8. Willow
8
WILLOW
A week later
I sit at Cast’s heavy mahogany desk, the glow of the computer screen casting an eerie light across my face. The page in front of me blurs as I stare at it, unseeing, the words bleeding together in a haze of grief and exhaustion. The funeral home’s website is open, a dozen floral arrangements staring back at me, demanding I make a decision I am wholly unequipped to make.
White lilies, red roses, carnations, chrysanthemums, orchids—all with meanings that suddenly feel too heavy, too much. My father deserves the perfect flowers, but I don’t know what those are. I don’t know what anything is anymore.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling shakily.
The soft click of the office door opening barely registers through the fog in my mind, but then I hear footsteps—calm, measured. I know who it is before I even look up.
I don’t turn to see who came inside. Instead, I keep my eyes on the screen, hoping they’ll leave, hoping they won’t see how lost I am.
Damien steps beside me, and out of the corner of my eye I see his gaze drop to the screen in front of me before he steps in closer. Without hesitation, he reaches out and selects willows and roses.
“These,” he says, voice quiet but certain.
I swallow hard, my throat burning. “Why?”
“Because they remind me of you,” he answers simply. “And because he loved you. That’s all that matters.”
I nod, my throat too tight to form words.
Damien reaches over, scrolling through the options, clicking on an arrangement that I hadn’t even noticed. It’s perfect. Deep red roses nestled between soft, delicate willow branches.
My vision blurs again, but this time, I don’t try to blink it away. The tears fall, hot and silent, splashing onto my lap as I grip the edge of the desk.
“Hey,” Damien says softly, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. He doesn’t touch me—he never does unless I initiate it—but he’s close enough that I feel his presence. “It’s okay, Willow.”
I shake my head, a sharp, jerky movement. “No, it’s not. None of this is okay.”
Damien is silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he speaks, his words slow, deliberate. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I let out a harsh, bitter laugh, swiping at my wet cheeks. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” He says it with such conviction that it almost makes me believe him. Almost.
I turn to face him then, meeting his steady gaze. His grey eyes hold a twinkle of understanding. Like he knows exactly what kind of weight I’m carrying.
“Would he still be alive if I had never met you?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “If I had never gotten involved with any of you?”
Damien doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence or offer me pretty lies. He just watches me, his jaw tight, before he sighs out a response. “Maybe, but I can say the same thing about you. If you never met my mom would she still be alive?”
“Damien-” I sigh.
“Maybe she would be, but that’s a maybe. The fact is my mom and your dad are gone.”
My hands tremble as I stare at him. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He nods, his gaze never leaving mine. “But blaming yourself won’t bring him back.”
I bite my lip, tasting the salt of my tears. “I don’t know how to stop.”
Damien watches me for a long moment, and then he reaches out, not quite touching me, but his fingers ghost over my wrist, a quiet offering. “You don’t have to stop. You just have to learn to carry it.”
I exhale shakily, gripping the desk tighter.
For a moment, the silence stretches between us, heavy but not suffocating. Then, in a voice so soft I almost miss it, Damien says, “I visited him. Every Sunday.”
My breath catches. “What are you talking about?”
He looks away, his jaw flexing. “Your dad. I visited him. We talked.”
I stare at him, struggling to process his words. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. “It wasn’t about me. He… he wanted a connection to you. I was that for him, that’s all.”
A sob escapes before I can stop it, and I press a hand to my mouth, closing my eyes.
Damien pulls me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me like he’s afraid I might shatter into a thousand pieces if he lets go. His hand slides up to my hair, brushing it back gently as I bury my face into his shirt.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “He didn’t ask for anything but that. Just… wanted to talk about you with somebody. I couldn’t let him carry the burden and worry about you while you were gone.”
My hands clutch his shirt, as if holding onto him is the only thing keeping me from crumbling completely. He doesn’t pull away. He lets me cry, lets me fall apart in his arms, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I didn’t want you to have to carry this,” he says again, quieter now, his words more for himself than for me. “I just wanted you to be able to breathe again.”
“I thought you hated me.”
“At first, yes,” he admits, his voice lower, rougher. “But now? Now, I don’t know.”
The minute I feel myself melting into Damien’s arms a knock at the door startles us and he pushes me away. I look down at myself, quickly wiping the tears.
“What did you do to her?” Cast’s voice is sharp, demanding, fists clenched at his sides, his entire body coiled tight, as if he’s ready to pounce.
Damien simply rolls his shoulders back, staring blankly at Cast. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Cast snarls, stepping into the room, his gaze flickering to me. “Willow?”
“I’m fine.” My voice wavers slightly, betraying me, and Cast’s eyes darken even further.
He takes another step forward. “You don’t look fine.”
I shake my head, brushing at my damp cheeks. “I just—Damien was just helping me pick the flowers.”
Cast’s gaze snaps to the computer screen, where the selected arrangement is still displayed. His jaw ticks, but some of the tension in his frame eases. “Flowers,” he repeats, but his tone suggests he doesn’t fully believe that’s all that happened here.
