CHAPTER 54
Hunter
I leanagainst the rail just off the track, arms crossed, casually watching practice. But I’m not watching everyone.
Just her.
Willow’s throwing herself into every drill as though the floor might disappear if she slows down. Tight turns, sharp pivots, the kind of intensity that has Daisy blinking at her as if to sayWhat the hell, Jinx?
“She’s skating angry,” Carson mutters beside me. “She hasn’t even looked our way.”
“She’s not angry,” I say before I can stop myself.
Carson glances at me. “No? She was pretty irritated that we made that plan with Finn.”
“No.” I watch her whip around a corner, her pink hair flying behind her, beneath the bottom of her helmet, her lips pressed into a thin line. She doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t make a sound. “She’s scared.”
That word hangs in the air.
“She thinks if she slows down, she’ll fall apart,” I add. “And she’s probably right.”
Graham’s eyes track her, too. He’s unreadable as always, but I know that jaw. Tight. Ticked off. At himself, probably.
“I think we touched a raw spot that was still healing,” I say. “And now she’s trying to stop the bleeding.”
“She’s pretending we’re not here,” Carson says.
“And pretending last night didn’t happen,” Graham says. Controlled. Too controlled.
We all saw the way she curled into us. The way her scent melted into ours. It obviously belongs there. But now? She’s locked up tight. Focused. Determined.
Unreachable.
And part of me gets it.
Because needing us means admitting this is more than just safety. More than just a job we can quit. More than temporary. It means letting go of the fear that’s ruled her since the mark faded. Hell, maybe even before that.
I glance toward the bleachers and catch Landon watching her too, arms crossed. Some of the other girls try to flirt with him, but he doesn’t even blink their way. He only sees Willow. And I know this is some sort of torture he is making himself endure. A penance for his sins.
She barely gives him anything back. No attention. No reaction. Just silence.
That silence twists something in my chest.
It’s not the yelling that signals someone’s about to break—it’s the quiet.
And Willow’s silent.
I shift my stance, tracking her as she skates past again.
“I’m going to pull her aside later,” I say.
Graham lifts a brow, but doesn’t argue.
Carson just hums. “Don’t push too hard.”
“I won’t,” I say. “But if she keeps running like this, she’s going to break something. Might be herself.”
The secondshe skates off the track, I can tell she’s running on fumes.
