10. Willow
10
WILLOW
My dad would’ve hated this funeral.
I’m sitting in the third row, too afraid to sit in the front, and wanting the crowd to put distance between me and the casket through the sea of black suits and too many floral arrangements. All I hear are the occasional sniffles and the low murmur of voices, as people shuffle in their seats, avoiding eye contact like the awkwardness will just go away if they pretend it isn’t there.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I force a smile, which turned out to be more of a grimace than anything else, but still I nod. “Thanks.”
This whole scene feels like a performance, everyone playing their parts, trying to make sense of a situation they can’t possibly understand. It’s all too much right now. I just want to leave, to walk out of this suffocating room and go somewhere, anywhere, where I can breathe without the weight of all these words bearing down on me.
I lean over whispering to Jasmine, just as we take our seats outside in the cemetery. “I want to go.”
“Willow,” Jasmine starts.
“I can’t do this.” I go to move, but Damien holds me down. His arm placed across my lap, and I turn to glare at him. “Damien.”
“You are going to sit here and stay at your father’s funeral.” Damien says through gritted teeth.
I breathe in sharply. “I can’t-”
“Your father was a good man. The best man.” Damien’s eyes don’t leave the preacher's direction as he walks up to the podium and starts to speak. “You are going to give him the respect he deserves.”
“Damien, let me go.”
“No.” He snaps, looking at me, and that is when my eyes dart down and lock on a small pin shining on Damien’s lapel.
I reach out, my hands shaking as I touch the pin as if it will burn me. “What’s this?”
“I got it from your father’s room this morning.” He whispers, his eyes boring into my face and I swallow as I run my fingers across the large hard hat pin with a daisy on top.
“I gave that to my father when I was thirteen.” I whisper.
Damien hums his approval, moving in closer to me. “I guess that's why I took it. It’s a piece of him and you.”
I can feel my chest tightening as the pastor speaks, the pressure building up behind my eyes as the tears threaten to spill over.
“Damien, hold me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the murmurs of the crowd. I turn to him, seeking comfort, needing the security of his arms, even if just for a fleeting moment. My body trembles with quiet desperation, hoping he’ll be kind to me again, just for this last time. I need him now more than ever, even if it’s only temporary.
I bury my face in his chest. The fabric of his shirt wrapping around me, the faint scent of rain mixed with his cologne grounds me. The storm outside is relentless, the rain hammering against the windows, but in Damien’s arms, the world feels like it slows down, if only for a second. I cling to him, as though he’s the only thing keeping me from shattering completely. I need him, but I know I’m really just holding on to the last bit of comfort before I’m forced to face the reality that my father is gone.
Then, a voice calls out my name. The pastor’s. It cuts through the fog of my thoughts. “Willow.” The pastor continues, his voice carrying over the crowd. “His legacy lives on in his only child, Willow. Who will now give his eulogy.”
I freeze. My stomach churns, everything sinking deeper. Everyone is waiting for me. The room is heavy with anticipation, and I know they’re all expecting me to stand up, to find the strength to honor my father the way he deserved. But I can’t. My body refuses to move.
I feel my chest tighten at the mention of my name. I can’t be the one. I can’t carry the weight of this. I can’t speak when the tears are still falling, when all I want to do is curl into myself and disappear.
“Willow…” the pastor says again, his hand outstretched.
I move away from Damien and I bury my face into Jasmine’s shoulder, pouring all of my sorrow into her, even if it is just for a moment. Her arms wrap around me, and she holds me close, but even that comfort feels small in the face of the suffocating grief. I don’t know how to process it. How to say goodbye to the man who’s been my everything, my father, the person who always believed in me.
I look up, through the haze of tears, and feel Damien’s absence as he moves to step forward. He clears his throat, before he speaks and I hold my breath.
“Willow’s father was many things to many people,” he starts, his words steady, each one laden with emotion. “But to me, he was everything. He was the man who might as well have raised me over the last three years, who taught me what it meant to be strong, to be kind, and to never back down from a fight. He was the best man I’ve ever known.
“He was a man who would do anything for those he loved,” his eyes scanning the crowd. “He built more than just a business and the occasional chair—he built relationships. And I’m proud to have known him, to have been a part of his life.”
Jasmine tightens her hold on me as I let the tears fall again, but this time, I don’t feel as alone. I don’t feel as lost. Their voices fill the space that I couldn’t fill, and for the first time in hours, I can breathe.