Damien exhales sharply. “Relax, Castillo. I didn’t break her.”
Cast whirls on him. “You don’t get to talk about her like she’s some fragile thing after the way you’ve treated her.”
Damien’s expression darkens. “You think I don’t know that?”
Silence hangs between them, thick and charged.
I step forward, placing a hand on Cast’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. “Please,” I whisper, looking up at him. “Not right now.”
His gaze softens slightly when he looks at me, reaching up, to cup my cheek for a brief moment before exhaling sharply and stepping back. “Fine.”
Damien snorts. “How generous of you.”
I glare at the side of Damien’s head before turning back to Cast. “Did you need me?”
“Yeah,” he says, tilting his head toward the door. “Someone’s here for you.”
I cast one last glance at Damien, who simply shrugs, then follow Cast out of the office. My legs feel heavy as I descend the stairs, the weight of everything that just happened still pressing on my chest.
Then, I hear her.
“I don’t care who the hell you think you are, Landon. You can’t just drag me wherever?—”
The sharp, familiar voice cuts through the air, snapping me out of my haze. My stomach flips as I round the corner, and then I see her.
“Jasmine?” I cough out.
She stands in the middle of the foyer, her blue eyes blazing with fury as she stares down one of Cast’s guards. Her hands are on her hips, her foot tapping against the marble floor with impatience.
It’s been years. Years since I last saw her, since life pulled us in different directions, since everything between us was left unresolved. But none of that matters in this moment.
I freeze and the second her eyes lock onto mine, the fire in them flickers—just for a moment—before the relief and sadness takes over.
Her lips part, and I barely hear her whisper my name before I move.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just run.
She meets me halfway, our bodies colliding as I throw my arms around her, clutching her tight. A sob rips through my chest as her arms wrap around me just as fiercely, holding on like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“Will,” she chokes out, her fingers digging into my back. “God, I am going to kick your ass. I can’t believe you--”
I shake my head against her shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut. “Don’t. Just—just let me have this.”
She nods against me, her own breath shaky, and we stay like that—clinging to each other, as if trying to make up for all the lost time.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” I whisper, my voice raw.
Her gaze softens, the distance between us closing once more. “I didn’t think I’d see you either.” Her fingers trace the outline of my jaw, the touch almost too gentle for the hurricane of emotions swirling inside me. “But here you are. And that’s enough for me.”
I nod, pulling her in again, burying my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her—familiar, comforting, like home.
I pull back just enough to take her in, my eyes tracing over her familiar features. Jasmine looks the same—sharp, striking, effortlessly cool and a little bolder. Her golden blonde hair, once wild and untamed, is now braided into two neat plaits, but it’s the shaved undercut peeking out from beneath them that catches my attention.
It suits her—edgy, confident, unapologetic. Just like she’s always been.
Her blue eyes, intense and brimming with emotion, search mine, and for a brief moment, I see the girl I used to know, the one who had my back no matter what. But there’s something harder there now, a weight neither of us had before.
She arches a brow, sneering despite the tears still shining in her eyes. “What? Never seen a badass before?”
A watery laugh escapes me, and I shake my head. “Not one who still dresses like she’s about to fight the Devil and win.”
Jasmine huffs out a laugh of her own, tugging playfully at the hem of her leather jacket. “Damn right.” The guard in the back snorts and Jasmine practically growls at him. “Jackass, you are so on my shit list.”
I snort, making a ridiculous face at her, because that was Jasmine’s way of flirting—sarcastic, bold, and always with an edge of mischief. Some things never change. “Um… so, life updates, yes?”
Jasmine’s eyes go wide like she just remembered the most important thing in the world, and then she jerks a thumb toward the guy standing beside her, a tall, broad-shouldered man with an easy smirk and an annoyingly good jawline. “Landon, meet my runaway bestie, Willow. Willow, meet one of my partners, Landon.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
Jasmine rolls her eyes. “Don’t start?—”
“No, hold on.” I cut her off, my confusion deepening as I look between the two of them. “He’s a guy. And last I checked, you were a lesbian. Like, from birth. You swore off men before we even knew how to spell ‘compulsory heterosexuality’.”
Jasmine snorts, crossing her arms. “First of all, rude. Second of all, I was bicurious —” she wiggles her fingers dramatically, “—which means I had a question, and I sought an answer.”
I tilt my head. “And?”
Jasmine sighs dramatically, flipping one of her braids over her shoulder. “And then your asshole of a man?—”
“Jasmine,” Cast growls from behind me, his voice low with warning.
“Asshole,” she repeats pointedly before continuing like he didn’t say a word. “Assigned this guy to shadow me, like a bodyguard or some shit, which means I had to deal with him all the time. And one thing led to another… I tried it out, and surprise, surprise—I liked it.” She shrugs, shooting a sideways glance at Landon, who just grins. “Well, him and Connor.”
I blink again, still trying to wrap my head around this new development. “So, no girls?”
