamming against my ribs the next, and I open my mouth to suck in some much needed breath, but he doesn’t let me. His lips crash into mine again, his hands sliding up my sides, under my gown, his touch searing against my skin.
I moan into his mouth, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring every corner of my mouth. Every inch of me is on fire, every nerve alive with the sensation of his touch, his taste, his heat.
But then—my chest tightens. A breath catches, stuck somewhere between my ribs. The fire inside me turns into an inferno, burning me alive, but I welcome the pain.
My pulse pounds erratically as my body struggles to keep up. My fingers clench harder, not just from pleasure but from desperation, my grip on him the only thing anchoring me to the moment.
His lips trail down my jaw, my neck, leaving a path of needed ice in their wake, cooling my heated flesh.
“Do you hear me, Willow?” he murmurs against my skin, his breath cool against my throat. “You’re not allowed to leave me. Not now. Not ever.”
I try to answer, but all that comes out is a shallow, trembling breath. I shiver as his teeth graze my collarbone, my hands fisting in his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He pulls back, his eyes searching mine for any hint of doubt, any trace of hesitation. When he finds none, he kisses me again, softer this time, but no less urgent. His hands slide down to my thighs, gripping me as he lifts me off the ground, pressing me against the wall.
My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, my core pressing against the hard length of him through his jeans. A low groan escapes his lips as he grinds against me, the friction sending a wave of heat straight to my core.
“Cast,” I gasp, my head falling back against the wall as his lips trail down my neck. “We’re in an elevator.”
“I don’t care,” he growls, his hands sliding under my thighs, his fingers digging into my skin. “I don’t care where we are. I just care that you’re here. That you’re mine. ”
His words send a shiver down my spine, and I tighten my legs around him, pulling him closer. “I’m yours,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
His lips find mine again, his kiss searing, possessive, as if he’s trying to brand me with his touch. His hands slide up my back, gripping the back of my hospital gown as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that leaves me?—
Breathless. Too breathless.
The heat between us turns suffocating, my chest growing tighter, the space in my lungs shrinking. A tremor runs through me as I try to inhale, but the air doesn’t come fast enough. My heartbeat stumbles, a frantic, uneven rhythm that sends a ripple of panic through my veins.
I clutch at his shoulders, my fingers digging in—not out of want, but out of need. All of a sudden, a terrifying realization that something is wrong.
My head spins. I part my lips to speak, to tell him, but all that escapes is a choked, shallow gasp. I don’t want him to stop, I want him to take every single breath I have left. I want him to kiss me until my body collapses. I want it, and after these last two months of hell I fucking deserve it.
The elevator speaker vibrates with someone asking if we need assistance, but Cast’s lips never leave mine, his hands never stop touching me, pulling me closer, holding me tighter. He pulls back, his forehead resting against mine. “Good,” he says, his voice rough, raw. “Because I’m not letting you go.”
A loud crackle from the elevator speaker shatters the moment.
“This is building security. Is there an emergency? Should we call 911? ”
Cast groans against my mouth, his forehead pressing against mine as he exhales sharply.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
I swallow hard, still gripping the back of his neck, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Sir? Ma’am? Are you in distress?”
Cast finally pulls back, his hands sliding down my sides as he reluctantly sets me back on my feet. His fingers linger at my waist for a second before he reaches out and punches the emergency button, releasing the hold on the elevator.
“We’re fine,” he says, his voice rough as the elevator lurches back into motion.
The speaker crackles again, followed by a long pause, then a begrudging, “Copy that.”
The moment stretches between us as the hum of the elevator fills the air. We’re both still breathing too hard, our bodies still too close, our gazes locked like neither of us can look away. My heart slows to a more steady beat, stable enough to ease the burn in my chest.
His hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for me again, but instead, his expression shifts. His jaw tightens, his brows knit together, and when he finally speaks, his voice is lower, rougher.
“What’s wrong with you, Willow?”
My stomach knots at the question.
I don’t answer right away. I don’t want to say it. Don’t want to put it out in the open, because once I do, it’s real. More real than it’s ever been .
Cast’s gaze darkens. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out again.”
I inhale sharply, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
“I had a heart attack two months ago,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
His entire body goes rigid. “What?”
I look down, focusing on the rise and fall of my breath, on the way my fingers shake. “My heart transplant—it’s failing. My body’s rejecting it.”
The silence that follows is suffocating.He breaks it, with darkened eyes and a growl. “ Was kissing you too much?”
I want to lie, but instead I let out a deep breath and say, “Yes.”
I force myself to keep going, even though I can feel the panic radiating off of him. “My immune system is shot. I can’t keep food down. I—” I stop myself, swallowing hard before looking up at him. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”
Like this. Like I’m already gone.
His throat bobs as he swallows, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You’re dying?” The words are hoarse, like they physically hurt him to say.
I let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”
His jaw tightens, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. He looks away for a second, pressing his fingers against his forehead, his body tense like he’s barely holding himself together.
I reach for him, my fingers curling around his wrist. He’s burning up, every muscle wound tight.
“Cast,” I whisper. “I’m here . I’m alive ,” I say, pressing his hand harder against me. “Right now. This second. And I know it’s bad, but we have options. We can fight this.” I don’t believe what I am saying, the odds are slim but I’ll believe for Cast. Fight for Cast, until my last dying breath. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to hurt ,” I continue. “But I should’ve. Because you’re the one person who never lets me give up.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, and then—he moves .
One second he’s staring at me like he’s barely holding himself together, and the next, his hands are in my hair, his lips crashing against mine. I fall against his chest, exhaustion taking me over.
The kiss is rough, desperate, like he’s trying to anchor himself to me, to make sure I’m really here .
I clutch at him, fisting his shirt, matching his intensity.
He pulls back just enough to press his forehead against mine, his breath hot and uneven. “Didn’t I tell you?” His voice is a rough whisper, thick with emotion. “You’re not allowed to die on me.”
The elevator dings , and the doors slide open.
I blink up at him, my lips tingling, my body still trembling from the way he kissed me, from the way he needs me.
I manage a small, shaky smile.
“Yes, sir.”