“Style? Babe, this is how celebrities arrive to rehab,” she mutters. “I’m expecting paparazzi and complimentary robes.”
I snort, trying not to laugh too hard. Across from me, Carson and Hunter are already sprawled out, already claiming their space. Graham drops into the seat next to me, his hand settling on my thigh. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles into the denim.
Landon and Coach Crusher are the last to board, and I try not to watch as he slides his duffel into the overhead bin. His muscles flex beneath his shirt, and for a second, I forget to breathe. Then he turns, and our eyes meet—just for a heartbeat. It’s enough to make my stomach twist.
I look away, chewing the inside of my cheek, hyper-aware of the hand on my thigh and the way Graham’s thumb is still tracing slow, steady circles.
“Wow,” Daisy says under her breath, following my gaze. “He’s still got that tragic ex-boyfriend jawline, huh?”
I groan. “Can we not?”
Twinkle leans in. “Don’t worry, we’ve all agreed, if he so much as breathes wrong near you, we’ll throw him out the emergency exit. Gently. Probably.”
“Definitely not gently,” Cheese mutters, cracking her knuckles for emphasis.
Daisy leans across the aisle, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Tell me we don’t have to like him now.”
“He’s not that bad,” I murmur. “You might want to save the pitchforks for someone else.”
She huffs, but there’s no heat in it. “Fine. But I’m still giving him the stink eye. Just in case.”
Cheese pipes up from a few rows back. “We get free snacks, legroom, and espresso. I say we table all man-drama until after Nationals.”
Knox raises a hand, agreeing with her. “Seconded.”
“Motion passed,” Twinkle calls from the back. “Now, someone tell me if these seats recline. I plan to nap like the elite.”
The tension eases a little as laughter bubbles up around me, but my chest still feels tight. There’s too much to feel and not enough time to sort through any of it. So I focus on the hum of the engines and the quiet weight of the hand on my leg.
CHAPTER 72
Hunter
The cabin’s quiet now.Conversation faded. Most of the team is half-asleep or pretending to be.
Except her.
Willow’s angled toward the window, but I know she’s not really looking at the sky. Her attention’s behind her, on Landon. I can feel it in the air between them, a tension that is almost bleeding between them. It makes me antsy, and I want to fix it.
He’s seated a few rows back, alone, shoulders drawn tight, trying to take up less space than he used to. Like he knows his presence is a risk.
I watch for another beat, then push to my feet and head toward the rear of the plane.
He doesn’t react when I approach. Just lifts his head, eyes cautious, even if his posture is tired.
“You got a second?” I ask.
His jaw moves, grinding down a response, then he nods. Stands. Follows me into the back galley without a word.
It’s narrow and dim, humming with that soft pressurizedsilence only private jets have. He leans a shoulder against the bulkhead and waits.
I lean back against the opposite wall, arms crossed. “You planning on breaking her again?”
His eyes flash. Not angry, just resigned. “No.”
“Then help me understand what this is.” I gesture at him and back toward Willow.
I know how I feel about her, what she means to me. So I can only imagine how it must feel being her scent match. He messed up—but he’s not the same kind of man my mom’s ex was. If he were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
