Chapter 3
Willow
Rose left not long after I shut myself in my room. No goodbye, no apology, nothing that resembles basic human decency. Just the slam of the front door and then silence. Her husband hasn't come back either, so it's just been Sassy and me for hours.
It's strange, being truly alone.
I lived with my dad my whole life, and we rarely spent time apart.
If I wasn't trailing after him at the garage, I was in the passenger seat of his car, letting me hijack the radio and scream Alex Warren songs like a wannabe popstar. Sometimes I’d sit in the garage office doing homework, or he and the guys would teach me the basics—how to check the oil, how to change a tyre, how not to get scammed by mechanics who thought girls didn't know shit.
Not like I would ever go to anybody else with car problems but my dad.
We watched horror films together, even though he was absolutely terrible with them. He’d jump at every scare, pretend he didn't, then glare at me when I laughed. And every year, without fail, we’d rewatch Homeward Bound. It was our thing. That's why I named Sassy… Well, Sassy.
He was my person. My anchor. My best friend.
When I was sick, he held my hair back. When I started my period, he drove around town hunting down the exact sweets I liked. He showed up for everything. Every dance show. Every exam result. Every stupid heartbreak.
Nobody was ever good enough for his little girl.
And now he's just… gone.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be happy again—properly happy, not the kind that lasts a few minutes before the ache crawls back in. Lately, it feels like all I do is try to outrun the pain. Going out, getting drunk, hooking up… it quiets everything for a little while. Makes me numb.
I can't do that tonight.
River needs me.
His game tonight decides whether his team makes it to the finals, and there's no universe where I’m not there for him. Even if I’m barely holding myself together. Even if I’m suffocating behind a smile, no one seems to see through.
I finish the last of my makeup, dragging the red and blue stripes across my cheeks like war paint. Black jean shorts. Rivers’ spare football top—the one he practically begged me to wear. My thick, deep ginger hair is tied up and out of my face; for once, the weather is actually warm.
When I look in the mirror, I don't even recognise the girl staring back.
She looks like me… but hollowed out.
A shell.
I pat more concealer under my eyes, trying to hide the exhaustion that's carved into my skin, but it doesn't help much.
The bags are still there, as though I haven't slept in a week.
I look at my collarbones, which seem sharper than they used to be.
Somewhere along the way, the sadness started eating pieces of me, and I didn't notice until now.
Sassy watches me from the dresser, her tail flicking with that familiar attitude. In the mirror, her judging little face stares me down.
“Don't judge me, Sassy Pants,” I mutter, dabbing the last bit of concealer under my tired eyes. “If you had her as a mother, you'd understand.”
A deep voice cuts through the room. “Who are you talking to?”
I yelp so loudly it could have woken the dead. I spin too fast, lose my balance, and crash onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and humiliation.
“Shit,” I groan, the world tilting for a second.
Footsteps thunder toward me, and two worn brown boots stop right in front of my hands. I look up slowly—reluctantly, already aware of who it would be— and find Elijah standing over me.
Elijah Reed Lawson.
The way he's watching me is unexpected, less like he wants me out of his house and more like he might actually be concerned.
That throws me more than the fall.
All I know of him now is through River—pictures shoved in my face every time he talks about his dad like he hangs the moon.
He seems like someone who could hang the moon if he wanted to.
The resemblance to River is uncanny. It's as though someone went copy and paste.
The only difference is that this man is older, and his eyes are a vibrant blue, whereas River got our mum's eyes.
His hair is such a deep shade of brown that it appears almost black.
While it's a bit tousled on top, he manages to make it work effortlessly.
A well-groomed stubble adds to his charm, somehow looking polished instead of unkempt.
His skin still carries a sun-kissed warmth from the recent holiday he took with her. And then there are his eyes.
Those stupidly bright blue eyes that look like the ocean.
They're beautiful.
Nope. Absolutely not. We do not think that. We hate him. We have always hated him, and we will continue to do so.
I blink hard, just as he crouches slightly and extends a hand toward me—big, calloused, steady.
“Let me help you up,” he rumbles, voice low and warm, that faint Irish lilt curling through the words. I’d almost forgotten he was originally from Ireland before moving to England as a teen.
