“Yeah.” Carson doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay locked on the rink. “Turns out heartbreak builds some solid muscle.”
I don’t take the bait. Not right away.
“She deserves to be happy,” I murmur, because it’s the only truth I have left.
Carson finally looks at me. And for once, the teasing fades. What’s left in his eyes isn’t smugness—it's a warning. Possessive.
“She does,” he agrees. “Which is why we’re here.”
We. He doesn’t say I. He says we like they’re already a unit. A pack.
“She was mine first,” I say quietly.
Carson tilts his head. “No, man. She was hers first. She isn’t property to be owned. You just got a shot and blew it.”
I suck in a breath, the words hitting me where it hurts.
And he knows it.
But Carson doesn’t press. He just nods once, sharp and final, then pushes off the rail. “We don’t have to be enemies, you know,” he adds over his shoulder. “Unless you want to be.”
I watch him walk away, back toward his pack. Which, if it doesn’t already, will include Willow with them soon.
Them.
The door I slammed shut might still exist, but there’s a whole new one forming now. And I’m on the wrong side of it.
CHAPTER 42
Willow
My skates hangfrom one shoulder, the laces cutting into my palm where I grip them. Sweat clings to the back of my neck, the faint ache in my thighs reminding me of the drills Coach pushed us through. We’re getting better. I’m getting better.
The air outside the rink is crisp, brushing against my flushed skin, a reminder that the world still exists beyond four wheels and body checks.
They’re waiting for me.
Carson leans against the side of the SUV, the picture of a bodyguard on duty, arms crossed, sunglasses low on his nose, even though the sun’s behind the clouds. Hunter stands to the side, alert in that quiet, still way he does, a predator pretending not to notice you until it’s too late. And Graham’s openly watching me.
Not just in that bodyguard way—scanning exits and gauging threats. He’s watching me as if I’m the variable he hasn’t figured out yet.
Something shifts in my chest. Again.
Because that’s all this has been lately—shifting. Tensionuncoiling, needs rising, walls crumbling in ways I never thought possible. Somewhere between the first time they dragged me away from Finn and the moment I teased Carson into my bed…I started to change.
I feel different.
Lighter.
And maybe that’s messed up, considering I’m technically being held against my will.
Maybe it’s that syndrome… the one where captives fall for their captors.
I snort at the thought—at myself. Because that’s not what this is. This isn’t survival. This isn’t desperation.
This is…
“Damn,” Carson whistles, pushing off the SUV to meet me halfway. “You skate like you’ve got a pack to impress.”