Jasmine gasps in exaggerated offense. “ Yes girls! Do you think I could ever abandon the fairer sex?” She sighs dreamily, pressing a hand to her chest like she’s in the middle of some great romance novel. “The last and love of my life is Brooke.”
Landon raises a brow, his smug smile deepening. “Hey, I thought I was your favorite.” His accent—British, smooth, and filled with amusement—makes the words sound even more smug.
“Not right now, Lan.” Jasmine turns on him with narrowed eyes, her hands on her hips. “You are ridiculous. And pushy.”
Landon just chuckles, clearly unfazed, and before she can step away, he reaches out, curling a hand around the nape of her neck, his fingers threading into the short undercut there. He leans in, murmuring words too low for me to hear, and whatever he says makes Jasmine’s entire face go bright red.
She jerks away, smacking his chest. “Company, Lan! ”
He laughs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Right, right. Behaving now.” But the glint in his eyes says otherwise.
“See, this is why I need Brooke.” She sighs. “Anyway, you need to tell me everything, like I literally want to know every time you pissed, everything.”
I giggle. “That may be TMI but I’ll tell you just about everything.”
“Good enough.” Jasmine laces her fingers with mine pulling me in the direction of the stairs. “No boys allowed!”
__________
A pizza and two tubs of ice cream later, and I know everything that happened in the last three years.
Jasmine doesn’t hold back—she never has. She tells me everything, from how she met Conner, Landon, and Brooke, to how their chaotic, messy, and ridiculously hot love story unfolded. Apparently, Conner, the devastatingly charming Irish cop with blonde hair, green eyes, and a voice like butter, is the only reason Landon isn’t rotting in a prison cell. Landon, for all his cocky grins and easygoing attitude, is a killer—who kills those who have harmed others and failed to get punished in court. Conner gives him his victims and helps him evade the police.
Then there’s Brooke, the sweet yet feisty cowgirl turned professional thief who somehow balances them all out, slipping between them like she was made to belong there. Jasmine literally swoons every time she says her name. It is adorable.
As much as Jasmine’s story is wild, it’s hers , and she’s happy. Really happy. She’s a professional boxer now, taking all that fire and rage and turning it into something powerful. And out of everyone, Landon is the only one who really sees the darkness inside her—the same kind of darkness he carries.
I listen, hanging onto every word, laughing in places, gasping in others, but underneath it all, there’s a deep ache. I missed this . I missed her.
Jasmine must see it on my face because she nudges my foot with hers, eyebrow raised. “Alright, enough about me. Spill, Willow. What the hell has been going on with you? ”
So I tell her.
I tell her about Sofia and Rudy, about Vincent’s proposal—her jaw drops at that—and then, finally, I tell her about Ricardo. About what I did. About how no one else knows.
Her expression shifts, the teasing glint in her eyes dimming as she studies me. She doesn’t gasp. She doesn’t look horrified. She just sees me, the way she always has.
“Damn,” she murmurs, leaning back, running a hand through her braids. “You really did it, huh?”
I nod, my throat tight.
Jasmine squeezes my hand, her grip warm and steady, grounding me in the way only she can. “Good. That bastard had it coming,” she says, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. But then, her eyes soften, scanning my face, and I know she sees everything I’m trying to hold back.
She exhales, shaking her head. “Damn, Wills… how the hell did we get here?”
A humorless chuckle escapes me, but it dies too quickly, swallowed by the pressure in my chest. I stare down at my half-eaten slice of pizza, suddenly unable to even look at it. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I keep wondering… if I had done anything differently, if I had never gotten involved with them, would my dad still be alive?”
Jasmine stills. Her hand tightens just a fraction around mine. “Willow…”
I shake my head quickly, trying to keep it together, but it’s no use. “His funeral is in two days.” My voice wobbles. “I don’t even know how I’m supposed to do this, Jas. I don’t know how I’m supposed to stand there and say goodbye like I’ll ever be ready for it.”
“Oh, Wills.” She lets out a shaky breath, and before I know it, she’s yanking me into a fierce hug, her arms wrapping around me so tight I can barely breathe—but I don’t want her to let go.
“I’m so damn sorry,” she whispers against my hair. “I had no idea… I should’ve?—”
“There was nothing you could’ve done.” My voice is muffled against her shoulder, and I grip the back of her hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping me together. “I just—I miss him so much.”
Jasmine holds me tighter, one hand cradling the back of my head. “I know,” she murmurs, and I can hear the pain in her voice, raw and unfiltered. “I hate this for you, Wills. I hate that you have to go through this.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing the lump in my throat.
A few moments pass, nothing but the sound of our breathing, the quiet hum of the city outside.
Then, Jasmine pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “You are not doing this alone,” she says fiercely. “You hear me? I’m going to be right there next to you. Every second.”
Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them, and she wipes them away with the sleeve of her hoodie like she used to when we were kids.
“I need you there,” I admit, my voice small.
She cups my face, her forehead pressing against mine. “I’m already there, Wills. Always and forever.”