I stare at his outstretched hand for a beat, my brain lagging behind everything that's happening. Stubbornness suddenly kicks in, and I scramble to my feet on my own, brushing invisible dust from my shorts. My brain is finally catching up to what is happening. Elijah steps back to give me space. Only when I’m upright do I realise just how tall he is.
I barely make it to his chest, which is annoyingly broad beneath a deep green t-shirt that fits him just a little too well.
“Willow.” He's looking down at me, brows pulled together, tattooed arms hanging loose at his sides like he's trying not to crowd me. “Are you okay?”
I nod way too fast. “Fine.” It comes out rushed—an obvious lie.
I just need distance. From him. From this house.
From all of it. I can feel the panic starting to build inside my chest. When things got too much back home, I’d go to the beach, and everything seemed to ease me.
Newquay always made space for me. Not too many people, unlike here.
There's nowhere to escape, just buildings and a lot of loud, obnoxious people.
He doesn't push, but I feel his eyes on me. “Where's your mum?”
“Rose,” I correct automatically. My voice is flat. That earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he's not surprised. As though he knew I would correct him.
His gaze drifts around my room. There's nothing to look at—bare walls, plain bedding, not a single thing that makes this space feel like mine. I didn't want to decorate. Decorating means staying, and I am definitely not doing that, no matter how much River begs me.
“Does Rose know about her?” he points at Sassy, who was still perched on the dresser like a tiny furry judge.
He steps toward her, and I almost warn him not to, because Sassy hates everyone but me and my dad. She occasionally scratches or attacks ankles. Before I can speak, my face is in complete shock as the traitor leans into his hand, eyes fluttering shut, purring away.
Now my cat likes him, and she's only just met him.
“Seeing as you both got back today, what do you think?” I sass back, narrowing my eyes at Sassy, who blinks at me slowly.
Traitor.
“She's allergic to cats,” he replies.
I bite back a laugh. “What a shame,” I drawl, tilting my head toward the sunlight spilling across the floor. The warmth hits my skin, but it doesn't touch the tight knot in my chest.
“Good thing this is my house, then, isn't it?” His hand still moves over Sassy's fur, and I can feel the weight of his gaze even without looking.
My eye twitches. “That's not what she told me.”
“And what, exactly, did she tell you?”
I shrug, trying to sound casual, even though my stomach is doing backflips. “Basically, you belong to her, so everything else that's yours is rightfully hers too.”
“Not for long.” I'm sure I hear him mutter, but I’m done. I grab my phone and keys and shove them into my pocket.
“Well, if that's all you wanted, then I’ll be going.”
“I came to see if you're okay. Did something happen with Rose?” he asks quickly, moving toward me like he can block the door.
I laugh, “Don't act as if you care about me.”
“I do care. I've always cared.”
My spine goes rigid. Those three words feel like needles pressed along each vertebra.
“Do us both a favour and stop pretending. I’m only here because of River.
I’ll be civil with you for him.” I force the words out, slow and clear.
“Now I’m going to his game to support him,” I stress to him because he needs to understand my brother is the only person who matters.
“Don't wait up. I won't be home tonight.”
I don't give him time to respond. I’m already moving, ignoring the weight of his stare burning between my shoulder blades.
By the time I hit the stairs, a throbbing headache blooms behind my eyes, each step making it pulse harder.
I don't know who the hell he thinks he is, acting like he suddenly gives a damn after all this time.
He never cared. Neither of them cared. The only people who have loved me unconditionally, without pretending, were my dad and River.
As I reach the bottom step, I stop for a second, gripping the bannister because my body hurts. Everything hurts.
I miss him so much. It feels like someone has their hands around my ribs and keeps squeezing, tighter and tighter, every day.
I wasn't lying when I said the only reason I’m still breathing is River.
But even that, even that feels fragile some days.
Like one wrong word, one bad night, and the whole thing will crack.
And I don't know how long loving my brother will be enough to keep me here. I lift my chin, push the ache down where it always goes, and keep walking—because he needs me.
Even if I’m breaking.