He holds my pieces together while I fall apart.
And when the worst of it ebbs—when the sobs soften into hiccups and my tears finally dry—I slowly pull back, blinking blearily up at him. I’m sure I look like a wreck. But Carson just smiles. He brushes a thumb under my eye, catching the last of the tears.
“Always causing chaos, I see.”
I let out a snort of a laugh, the sound half broken but real. “It’s what I do best, apparently.”
Carson doesn’t let go right away. Only holds me for another beat, until my breath starts to even out and the ache in my chest quiets.
Then he shifts, sliding one arm around my waist and guiding me toward the nearest bench.
“Sit,” he says gently, already crouching in front of me.
I obey without argument.
He starts unlacing my skates, his fingers fast and practiced. “You know,” he says, his tone light but sincere, “for someone who claims to hate feelings, you’ve got a hell of a lot of them.”
“Shut up,” I murmur, scrubbing at my face.
Carson grins, not looking up. “No, seriously. That wasn’t just venting. That was brave.”
I blink down at him. “For… what? Telling the truth?”
He shrugs as he slides the first skate off and reaches for the second. “Yeah. For not pretending you’re fine when you’re not. For letting yourself feel all of it—even the part of you that still cares about him. That takes guts.”
He pauses, glancing up now, his gaze steady on mine.
“And for asking him to show up for real. Not just show up physically—but emotionally. You didn’t slam the door, Willow. You left it open. Just…with conditions. That’s strength, not weakness.”
My chest tightens—but it’s not the same sharp, broken feeling from earlier. It’s softer now. Realer.
Once both skates are off and my shoes are in place, he stands and reaches for my hand, helping me to my feet.
“Now come on,” he says, snagging my skates and bag with his free hand. “You’ve earned a reward.”
“A reward?” I echo, blinking.
He shoots me a crooked grin. “Ice cream. Obviously. Mint chip, double scoop, or nothing at all.”
I snort. “You bribing me with sugar now?”
“Bribing? Nah.” His grip tightens just slightly. “Celebrating. You stood in front of someone you once loved, and you told the truth. That’s not easy. Especially not when the feelings aren’t simple.”
He opens the door for me, and as I step outside into the late afternoon warmth, he adds, “And if you decide there’s still space in your life for Landon—after everything—then okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
I glance at him, heart fluttering.
“And if I don’t?” I ask quietly.
Carson smiles without a trace of hesitation. “Whatever you decide—him or not, now or later—I’m not leaving. Not unless you ask me to.”
My throat feels thick again—but not in the broken way it did before.
This time, it’s the good kind.
Later that evening,Graham’s brow furrows as he surveys the countertop, one hand on his hip, the other lifting the lid on the pan of simmering sauce. The smell of garlic and herbs fills the apartment, but I can tell something’s missing before he even says it.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I forgot the rosemary.”
