Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Willow had never been brave enough to kiss Dylan Hawkins.
At school, it was always him that did the kissing, or that teasing brush of his lips that just left her hanging.
It was him who walked past and pulled her under the stairs or into an empty classroom, met her eyes across the room at crowded parties but never came over.
There was something enticingly liberating about standing opposite him in the evening light, raising her hands to either side of his jaw and pressing her lips to his.
It was so unexpected. She hadn’t driven around with the intention of kissing him.
But now, here she was doing exactly that, the same sparking fire bursting through her body exactly as it had every time he’d leaned over her in a dark hallway, hands braced against the wall either side of her and gazed down with a battle in his eyes about being with her at all.
Now the stubble on his face was rough against her palm, his hair fell forward, brushing against her fingers.
One hand stayed in his pocket, like he wasn’t going to give totally in to this, the other rested loosely on her waist—could have been there purely to steady himself from the shock.
The kiss for Willow was like a release, it was as if everything she’d felt since she fell to the stage floor, when she’d been medically signed off, when her brothers had looked vacantly around the table and her dad had told her to leave Thunder to Noah, all that pent-up frustration in her soul was finally letting loose.
Everything else felt ripped out of her control, but this; this was her.
She wound her arms round his neck, bringing him closer, her fingers in his hair, the buttons of her dress pressed against the fabric of his T-shirt.
She could spare barely minutes. She willed him to touch her.
To show he wanted the same. To lose his reserve, to give in.
She could sense the clock ticking in her head.
She had to go. Please. She was on the cusp of regretting the impulse, feeling the insidious creep of humiliation, about to wrench herself away, when finally, he took his hand out his pocket and wrapped his arm tight around her waist, lifting her off the ground, the fabric of her dress bunched under his hand as he hauled her closer to him.
She smiled under his lips, couldn’t help herself. She felt the familiarity but the complete difference of his kiss. This wasn’t under-the-bleachers teasing. They were adults now, this was different, this was real.
When he pulled away, his eyes were dark with restraint. She was breathless, face flushed. He pushed his hair back with one hand, his other arm was still wrapped around her waist.
“I have to go,” she said, not doing anything to leave.
“Yeah,” he replied but didn’t let go of her. Their eyes were locked, their breath mingling, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest.
“This isn’t a good idea, Willow,” he said as he stared down at her.
“No,” she replied, her hands resting on his chest.
That made him laugh. She felt it through his T-shirt.
“I really have to go,” she said, checking her watch. “Oh, man, they’re all going to be there.”
Dylan took a step back. “Yeah, you’d better go.” She felt the loss of his hold.
She swallowed, wasn’t sure what he was thinking when he looked at her like that. But she didn’t have time to think about it, the shrill sound of her phone ringing in the car made that more apparent. She was late already and no doubt her dad would be suspicious.
She ran down the steps of the veranda, just caught her phone. It was Brodie. “Yeah, I’m on my way. I’m trying to learn how to drive this darn car!” She feigned a laugh, glanced over and saw Dylan watching. It was all lies with her at the moment.
When she hung up, she chucked her phone onto the passenger seat and said, “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He tipped his head. “Maybe you will.”
It took till she was on the main road for Willow to pause and think about what had just happened.
She didn’t know whether to screw up her face in excitement or hyperventilate in panic.
What was she playing at? She wasn’t an infatuated teenager.
She was a respected dancer; she dated clean-shaven city traders who whisked her away for the weekend to boutique hotels and knew which wine to order.
This was ridiculous. Dylan Hawkins was not her type.
And yet she kept replaying the moment his arm had snaked around her waist, pulling her close, giving in to what was happening.
The roughness of his jaw, the hard power of his kiss, the headiness of the rundown house and the dirt and sweat still on his shirt. The clench of her heart was exquisite.
But that fluttering secret thrill slipped quietly away the moment she walked into The Firestone and saw her family around the table waiting for her.
“Where have you been?” asked her mom.
