Willow grabs a towel, wipes the sweat from her neck, and drops onto the bench. Her shoulders slump with exhaustion. I’m pretty sure her bones don’t know how to hold her up anymore. Her teammates buzz around her, chatting, laughing, but she’s distant—hovering in that space between fight and flight.
I wait.
Not right next to her. Just close enough that she’ll see me when she’s ready.
Eventually, she glances up. Her brows lift as if she’s surprised I’m still here.
I offer a small smile. “Ready to go?”
For a second, I think she might say no. But then she sighs, drops her towel into her bag, and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
We don’t say anything as we step outside. The air is thick and warm, the kind that clings to your skin, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She keeps her eyes forward, arms folded tight across her chest.
I walk slow. She doesn’t.
Eventually, I ask, “Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
She huffs a laugh. “You mean besides the fact that my stalker sent me a box full of his obsession, and my former scent match is now my roller derby coach? And I fell into bed with the three of you last night?”
I stop breathing for half a second.
Scent match.
I glance sideways at her. She keeps walking, steady, unbothered, as if she didn’t just drop a bomb in the middle ofa casual conversation. As if it’s nothing. Just another burden she’s chosen to carry alone.
It’s the first time she’s said it out loud. The first time I get it. That Landon wasn’t just some asshole who hurt her.
He was fated. Her match. Her bond. The very thing every omega dreams of—and he threw it away.
Suddenly, everything sharpens. The way she still watches him when she thinks we’re not looking. The ache in her voice when she says she’s fine. The way she’s let us in but keeps pieces of herself sealed shut. It all makes sense.
How do you compete with something like that?
I don’t know. But I’m not backing down either.
“That’s a start,” I say, voice even. But inside, my chest is tight. Not with jealousy. Not exactly. Something heavier. Something like…grief for what could have been if they had both been ready. If she hadn’t built her walls so high after he hurt her.
She walks a few more paces in silence. Then finally?—
“I’m trying to hold it together,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Trying not to fall apart. Because the second I let go, I’m scared I won’t come back from it.”
My throat goes dry. Because she’s not saying it for attention. She’s not playing it up. This is her truth, raw and unfiltered.
“You don’t have to hold it together around us,” I say. “Not with me.”
She doesn’t answer.
So I stop walking and gently tug her to a stop beside me.
She’s not crying. But she’s close. I can see it in the way she clenches her jaw. In the way she won’t meet my eyes.
I touch her elbow, as lightly as possible, and wait until she finally looks up.
“You’re not alone anymore, Willow,” I say. “And I know scent matches…they’re supposed to mean something permanent. Untouchable. But I also know he gave that up. He hurt you. Pushed you away in a really bad way.”
I swallow hard, because this part matters.
“I would never do that. I don’t care what he was. I care about what you need. Right now. And that’s all I want to be.”
