Chapter 4
Willow
The stadium is packed, I can't see a single empty seat, the noise vibrating in my eardrums, and the excited energy is contagious.
Which makes sense—it's a big game, and I’m ridiculously proud of River.
If they win tonight, they will make it to the finals.
He's worked his ass off for this, even maintaining the ridiculously strict diet, which I get all too well from my dancing days.
A pang hits my chest as I think about dancing. I used to love it, feel free when I performed. Now it's just a reminder of another piece of me I have lost.
Most of the people are in their seats, waiting for the players to come onto the pitch, or queuing for burgers, hot dogs, and overpriced drinks.
I’m here alone, clutching a pack of strawberry Twizzlers—the only thing I've managed to bring myself to eat lately.
I tear one off and bite into it, closing my eyes, and let the familiar sweetness hit my tongue.
“Now that noise should be illegal.”
My eyes snap open, Twizzler still halfway in my mouth.
Elijah stands in the aisle, broad shoulders blocking the sun, and next to him is basically his twin.
Same black hair, but his is longer at the top, shaved tighter at the sides.
Leaner build, piercings in his lip, nose, eyebrow, probably other places I don't want to think about. Blue eyes like Elijah’s, just a shade darker and twice as mischievous.
He's smirking at me right up until Elijah cuffs him on the back of his head.
“Don't flirt,” Elijah grumbles.
I swallow the sweet, mostly so I don't choke at the way his voice affects me.
It shouldn't affect me; it's just a voice attached to a man, one whom I despise. He's also a lot older, married to Rose and not to mention Rivers’ dad.
The man next to him just laughs and drops into the empty seat beside me like he owns it. “I’m Ezra—Grump's brother. And you must be Willow; we've never actually met, but River talks about you all the bloody time.”
The pieces start falling into place, and it makes sense now. I've heard a lot about his uncles, especially Ezra, but apparently, there are several of them. If they all look like this, their parents deserve awards in the genetics department.
“You don't have to talk to him,” Elijah tells me as he takes the seat on my other side. His leg brushes mine—and I inhale sharply before shifting my leg away like I wasn't affected.
I focus on Ezra instead. “Rivers mentioned you.”
Ezra's grin widens instantly. “All good things, I hope.”
I pull out another Twizzler, Ezra's eyes light up, and he is practically glowing at the idea of being praised.
“He said you're a flirt,” I say, biting the sweet clean in half. “Also, that you have terrible taste in music and women.”
Ezra gasps dramatically, putting his hand to his heart and acting like it was the worst insult I could give him.
Elijah laughs behind me—deep, low, and annoyingly attractive—and I force myself not to react or look at him, which I’m learning is becoming harder the more I find myself around him.
I’m not an idiot and can appreciate an attractive man.
I just wish he looked like a toad or something.
“Well, I can't have that bad of a taste in women if I think you are absolutely stunning.”
He rakes his eyes over me shamelessly, eyebrows bouncing. I roll my eyes and smother the smile threatening my mouth. This man is smooth, and I can see why he has the reputation he does.
“I see why River said you're a terrible flirt. Do you get your pick-up lines off the back of Penguins?”
He plucks a Twizzler out of my bag before I can stop him. “They have jokes on the back of Penguins.”
“Same thing.”
Snorting, he bites into the sweet—and immediately grimaces like he's been poisoned.
Without hesitation, he tosses it over his shoulder, and it lands in a woman's lap a few seats down.
She startles, and he doesn't even glance back to see where it landed.
I stare at him, completely dumbfounded, and an absolute waste of a Twizzler.
Something about Ezra has me feeling lighter than I have in weeks.
I don't know if it's his carefree attitude or how much I hope our conversation is grating on Elijah.
He brushes his hands against his jeans. “I have better taste in women than my brother; he's married to Cruella De Vil after all.”
A startled laugh tumbles out of me before I can stop it. The moment it slips free, Elijah's arm shoots across me and clips Ezra hard in the shoulder, almost making him topple over his chair.
“Don't be salty, old man; we will find you another woman.” Ezra jokes as I lean back into my seat, fingers twitching around the Twizzler packet.
My eyes flick to Elijah, and he shoots his brother a quick finger before his gaze turns to me.
Calm, steady, unreadable—but there's a slight smirk tugging at his lips, and I feel my cheeks heat slightly, and not because of the sun.
