I’m still breathless when I spot him, Landon, making his way onto the track, weaving through the chaos.
The second our eyes lock, the noise around me fades.
I push off, gliding across the track with a reckless kind of speed. I don’t think. I just move.
He sees me coming—braces slightly—and then I crash into him, laughing as he stumbles back a step but catches me anyway, strong arms wrapping around my waist to steady us both.
“I have wheels on my feet,” I gasp, breathless and giddy.
“I noticed,” he murmurs with a laugh.
And then I kiss him.
Hard.
Right there, in the middle of the track, with my team watching and the crowd screaming and the whole damn world spinning around us—I kiss him as if it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.
His fingers dig into my back, holding me close like he never wants to let go. When I finally pull back, chest heaving, the look on his face nearly undoes me.
And then he kisses me again.
Softer this time. Sweeter.
The chaos disappears. The victory fades.
All that’s left is us.
Until the familiar sound of wheels on polished concrete pulls me back to reality.
I turn slightly in Landon’s arms, still pressed to his chest, and there they are—Carson, Hunter, and Graham, pushing through the crowd of celebrating skaters with Finn right behind them, camera already in hand. His eyes shine with happiness. And he lifts the camera, taking a shot he was probably waiting for all night.
They stop just a few feet away. No one says a word.
Carson grins and flicks his gaze from me to Landon, then nudges Finn in the ribs playfully. Hunter’s arms are crossed, but there’s a softness around his mouth, a quiet acceptance in his eyes. Graham doesn’t flinch or scowl; he just nods once, subtle but solid. As though this was always part of the plan.
No jealousy. No possessiveness. Just understanding. Support.
Finn lifts his camera and takes a photo of me still in Landon’s arms. I shift, flinching from the pain in my ribcage, and all five of them notice.
I shift to glance over my shoulder—and pain slices through my ribs like a serrated knife. I suck in a breath and wince.
“Shit,” Landon says, immediately adjusting his hold on me as if I’m made of glass. “Willow, what—was that your ribs?”
Hunter is the first to step forward from the edge of the track. “She took a hard hit during the first half,” he says tightly, already scanning me with assessing eyes. “She’s been down more than once since then.”
“I’m fine,” I start, but Carson’s already at my side, pushing Landon’s arm just enough to get closer.
“Nope. I know that voice. That’s yourI’m pretendingI’m fine, but I’m definitely hurtingvoice,” Carson says, brushing sweaty hair from my temple. “You want to sit or be carried? Because those are your only two options right now, peaches.”
Graham doesn’t rush, but he’s suddenly just there, solid and steady at Landon’s shoulder. “Let me see her,” he says. “She should be off her feet.”
“I’ve got her,” Landon says, not quite ready to hand me over. His arms tighten protectively, but not possessively.
“I know you do,” Graham replies evenly. “But she’s ours to protect, too.”
Finn appears last, ducking around the side with that uncanny ability to move without sound. He doesn’t speak right away; he studies my face, eyes perceptive.
“You’re in pain,” he says flatly. “It’s in your eyes.”
