22. Vincent
22
VINCENT
Pain rips through my legs like a live wire, the fire spreading with every step I force myself to take. My fingers tighten around the parallel bars, the sweat making my grip slippery, but I don’t let go. I can’t.
"Again," Willow says, her voice gentle but firm. She’s right beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, her hands hovering like she’s ready to catch me the second I fall.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. "Fuck off."
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just tilts her head, giving me that look—the one that says she’s not going anywhere, no matter how much I fight her.
"You wanna throw a tantrum, or you wanna walk?" she challenges.
My breath comes fast and uneven, my muscles screaming in protest as I try to shift my weight again. My right leg shakes violently, barely holding me up, and when I try to take another step, my knee buckles. Pain lances through me, sharp and unforgiving, and for a second, I think I’m going down.
But Willow is there. Her hands grip my arms, steadying me before I hit the floor. My forehead drops against her shoulder, and I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing hard. I hate this. I hate that I need her help. That I can’t do something as simple as fucking walk without feeling like I’m being ripped apart from the inside out.
Her fingers brush the back of my neck, light and careful. "I’ve got you," she whispers.
I take a breath, trying to shove down the frustration clawing up my throat. The scent of Willow’s shampoo—her soft and familiar fragrance—fills my nose, grounding me for a second. But it doesn’t stop the fury boiling under my skin.
"I don’t need you to fucking catch me," I mutter, voice tight.
She lets out a soft sigh but doesn’t move away. "Then stop falling."
I huff out a bitter laugh, lifting my head just enough to glare at her. "You think I want this? You think I like feeling like a goddamn liability?"
Her expression doesn’t change, but her grip on my arms tightens just a fraction. "I think you’re in pain, and you’re taking it out on me because I’m the only one here."
I clench my jaw, because she’s right. And that pisses me off even more.
She doesn’t push me, doesn’t force me to talk, just stands there, waiting. And for some reason, that gets to me more than anything else.
With a sharp exhale, I shove off the bars, forcing my legs to bear my weight again. Every nerve in my body screams at me to stop, but I push through it. One step. Then another. It’s slow, agonizing, but I move.
Willow stays beside me, matching my pace, not touching me but close enough that I know she’s there.
"You’re doing it," she says, her voice softer now.
I don’t answer. I can’t. My breath is coming too fast, sweat dripping down my spine, but I don’t stop. I won’t.
When I finally reach the end of the bars, my arms are shaking, and my legs feel like they might give out at any second. But I made it.
I brace my hands on the metal, trying to catch my breath. Willow steps in front of me, her eyes searching mine. "You okay?"
I nod once, but it’s a lie. I’m not okay. I don’t know if I ever will be. I swallow past the tightness in my throat, my body screaming for a break, but my mind is too wired to let me rest. Willow’s fingers linger against my forehead, brushing damp hair away, and for a second, I just let her. Let myself feel her touch, soft and careful, like she’s afraid I’ll break.
She doesn’t say anything, just watches me, waiting for me to pull away first. But I don’t.
Instead, the words slip out before I can stop them. "I don’t blame you, you know."
Her brows pull together. "For what?"
She stills. The warmth of her hands disappears, but she doesn’t step back. Just stands there, lips parted like she wants to say something but can’t find the words.
Her throat bobs as she swallows, and when she finally speaks, her voice is quieter than before. "Vincent…"
I press on, because if I don’t say this now, I never will. "I don’t blame you, Willow. You need to stop blaming yourself."
Her breath catches, barely audible, but I don’t miss it. Her fingers twitch like she wants to reach for me again, but she doesn’t. Instead, she stands frozen, eyes searching mine.
"Vincent…" Her voice is unsteady, careful.
I shake my head. "No. Don’t do that. Don’t act like I don’t know exactly what’s going on in that head of yours. You’re carrying this guilt like it’s yours to bear, and it’s not."
She swallows hard, but I see the crack in her composure. The guilt she tries so damn hard to hide.
"I was there, Vincent," she murmurs. "I saw?—"
"I know what you saw," I interrupt. "But you didn’t pull the trigger. You didn’t put me in that situation." I hold her gaze, making sure she hears every word. "That was my choice. My consequences. Not yours."
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but I don’t let her.
"You didn’t get me shot, Willow. That wasn’t on you." My voice softens, but there’s no mistaking the intention behind it. "Stop punishing yourself for a situation that you had no control over."
Her throat bobs, and for a moment, I think she’s going to listen. That maybe, just maybe, she’ll let it go. But then she lets out a shaky breath, blinking hard like she’s trying to shove the emotions back down.
"You almost died," she whispers, voice thick. "And I?—"
I reach for her hand before she can pull away, my grip firm but careful. "But I didn’t."
Her fingers tremble beneath mine.
"I’m right here," I remind her. "And I don’t want your guilt. I just want you."
Her fingers tighten just slightly before she pulls away. "You need to sit down before your legs give out."
And just like that, she’s shifting back into caretaker mode, avoiding the question, avoiding what’s hanging thick in the air between us.
I reach for her wrist before she can step away completely, my fingers wrapping around her pulse point. Her breath hitches, her eyes flickering to mine. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and damn it, I feel that small movement like a punch to the gut. "You should rest," she whispers, deflecting again.
I lean in just a little, my voice dropping. "You should stop running from me."
Her breath shudders, but she doesn’t deny it, or step away. And for now, that’s enough.