Another woman?
Last I checked, he's married to Rose, and River would have told me otherwise.
“And why, pray tell, would he need another woman when he has me?”
Oh great.
World, please swallow me whole.
The crowd noise swells, just as I see Rose standing in front of us. Still in those ridiculous heels, her eyes swoop over me, then linger on Ezra, who's now playing with my hair. The judgment in her eyes is clear as day
“Oh, I can think of a few reasons—first being you're a complete whore.”
Well, that's… bold. He just looks at her as if she's dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Instantly, I’m on his side of this verbal sparring match.
Anyone who hates her is in my good books.
Rose snaps her head towards Elijah. “Are you going to let him speak to me like that?” she shrieks, and I notice a few heads turn our way.
Elijah rests a hand on the back of my hair, lightly brushing against the ends of my hair. “Just. Sit. Down.”
Her nostrils flare, and I can feel the tension building— then the other team storms onto the field, chanting, and the noise of the crowd gets rowdier. He just shoots her a warning look, scary enough to make her freeze before she causes even more of a scene.
She huffs, strides over, and drops into the seat next to him. She peers over at me, voice syrupy and poisonous. “You really shouldn't eat those, sweetheart. Moment on the lips, forever on the hips.”
I squeeze the packet, ready to launch it at her, before I feel a slight tug on my hair. He actually pulled my hair, and the idea of throwing it at him instead is suddenly more appealing, and I grit my teeth.
“Appreciate the advice, Rose.” I let the sarcasm drip into my words.
Friends' reference or not, I have zero patience for her condescending bullshit.
Ezra leans forward, elbows on his knees, and he looks at me with an expression that almost looks like a mix of curiosity and pity. I can't tell, and I’m not sure I want to.
I can still feel Elijah's arm behind me, the ghost of his touch brushing the ends of my hair. It shouldn't affect me. It really shouldn't. But it does. It settles low in my stomach, irritating and warm and impossible to ignore.
Before I can come up with an excuse to bolt, River sprints out onto the pitch.
His grin is instant the moment he spots us, and just like that, everything else fades.
I shoot up from my seat, cupping my hands around my mouth as I cheer for him.
I tap my cheeks—showing off the painted stripes—pinch the hem of my football top he made me wear, and he bursts out laughing, tipping his head back before giving me a big thumbs up.
God, I love that idiot.
I drop back into my seat, chest a little lighter, until I realise both brothers are watching me. Ezra with something like amusement. Elijah, with a heated glare that, if it were anybody else looking at me the way he is, could be mistaken for desire.
I’m going crazy, clearly.
And Rose?
She's glued to her phone, nails clicking, not even pretending to care or watch River. Shocker.
I feel myself consumed with rage, and I’m about to snatch it off her and throw it, because she should be watching her son, when I feel Elijah shift beside me.
The space between us shrinks—barely, softly—but I feel it.
I feel him. The warmth of his body, the brush of his knees, knocks into mine again.
This time, I don't move, and neither does he.
My pulse jumps, traitorous and loud.
His gaze flicks down for the quickest second—cheeks, lips, throat—before rising to meet mine.
I look away first.
If I don't, I might forget every reason I’m supposed to hate him. And that's dangerous.
So, so dangerous.
They won.
I've never screamed so loudly or jumped so high in my entire life.
The second River landed that winning goal, the stadium erupted—people spilling out of their seats, whistles, shouting, the whole place vibrating with adrenaline.
And I was right there with them, practically shaking with how proud I was of him.
The match wasn't the only thing keeping my heart in my throat.
It was him.
Elijah had watched me the entire game. Not in a creepy way.
More of a constant, checking to make sure I’m still okay, way.
Every time the crowd went wild, every time I leaned forward, gripping the edge of my seat, and every time my breath caught—his eyes were there.
On me. Quiet, steady, unbearably present.
He also kept touching my hair.
Not obvious enough for anyone but me to notice. Just soft little grazes of his fingers at the ends, like he couldn't help brushing them each time he shifted beside me. Each touch was featherlight, but it still shot through me like he'd pressed his mouth to my neck.
Rose didn't notice any of it; she was too busy smiling down at her phone as if she were still a teenage girl texting her crush, not a grown woman watching her son play the most important match of the season.
I’m not sure what their deal is, but the second that final whistle blew, I was out of there.