Willow shook her head trying to be blasé as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “That car’s a nightmare.”
Noah, sitting opposite, looked at her like she was crazy. “I don’t understand why you’ve hired a car. What’s wrong with the truck?”
Willow glanced sidelong at her dad, he was watching her, jaw tight with mistrust. “I think it’s better if we’re all independent, you know?” She didn’t wait for a reply, just picked up the menu and said brightly, “So what’s everyone having? It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”
The subject immediately went into what everyone had chosen.
Now they were all present, the waitress came over and read out the specials.
All the while the clandestine kiss flickered in the back of Willow’s head, distracting her.
She ordered the ribs on autopilot, because she always did and she didn’t have the capacity to think about anything else.
As the meal went on, where Willow would usually be cutting in left and right with the conversation, tonight she found herself sitting back, watching.
Her mom was chatting to Ren and Bella. Maeve wasn’t there because she was working at the hospital.
Brodie was in discussion with her dad about the orchard he’d bought—he was suddenly the great horticulturalist, which Willow found both ridiculous and quite cute given Brodie’s previous existence jet-setting the globe doing as little as possible.
Then the topic changed as Logan interrupted to ask Brodie if he wanted to play in a charity polo match he was organizing.
That piqued their dad’s interest. He was clearly keen to see the brothers playing together—while Logan had been the star player, the others had trained with him and could hold their own. Emmett said, “What about you, Noah?”
But it was Brodie who replied, “No, Noah’s more interested in the races now. Unless Hawkins has run off with your horse.”
Willow’s shoulders stiffened. She caught her dad’s eye. Emmett immediately looked away, saying, as if the comment had never been made, “It would be good to see you all on the pitch again.”
To Willow’s surprise, Noah seemed amenable to the idea, even though it wasn’t really his thing, and they all started mulling over the logistics.
It was so obvious that they were all obediently giving their dad what he wanted, making up for those years they’d been away, relieved to be back in the fold.
She caught her mom watching them dotingly.
Willow wanted to smack the table in frustration.
She wanted to shout that it wasn’t that easy.
She wanted to make them all see the bleakness of the house without them in it, the emptiness, the complete lack of humor and laughter and music and noise.
She wanted them to at least see that she’d stayed, she saw her parents through it all.
She’d kept on smiling. She tried to stay the shining light.
They wouldn’t even have a ranch if it wasn’t for her.
But it didn’t matter what she did, she would never be as visible as those boys.
She didn’t play polo or football. She didn’t work the ranch.
She wasn’t even allowed to ride a horse.
Her dad had never seen her dance—didn’t like to travel, didn’t like ballet.
They connected because she was his little Willow.
She wore pretty dresses and had cute curls, and she doted on him, had done since she was a little kid.
Ren said something across the table, Willow nodded along but shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not really listening, thinking how much of her life relied on doing what she was told, trying to win approval, doing her best not to rock the boat, fluttering about like a little bird trying to make everything better. And to what end?
Her dad wouldn’t even look at her tonight. When she’d tried to confront her brothers and get them to see what her life had been like, both Logan and Noah had shrugged it off as her being in a weird mood.
She thought of her years at ballet school where you weren’t allowed an opinion—you were there to listen and learn until you were perfect. Smiling through everything they threw at you.
She had spent what felt like a lifetime pushing herself to be better with every step, every rehearsal, every show, and all it had done was grind her body down. She was as good as nothing now. Irrelevant. Someone else had slotted seamlessly into her role like she’d never existed in the first place.
She didn’t feel like smiling any more. The feeling pulsing in her veins, she realized, was anger.
And the only time it had been replaced by something else was earlier that evening when she had kissed Dylan Hawkins.
She had felt alive. Excited. Free. Scared.
Like when she’d been riding Thunder fast across the paddock. Doing what she wasn’t allowed.
The waitress came and cleared their plates. Willow realized she’d eaten her food without really tasting it.