Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
All the drive home, Willow tried not daydream about the night before.
About the stars twinkling through the window of the van as she lay tucked up under Dylan’s arm as his fingers tickled lazily over her back, as she felt the rumble of his laugh beneath her cheek.
She had gone to sleep indulging herself in a fantasy of telling all her family what had happened to him in the past, them having to see the error of their ways and welcoming him in with open arms. His talk in the morning was like a bucket of cold water on that, but she knew it was a pipe dream anyway.
Like he said, he wasn’t going to be around long enough for it to make any difference anyway and neither was she.
The return to Silver Sky was the final nail on any wayward daydreams. Her mom was waiting for her when she got back, asking about the flight and how her knee was during training, she wanted to know all about any plans that had been made for the upcoming season and whether Willow was feeling okay about them—not too pressured by the Company.
All the concern made Willow feel sick with shame. She tried to keep her answers as vague and low key as possible. Her mom poured her a coffee and said, “Funny thing, but Uncle Joel was flying into New York this morning, I told him to keep an eye out for you at the airport.”
Willow tried to laugh but her chest constricted with guilt.
Thankfully, her dad came into the kitchen and the subject changed to the weather, which seemed to have got cooler almost overnight. The sky was a dull gray out the window and there was a smattering of rain against the panes.
Willow sipped her coffee while trying to keep the subject away from her supposed New York trip by asking her mom about The Silver Pantry.
Then her phone lit up with a call from the artistic director of the Company, the screen flashing on silent next to her on the table.
Her mom saw it and said disapprovingly, “Can they not leave you alone for a second? You’re meant to be recuperating! ”
Willow smiled weakly, hating to undermine her mom’s instinctive trust in her, and said, “It’s okay, it’s just—” She deliberately didn’t elaborate and went out into the hall to take the call but never pressed the button.
Instead, she pretended to talk as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom and then sat on the bed looking at the screen till voicemail cut in.
It wasn’t lost on her how easily she was moving about nowadays.
She could do her exercises more comfortably and walk up the stairs better, but then when she’d finish her reps or get to the top step she would be almost relieved to feel a vulnerable twinge in her knee.
Rather than wishing the injury away now, she found herself seeking it out.
The screen flashed again with the artistic director’s name. Willow knew the new season was approaching. She knew she’d have to tell him soon what her plans were. But for now she just slipped the phone in her pocket.
Later in the week, she went to see the physio who said, “Willow, it’s looking good. You’ve done amazingly.”
“I’ve still got the pain, though, sometimes,” Willow insisted. “Not all the time but?—”
The physio nodded in understanding. “The thing is, Willow, no one is a better judge of what’s happening to your body than you.
It might be that you’re always going to have to be careful of that joint.
But part of being injured is knowing what you’re capable of.
” Then her face softened and she added, “Sometimes with pain, the brain takes a little longer to catch up with the body. It protects you. It knows you’ve been hurt and it doesn’t want it to happen again. ”
Willow thought about waking up with Dylan next to her, about sleeping with his arm holding her close, about the lazy smile in his eyes every time he looked at her, and wondered if her brain was trying to protect her, or just slow down time.
“When it comes to it, Willow, you’ll know what’s right for you. The main thing is not to rush things.”
If was funny, she thought as she left the physio’s office, how desperate she had been to get back to work, begging for more exercises to strengthen her knee, yet now the best thing she could have heard was not to rush things.
Outside, it was still cooler than it had been, the leaves beginning to show a golden hue, but the sun was shining again. She started walking toward where she’d parked her car when someone shouted, “Willow, wait up!” and she heard footsteps behind her.
She turned to see her brother Brodie. He slowed to a stroll now he’d got her attention. Sunglasses on, hair swept to one side, he looked like a fashion model, always had.
“Your hair is getting crazier every time I see you. I thought you hated the curls?” he said, falling into step beside her.
She pushed her hair self-consciously off her face, aware that she had grown more fond of it knowing Dylan liked it. “It’s just easier,” she replied.
They walked along together. He said, “Where are you headed?”
“I’m parked over by the church. What about you?”
