Then he steps close enough to press his fingers to my wrist, checking my pulse. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “Tell us what you need.”
I blink against the sudden pressure building behind my eyes.
They’re all here. And none of them are arguing.
Carson strokes my hair again. “Let Hunter carry you to the edge, yeah? Just for a breather.”
Landon looks to me, his hold still gentle, like I might shatter, and his voice drops low. “Just say the word, Willow.”
“I’m okay, I promise,” I say.
“Your adrenaline is probably blocking out most of the pain,” Graham replies.
“I’m good,” I say again. “My ribs are just bruised.”
“We should probably have that confirmed by a doctor,” Hunter says.
The other four chime in to agree with him, and I roll my eyes. I never thought I’d be in this position with one alpha, let alone a whole pack of them, and a beta.
“Okay, just to make you five happy, I’ll get checked out. But when they tell me it’s just a bruise, we are celebrating.”
Carson grins. “Oh, we’re celebrating either way. You just bought yourself a night of very aggressive pampering, peaches.”
CHAPTER 79
Graham
Willow wincesas she’s helped onto the padded table in the on-site med room, and it takes everything in me not to scoop her up and carry her the hell out of here. Somewhere quieter. Gentler. Somewhere the lights aren’t this harsh, and she’s not putting on a brave face for the rest of us.
Landon’s already at her side. He carried her in, jaw tight and eyes stormy, as if he was ready to take on the whole damn opposing team for what happened on that track. Now he stands just to her left, arms crossed, tension humming off him. He doesn’t say much, just keeps watching her. Watching us, trying to figure out if he still belongs here.
Hunter is near her right, arms crossed too, but it’s different. Controlled. Focused. His attention is on the medic, tracking every movement like he’s ready to intervene if the guy so much as breathes wrong.
Carson's already found a stool and parked himself beside her, hand locked with hers. “Tell me again that you’re fine and I’ll eat your helmet,” he mutters, dry and affectionate.
Willow grins, wincing slightly. “Would pay to see that.”
Finn doesn’t speak, but he’s not far—leaning against thewall, camera around his neck. His fingers flex as though he wants to snap a photo but knows better. The intensity in his eyes is borderline dangerous, memorizing every second just in case.
Me? I’m trying not to growl.
Trying not to replay the moment she went down. The way she clutched her ribs. The fact that she skated the whole damn second half in obvious pain.
The medic presses gently along her side, and she flinches, her breath catching.
“Shit,” Landon mutters under his breath, his stance tightening.
Hunter shifts forward. So do I.
“Sorry,” the guy mutters. “Definitely some bruising. Could be a hairline fracture. You’ll need imaging to be sure, but she shouldn’t skate or train for a while. Rest. Ice. Pain management.”
Willow nods like he just told her to stretch after a run.
“She’ll rest,” I say firmly before she can argue. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Carson squeezes her hand. “And if we have to tape her to the couch? So be it.”
“You’d enjoy that too much,” she mutters, but she’s smiling.
