Maybe that look was an invitation.
A maybe.
And for now, I’ll take it. Because if there’s even the smallest space left in her heart, I’m going to earn it.
CHAPTER 67
Willow
The momentI turn away from Landon, my chest tightens as if I’ve been holding my breath since I walked into the rink.
I try to let the motion carry it away, the burn in my legs, the hum of my wheels, the cold sting of air on my cheeks, but it doesn’t work. Not really. I can still feel him behind me. Still feel the weight of his eyes. And the echo of my own voice rings louder than anything else.
You're still in there…inside my heart.
God, why did I say that?
Because it’s true.
Because no matter how much I love my pack—how safe I feel with them—there’s still this stupid, stubborn thread between me and Landon that refuses to snap. My body doesn’t care that he kissed someone else. Doesn’t care that we broke each other. It just wants him. Misses him.
Daisy pulls up beside me after clearly watching me spiral from across the rink. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, too fast.
She arches a brow. “That’s not a real answer.”
“I’m fine.”
She makes a face. “If you want me to ‘accidentally’ shove him into a wall, blink twice.”
“Cheese will back you up,” Knox adds as she skates by, already halfway into her warm-up.
“Obviously,” Cheese says from the bench, sipping iced coffee, ready to throw hands and then hydrate.
The corners of my mouth twitch. It’s not a laugh, but it’s close. And right now, that’s enough.
I love them.
I really do.
They don’t know everything, but they know enough. That he hurt me. That I walked away. And that, for some reason, he still has this invisible grip on part of me that refuses to fully let go.
I coast toward the edge of the rink and lower myself onto the bench, trying to breathe through the quiet ache in my chest.
And then, as if I called to him, Graham stands up and makes his way down the bleachers. His hands are tucked into his hoodie pockets, trying to play it cool. But there’s nothing casual in his eyes. He watches me as though I’m something breakable. Valuable.
His gaze flicks over my face, then drops to where my sweatshirt slips just low enough to reveal his mark.
He brings his eyes back to mine, unreadable.
“I’m fine,” I say—but it comes out too fast, too forced.
He doesn’t call me on it. Doesn’t push.
Instead, his fingers curl gently around the back of my neck, grounding me. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, then leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead—firm, anchoring. A promise that I didn’t ask for, but need all the same.
But his eyes aren’t on me.