“Zoey’s at a birthday party—they’re making pizza at Gino’s, poor guy.” He laughed. “I’m killing time. Want to grab a coffee?”
She was about to say yes, when they went past the park and she saw Dylan there playing football with a bunch of guys, some of whom she recognized from high school.
Dylan seemed to see her the same moment she saw him.
They hadn’t met up since Diamond Creek—she’d told herself she was keeping a low profile because of lying to her family, but in truth she was keeping her distance because she could feel herself getting too involved, too attached.
She wasn’t one for light emotions and had been crazy to think that she might be.
Instead, she’d lain in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling just wishing that Dylan might appear outside her window again so they could sneak to the forest together.
She found herself wanting to know everything about him, everything he felt, everything he hoped and wished for.
She had to close her eyes tight and try and think of something else because she knew the way her mind worked, and she had to stop it in its tracks.
The sight of him now made her catch her breath.
He was barefoot, wearing just navy shorts and no top, hands on the ball about to pass.
His hair had got blonder and longer over the summer and was pulled back, a couple of strands had come loose, hung over his eyes.
She felt her whole body respond, her attention drifting away from Brodie, who was talking but she wasn’t listening.
Dylan seemed equally distracted, pausing mid-play for long enough that someone shouted for him to get on with it.
Then suddenly the ball was out of his hands as one of the opposing team took the opportunity to intercept.
A second later, play was underway again.
Willow snapped out of it, she turned to her brother and said, “Sorry, what were you saying? Coffee?”
But it was too late, Brodie had caught the look. He was frowning, brows drawn deeply together. “What the heck was that?”
“What?” Willow said, feigning innocence but feeling her cheeks get hot.
“That, with you and Hawkins.” Brodie looked over at Dylan and then back to Willow in disbelief. “Is something going on between you two?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Willow curled her lip like he was talking crazy.
“Don’t give me that. I know you, Willow, you don’t look at people like that unless you’re looking at them.”
She rolled her eyes, but her face was getting hotter. “I’m not looking at anyone.”
Suddenly one of the guys shouted out, “Hey, Brodie, you wanna play?”
Willow said, “No!” and put her hand out to stop him.
Brodie looked from her hand on his arm over to where Dylan was now watching, eyes narrowed warily at the idea of Brodie joining the opposition.
“I’d love to,” Brodie called, shaking out of Willow’s hold before strolling casually over to the gate, his sights set on Dylan the whole time.
Dylan shook his head in response and went and picked up his T-shirt, pulling it back on, saying to the others, “I gotta go.”
“Don’t leave on my account, Hawkins,” Brodie drawled.
“I wasn’t,” Dylan replied.
Brodie nodded, his smile mocking like he thought otherwise. “Running away at the first sign of competition. Not like you.”
One of the guys laughed.
Willow blew out a breath. She wanted to shout for Brodie to knock it off, but knew that Dylan wouldn’t thank her for it.
“I need to get going,” Dylan replied evenly, refusing to rise to it.
“Come on, Hawkins, don’t go,” Brodie goaded amiably. “Stay, show us what you’re made of.”
Dylan shook his head, started walking. One of the other guys called for him to stay, too, that they needed the extra player.
Brodie took his sunglasses off, chucked them on the ground where everyone’s stuff was, and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”
Dylan paused. Willow watched the smile twitch on Brodie’s lips.
She saw Dylan glance momentarily her way and she did a tiny shake of her head.
Brodie saw it, too. It seemed to make things worse, when Dylan looked back to Brodie, they were suddenly squaring off, the easy, goading smile on Brodie’s face had turned to a look of withering disgust. Willow’s hands tightened on the wrought-iron posts of the park fence.
Dylan rolled his shoulders back, tongue pressed under his front teeth, expression shuttering as he turned and swaggered back to the fold. “No need to go easy, Carter.”
One of the other players whooped.
Willow’s shoulders sagged. She wanted to push off the fence and leave, take no part in it, but as soon as the game started, she found herself unable to look away. Dylan versus Brodie. It made her wince. She wanted to go grab her brother and drag him away by the arm.