Xander
THIRTY-TWO
Ishould stay at the compound.
That’s the logical decision.
Gabe’s already coordinating damage control downstairs with three phones in front of him and a legal pad covered in increasingly intense handwriting. Julian keeps pacing between rooms, trying to outrun anxiety.
Security’s monitoring the gates because some idiot already tried flying a drone over the property an hour ago.
The smart thing would be staying here and handling the fallout.
Instead, I’m driving through town in a truly mental way.
Rain streaks across the windshield in uneven lines while Redemption Falls crawls by outside my windows, slower than usual tonight because people are everywhere. On sidewalks. Outside cafés. Beneath awnings with phones glowing in their hands.
Watching. Talking. Every time someone looks twice at my car, rage crawls higher up my spine.
This is exactly what I didn’t want.
Not for the label. Not for the town. Definitely not for Willow.
The internet is a beast. I know that world. Know how ugly it gets once people smell blood in the water. Fame turns strangers into parasites. They stop seeing human beings and start seeing entertainment. Figure they can own a part of them.
But Redemption Falls was supposed to stay separate from all that.
Safe.
Now there are cars parked outside Bennett’s with out-of-state plates. Two girls standing near the diner taking selfies in front of the sign as if it’s a tourist attraction. Someone walking down Main Street wearing an old Lonely Ones shirt while filming commentary into their phone.
Circus.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel hard enough the leather creaks.
And underneath all of it sits the same ugly truth that’s been festering in me since this morning.
Dylan.
If he hadn’t posted that fucking photo…
If he hadn’t shown up. If Gabe hadn’t brought him here…
Maybe none of this happens.
The car slows as I pass the diner.
The lights are still on inside, but through the rain-streaked windows I can see Lara wiping down counters while Bill sits at his usual booth looking grim enough to start a war.
No Willow.
My chest tightens.
I shouldn’t have let her get dragged into this. The second I realized how badly I wanted her, I should’ve known better. I leave collateral damage everywhere, eventually.
The thought turns vicious.
No.
Not this time.
I pull away from the curb before I can change my mind and head toward Nina’s apartment across town. Luckily, I’ve already taken Willow there once, so I know exactly where to go.
By the time I park outside the building, rain is falling harder. Cold enough to soak through my jacket as I climb out.
The upstairs light is on.
I stare at it, exhaustion settling deep into my bones. I don’t know what I’m walking into here. Willow might hate me right now. She’d have every reason to.
Still, I go upstairs.
The hallway smells faintly of old carpet and someone’s burnt dinner. I knock once against the apartment door, then shove my hands into my pockets while I wait.
Footsteps. Locks clicking.
Nina opens the door already looking pissed off.
Good.
At least someone still has energy.
Her eyes narrow when she sees me standing there soaked from the rain. “You’ve got nerve.”
“I know.”
“That’s your opening line?”
“It’s the truth.”
She studies me for another second before stepping partly into the doorway, clearly debating whether or not to slam it in my face.
I’d deserve it, too.
“Is she okay?” I ask.
Nina’s expression shifts at the question. Some anger draining, becoming more protective. More tired. “She’s devastated.”
The words hit like a punch to the ribs.
I look past her, toward the dim apartment behind her. “Can I see her?”
“She doesn’t want reporters following her.”
“They won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “I can. I know no one followed me.”
Nina crosses her arms. “And what happens when this gets worse?”
“It probably will.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’m not here to lie to either of you.”
That answer makes her hesitate.
Behind her, I hear movement. Willow appears around the corner in oversized sweats and messy dark hair, stopping dead the second she sees me standing there.
Christ.
My chest caves inward a little.
She looks wrecked. I know devastation when I see it.
Her eyes are swollen. She’s either been crying or trying very hard not to. Her posture’s tighter, too, folded inward in a way I’ve never seen from her before.
She’s trying to make herself smaller.
The sight of it makes an ugly protectiveness snap tight inside of me.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She stares at me for a long second before laughing once under her breath. Not humor. Disbelief.
“Well,” she says, “this is horrifying.”
I almost smile despite everything because even destroyed, she’s still Willow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says.
“Probably not.”
“People might be following your car.”
“I know how to avoid the paps.”
I’ve been through it all. Too many years of photographers hiding in bushes. Too many girlfriends chased through parking lots because they happened to stand beside me once in public. Too many moments where fame stopped feeling glamorous and started feeling predatory.
I step closer carefully. “Come back to the compound.”
Her head snaps up. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s secure.”
“It’s also where all of you are.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not helping your argument.”
I ignore that. “There’s security at every entrance. Private gates. No press access. Nobody gets near you there unless we allow it.”
Her arms tighten around herself. “I don’t need protecting.”
“Bullshit.” The word comes out harsher than I mean it to. I exhale and force my voice lower. “Willow.”
She still won’t look directly at me now. “I saw the comments,” she says.
Rage flashes through me so hot it almost whites out my vision.
“You shouldn’t have read those.”
“Well, I did.” Her laugh cracks this time. “Looks like the world decided I’m a gold-digging groupie with bad jeans and a fat ass.”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious, Xander.”
“I know you are.” I take another step closer. “That’s why I’m telling you to stop.”
Her throat moves hard when she swallows.
Behind her, Nina watches both of us carefully before speaking quietly. “She’s been spiraling for hours.”
Willow shoots her a betrayed look. “Nina.”
“What?” her sister says flatly. “You have.”
Willow presses her hands against her face briefly before dropping them again. “I don’t even recognize my life right now.”
“This is my world,” I say. “I know how ugly it gets. Which means I also know how to protect you from it.”
I can see her exhaustion. Because fighting this is exhausting. Feeling exposed all the time is exhausting.
Finally, she asks softly, “And what happens when the reporters show up at the compound, too?”
I hold her gaze. “Then they deal with me instead of you.”
Willow looks at me for so long my chest starts tightening painfully beneath it. Then finally, “Okay,” she whispers.
Relief hits so hard it almost feels dangerous.
Nina points at me. “If she cries again, I’m blaming you completely.”
“Noted.”
“And if anyone hurts her—”
“They won’t.”
The certainty in my own voice surprises even me. But I mean it. Completely.
Because the second Willow steps into my car twenty minutes later with Daisy curled nervously in her lap, something inside me settles into brutal clarity.
This isn’t temporary anymore. It isn’t casual. And whatever nightmare just started outside those compound gates, I’m going to tear it apart before it destroys her.