Her eyes search mine. And something inside her softens—just a little. Like she’s letting herself believe me. Believe in us.
“I know,” she whispers.
I nod toward the parking lot. “Let’s get you out of here.”
As we walk, she shifts closer. Not enough to touch, but close enough that I feel her heat. Her trust. And just before we reach the car, she slips her fingers into mine.
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say a word.
But that single act?
It tells me everything.
She’s letting me in. And I don’t care if I’m up against fate itself—I’m not going anywhere.
CHAPTER 55
Landon
The rink is almostempty now; only a few of the girls are still here. The sound of skates scraping the floor has faded, the echo of laughter lingering only in memory. I’m standing by the far end of the benches, pretending to check the team’s training schedule, but really, I’m just trying to keep it together.
Willow’s absence is a physical thing. It feels as if something’s been carved out of me and left open to bleed.
She left with him—Hunter. No hesitation. No backward glance. And it shouldn’t matter. I told her I was happy for her. I meant it. But god, it hurts.
“Hey, Coach.” A voice lilts to my right. Bright. Flirty.
I glance up and find Cheese, one of the blockers, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She’s been bold lately, always finding ways to linger after drills.
“You sticking around for another hour?” she asks, stepping a little closer. “I could use some extra help on my edge work.”
I offer a tight smile. “You’re solid on your edge work, Cheese. Better than half the league.”
Her brows lift, clearly surprised that I didn’t take the bait.
“Still,” she says with a tilt of her head, “sometimes it helps to have a hands-on coach.”
I step back. Not much. Just enough that she notices.
“I’m not that kind of coach.”
She blinks. The flirtation fades from her face, and she finally nods. “Right. Got it.”
She skates off without another word, her two teammates exchanging looks as she passes. I ignore them.
Because none of them are Willow. And none of them ever could be.
When she skates, it’s as if she was made for it—the floor bending to her rhythm, struggling to keep up. She was good before, on those tapes. But now? She’s something else.
Confident. Free. The last of the bruises I left on her finally gone.
Because yeah, it was only a week. One whirlwind week that changed everything.
Before I shattered it with a kiss I gave to the wrong girl, thinking it would make her let me go. It did. Just not in the way I imagined.
I thought ending things before the bond got too deep would save us both from a bigger kind of pain. But now I get it.
She didn’t need me to tear the bond apart.