-----------
The rest of the funeral goes by smoothly, and for the most part I either stand or just sit there, eyes fixed on the casket, the only thing in this room that feels real, the only thing that isn’t pretending to be something it’s not. I stand there long after everyone has left, and they have started to throw dirt on top of the casket.
Cast doesn’t want to leave, but the cartel never stops for anyone. I can see the hesitation in his posture, like if he stays just a bit longer, the situation might change. But he knows it won’t. The life he’s in doesn’t allow for moments of peace. “I’ve gotta go,” he says quietly.
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek that feels more like a goodbye than anything else. “I’ll be back,” he murmurs, though the doubt in his voice makes it feel more like a promise that might never be kept. Without waiting for me to say anything, he turns and walks out, leaving me with nothing but the empty space between us.
Damien follows soon after. He doesn’t speak, but there’s a quiet understanding in his eyes as he leans in and kisses my cheek. It’s brief, but it’s enough—a reminder that even though Cast is gone, I’m not completely alone.
Before I can even process the silence that follows, Jasmine is pulled away by Landon for a job. I watch them go, feeling the loneliness of everyone leaving, one by one. The rain starts shortly after, a soft pattering against my cheeks and hands, like the world is mourning with me.
Vincent stands beside me, his jacket suddenly draped over my shoulders. He doesn’t say a word, just offers the small act of kindness, his warmth against the cold of the night. “Don’t want you getting wet,” he says, his voice low and almost lost in the sound of the storm.
The rain is relentless now, drowning out everything else. I pull Vincent’s jacket tighter around my shoulders, the fabric warm but not enough to chase away the chill in my bones.
After a while, he speaks again, his voice low and almost hesitant. “Willow, it's getting worse out here. We should go home.”
I suck in a sharp breath, but I don’t move instead saying. “I’m sorry,”
“For what?” Vincent’s voice is thick with frustration, as he pulls my gaze to him, and I look at something other than my father’s grave for the first time in hours. He looks exhausted, and angry, two things I’ve never seen on his face before. “For what, exactly?”
“For letting Damien and Cast do the eulogy. For saying no to you when you stand here in the middle of the rain with me,” I say, my eyes trained on the curve of his jaw. “I love you. I should have said yes.”
His jaw tightens. I can see it in the way his hands curl into fists, like the words are physically hurting him. And maybe they are. Maybe they’re hurting me, too, because I’ve been running from this for so long.
“You’re damn right you should have said yes,” he snaps, stepping forward, his eyes burning with raw passion. “I would’ve given you everything. You know that, don’t you?” His voice rises, the words spilling out like fire. “I would’ve given you the world, but you turned me down.”
His anger hits me like a wave, sharp and hard, and I feel the sting of my own regrets flooding my chest. He’s right. I pushed him away when all he wanted was to love me.
“I was scared,” I murmur, my voice small and fragile, like the words are all I can offer. “I didn’t know if I could be what you needed.”
Vincent’s eyes flash, the hurt in them almost unbearable. “That’s not good enough,” he spits, stepping even closer now, his words cutting through the air. “You think I didn’t feel that? You think I didn’t feel the doubt when you said no? But I still wanted you. I still wanted to fight for you.”
“I didn’t mean to—” I begin, but he interrupts, his voice rising again.
“You didn’t mean to?!” His frustration is palpable.
“I was terrified,” I admit, my breath shaky, my chest tightening. “I was at my dream school, Vincent. My entire future ahead of me and you want marriage, kids-”
“Not right now!”
“But you wanted to run away to Paris. You wanted me to give up my dreams for yours.”
“No, I never said that.”
“Vincent-”
Vincent’s eyes bore into mine, stormy with emotion. “You should’ve said yes,” he murmurs, voice thick with regret. “I would’ve given you everything. I didn’t need anything else—I just needed you.”
Something in me snaps. I grab his collar, pulling him in, and our lips crash together, breaking open everything we’ve held back. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, the heat of him drowning out everything else.
“I would’ve given you everything,” he mutters between kisses.
“I know,” I breathe. “I should’ve said yes.”
His forehead rests against mine, breath shaky. “It’s not too late.”
And then his lips are on mine again—fierce, desperate, like he’s trying to erase the past. The rain pours down, soaking us, but I only feel him. His hands frame my face like I’m someone precious, someone he can’t lose again.
“You’re everything to me, Willow,” he rasps, his touch searing against my skin. “Everything I need. Everything I want.”
“Then give it to me,” I whisper.
