24. Willow
24
WILLOW
O nce we arrive at the safe-house, Damien is already standing outside, partially dressed in his hockey gear, next to his motorcycle. I’m barely out of the car when he notices me and strides toward me, his expression unreadable but tense.
Without saying a word, he looks me over, his gaze sharp and calculating as if he’s assessing the situation, making sure I’m in one piece. "You good?" he asks flatly, his tone not quite concerned, but more like a man making sure his investment hasn’t been damaged.
“I’m fine,” I answer quickly, sensing that’s all he wants to hear.
Damien doesn't linger, though. He pivots sharply and walks toward the safe-house entrance where Ricardo stands, eyes narrowing as he sizes him up as he speaks to me. “You’re okay in here?” he asks, his voice flat but with an edge of authority.
I nod, visibly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Yes, Damien, I’m fine. I’m safe here.”
Damien’s expression doesn't soften. Instead, he takes a long look at me before his eyes snap back to a fuming Ricardo.
“Who put the flowers in her locker?”
“We don’t know yet, sir.” Ricardo says his voice sharp, edging on disrespect.
“If anything had happened to her...” His voice trails off, but the implication is clear.
Ricardo visibly stiffens, the muscles in his shoulders tightening. He doesn’t flinch, but his eyes dart nervously, betraying his calm facade. He stays silent, but the tension in his posture speaks volumes. After a beat, he nods, his eyes looking away from Damien.
I stand there for a moment, my chest tight as I watch the interaction unfold. The silence is thick, heavy with unspoken history and danger. I glance around at the quiet neighborhood, the ordinary houses with perfectly manicured lawns.
The kind of place where nosy neighbors are likely peeking through their windows, making note of everything that’s happening. The last thing I need is the attention of anyone who might get too curious.
I reach out, my fingers curling around Damien’s forearm, needing a sense of security, a reminder that he’s here and that everything will be okay. My voice drops to a whisper, barely audible over the tense air. “Let’s do this inside,” I murmur, trying to defuse the situation, to keep him from saying anything else that could escalate things further.
Damien doesn’t look away, his expression fierce, calculating. His sharp eyes return to Ricardo, the weight of his words heavy. “You let anyone get that close to her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.” His tone is cold, the kind of cold that doesn’t leave room for second chances. It's a promise, one that anyone with half a brain would take seriously.
“Yes, sir.” Ricardo nods, as Damien turns away snapping at me.
“In the house now,” He growls.
I follow him inside, my hand still wrapped around his forearm as I take in the sight of the house. It’s deceptively normal, almost too normal. The kind of place where nothing about it stands out—no guards at the windows, no high-tech security systems or armed personnel. Just a quiet, nondescript house in the middle of a sleepy suburban cul-de-sac. And that’s exactly what makes it unsettling. The illusion of normalcy is the mask for something much darker.
Damien’s presence at my side is the only thing that grounds me as I take a slow, steadying breath.
I glance at Damien as the door shuts softly behind us. His posture is tense, his jaw clenched, and his eyes are dark with something I can’t quite place. He doesn’t meet my gaze, pacing a few steps before stopping in the center of the room, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The tension in his shoulders tells me more than words could.
“Damien?” I call softly, my voice hesitant. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t respond at first, his back still to me as he stares at the wall, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The silence between us stretches, and I wonder if he even hears me.
Then, without warning, he turns to face me, his expression hard. “I shouldn’t have disappeared,” he mutters, as if to himself, his voice low and edged with frustration. “I let you get dragged into this shit. Into my mess.”
I take a step toward him, but he’s already shaking his head, the anger in his eyes now mixing with something else—something darker, something heavier.
“I should’ve seen it coming. Cast has power and you’ve been around him. People want to kill him, get under his skin, and you’re right there. And now…” His voice cracks for just a second before he regains his composure. “Now, someone is showing us they can get close enough to hurt you.”
I watch him carefully, my heart aching at the sight of the man who’s usually so composed unraveling in front of me. He’s not used to this—being vulnerable, admitting that he doesn’t have all the answers.
“Damien,” I say, my voice steady, even though my chest feels like it might explode with the weight of his words. “You can’t control everything.”
He looks at me then, really looks at me, his gaze dark and conflicted. “I should’ve been the one to protect you. I promised I’d keep you safe, and now…” His voice falters again, but this time, he catches himself before the words completely give way.
I step forward, putting my hand on his arm, grounding him, even if just for a moment. “Damien, you are here. And you’re doing the best you can. That’s all you can do.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move, and I think he might finally let himself believe it. But then he pulls away, his eyes clouded with doubt and frustration.
“I can’t stand seeing you in this mess,” he says harshly, though his voice cracks again. “I can’t stand knowing I might not be able to keep you safe.”
The words sting, but I don’t let him see it. Instead, I take another step closer, my voice soft but firm. “You are keeping me safe. You’re here now, and that’s more than enough.”
His gaze flickers to mine, and I see the rawness in his eyes, the burden he’s carrying. He’s always been the one who had everything figured out, the one who could fix anything. But this—this situation, these things beyond his control—he doesn’t know how to handle it. And maybe he never will.