His breath hitches, and for a moment, he just looks at me, his eyes searching mine, like he’s trying to find some sign that this is real. And then his lips are on mine again, and this time, it’s different. There’s a desperation in his kiss, a raw, aching need that mirrors my own.
His hands fumble with the buttons of my shirt, his fingers trembling as he pushes the fabric aside. I help him, my own hands shaking as I tug at his belt, desperate to feel him, to be close to him. The rain pours down, soaking us through our clothes, but I don’t care. Nothing else matters except him, except this.
Our clothes fall to the ground, a tangled mess of wet fabric, and then his skin is against mine, hot and firm, and I gasp at the sensation. His hands grip my hips, lifting me easily, and my legs wrap around his waist instinctively. He presses me against a nearby tree, the rough bark digging into my back, but I don’t care. All I can think about is him, the way he feels, the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.
“Willow,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion as he pushes inside me, slow and deliberate, giving me time to adjust.
I gasp, my head falling back against the tree as pleasure courses through me, intense and overwhelming. His lips find my neck, his teeth nipping at my skin, and I moan, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
He moves with a rhythm that is both frantic and controlled, like he’s trying to make up for all the time we lost. His hips press against mine, his body driving into me with a force that leaves me breathless. The rain falls around us, but I barely notice. All I can feel is him—his warmth, his strength, the way he fills me completely.
“Vincent,” I whisper, his name a prayer on my lips, and he kisses me, swallowing my moans as he moves faster, harder, until I feel like I’m going to fall apart.
His hands grip my hips tightly, holding me in place as he thrusts into me, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I can feel the tension building inside me, coiling tighter and tighter until it’s almost too much to bear.
Pleasure coils tight inside me, and when he growls, “I’m close,” I’m already there, unraveling with him.
We cling to each other, breathless, the rain washing over us. He presses his forehead to mine. “Stay,” he pleads.
I kiss him softly, pouring everything into it.
“I love you,” he says, his voice raw.
“I love you too,” I whisper, sinking into him. He kisses my forehead and I melt into him in the rain.
“You’re shivering,” Vincent whispers into my hair, his arms still wrapped around me. “Put your clothes back on.”
I nod numbly, my body trembling—not just from the cold, but from everything. My hands fumble as I reach for my dress, the soaked fabric clinging to itself in a mess of black and lace. I drag it over my skin, shivering as the wet material molds to me. It feels heavy, like it’s carrying the weight of my shame, my grief, my mistakes.
Vincent watches me, his gaze unreadable, but he doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t try to help, doesn’t try to fix what can’t be fixed.
I crouch down, searching through the damp grass, my fingers brushing against the cool, muddy earth as I reach for my shoes. One of them is a few feet away, the heel sinking into the soft ground near my father’s grave.
And that’s when it hits me.
A sob tears from my throat as I stare at the gravestone, at the name carved into the wet stone, blurred by the rain. My father’s name. My father, who I came here to mourn. My father, whose grave I just desecrated with the man I swore I would never love again.
My chest tightens, and I press a hand over my mouth to stifle the broken sound escaping me.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “What did I do?”
Vincent steps closer, his presence a shadow against the storm raging inside me. “Willow?—”
I shake my head, scrambling back, my hands trembling. “No, don’t. Don’t act like this isn’t—” My breath hitches, a sob choking off the words. “I did this here. Right here. How could I?—”
Tears burn down my cheeks, hot despite the cold rain, and I wrap my arms around myself, shaking. The guilt is suffocating, weighing on my chest until I feel like I might break apart.
I shake my head violently, stumbling back. “No. No, I can’t—” My voice cracks, barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
He tries to follow. Of course, he does. That’s who he is—relentless, stubborn. He wants to act like what we did isn’t wrong, like it isn’t something I should be ashamed of. But I am. I can’t breathe in this space anymore, can’t look at him, can’t even look at myself.
I turn on my heel and run, my boots sinking into the damp earth as I make my way to the car waiting for me—waiting because Cast knew I’d need an escape.
Vincent’s voice chases me, desperate and raw. “Willow, stop!”
I don’t. I can’t.
By the time I reach the car, he’s right there, his hands slamming against the window the second I pull the door shut and lock the door. His face is wild with frustration, his mouth moving, but I refuse to hear him. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away, my fingers curling into fists in my lap.
“Miss-” The bodyguard in the front starts but I shake my head.
“Just drive,” I whisper through my tears. “Please.”