“Damien,” I say again, my voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to catch his attention. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
His hands ball into fists at his sides, the tension radiating from him, as if he can’t quite find a way to release it. His jaw clenches, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breath. But then, without warning, he explodes.
“But you almost weren’t!” he roars, his voice raw with anguish. His eyes dart from mine to my chest... to my heart. “I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t keep you safe.” His words are jagged, painful, as if each one is cutting him more than it ever could me.
I step forward again, my hands reaching out to him, pulling his attention back to me. “Damien,” I say, more urgently this time. “I’m here. I’m still here, I’m still alive. You’re not losing me.”
I gently place one of his hands over my chest, right above where my heart beats steadily. “Feel that?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “That’s my heart, still beating. It’s still here. It hasn’t stopped, Damien. I’m not going anywhere.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t move, his palm pressed firmly against me, feeling the rhythmic pulse of my heart. I can see the conflict in his eyes—his worry, his fear, his overwhelming desire to keep me safe, and his crippling belief that he failed. But then something shifts. His features soften just slightly, and I see the tightness in his shoulders ease.
“I promised you I’d protect you,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper, as though he’s admitting a vulnerability he’s never let anyone see before. “And I failed. I couldn’t keep you safe.”
I shake my head, moving even closer until the warmth of his body is pressed against mine, and I can feel the tremor in his hands. “Damien, you haven’t failed me. You are here. You’re here now, and that’s more than enough. You’re protecting me in every way that matters. You’re keeping me alive.”
I move in closer to him, and whisper. “It’s still beating, Damien. I’m still here. She’s still here.”
He stares down at me, his eyes filled with unshed emotion, his chest rising and falling as he tries to process the weight of it all. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his thumb brushes over my wrist, a touch that’s both tentative and intimate, like he’s making sure I’m really here. Really alive.
“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly, his voice breaking slightly, revealing the depth of his fear.
“You won’t,” I promise, my voice steady despite the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. “Not as long as we fight for each other. I’m here, Damien. I’m not going anywhere.”
For a long moment, he just looks at me, as if searching for any sign that this is real. But I don’t look away. I stand my ground, my hand still over his, letting him feel the steady beat of my heart under his palm. It’s a reminder. A promise.
And when he finally exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little, he leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “You should go to sleep.”
I look out the window, my gaze catching the dark sky, a blanket of night settling over everything. It feels surreal, almost like I’ve been swept away into a world far removed from anything familiar. The hum of the car engine has faded, the only sounds now the soft rustling of our footsteps and the occasional creak of the house settling. I almost forget, for a moment, that we’re hours away from home, hidden away in this quiet, unassuming place.
Damien stands up slowly, brushing a hand over his face as if to shake off the remnants of the tension. He turns to me, his hand gesturing toward the hallway. “Come on, I’ll show you to a room.”
I follow him, my feet dragging just a little as the exhaustion from everything weighs down on me. As we move through the quiet house, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, like every inch of the space is somehow waiting, holding its breath.
We stop in front of a door, and Damien opens it, gesturing for me to go inside. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp by the bedside casting long shadows along the walls. It’s simple, but everything is in its place, a temporary refuge that I’m sure will feel like home in time.
I glance at the dresser, and Damien steps aside, giving me space to move. “There are some clothes in the dresser if you want to change.”
I nod, grateful for the gesture. When I open the drawer, I find a load of comfy clothes and I settle on a set of pajamas—comfy, soft fabric—but slightly too big for me. The pants are a little loose at the waist, and the shirt hangs off my shoulders, but it’s fine. It’s enough. And for some reason, the small sense of normalcy in all this chaos is exactly what I need.
I change quickly, the softness of the fabric comforting against my skin. When I emerge from the bathroom, I expect Damien to be gone, to have retreated to wherever he’s going to sleep for the night. But instead, I find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed, though his eyes remain watchful.
“You’re not leaving?” I ask softly, a flicker of confusion in my voice.
He meets my gaze, his expression warm, yet steady. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures me, his voice low, the words grounding me in this fleeting moment of calm.
A small smile tugs at my lips, and I move to sit on the bed next to him. The quiet comfort of his presence fills the space, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to breathe.
I lie back, the bed soft and inviting beneath me, and I pull my phone from my pocket, hoping to distract myself for a moment before sleep claims me. As the screen lights up, a single notification catches my eye—an email from RISD. My heart skips a beat, my breath catching in my throat. Without thinking, I tap on the message, the words in the email slowly coming into focus.
Congratulations, Willow—We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the Rhode Island School of Design.
My pulse races as I read the words again, just to make sure I’m not imagining it. Accepted. To RISD. I got in. Fucking hell, I got in. My heart beats rapidly in my chest and I want to scream, to jump around and call Jasmine, but all I can do is stare at the screen, the weight of it settling over me like a dream I wasn’t sure would come true.
I bite my lip, glancing over at Damien, who’s still sitting beside me. His attention is focused on me now, the silence between us filled with something unspoken. I hand him the phone, my fingers trembling just slightly. “Good night,” I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Night, trouble.”