His words slam into my chest. Like a goddamn freight train.
“We promised her father we would protect her,” I grit out. “What happens if we back out now? Who does he put in our place?”
Graham drags a hand down his face. “Someone who isn’t getting hard every time she looks at him.”
Carson exhales a laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “That a confession, boss?”
Graham glares. “Shut the hell up, Carson.”
Carson shrugs, pushing off the couch, his amusement still edged with something else. The muscle in his jaw jumps, his gaze darkening as it pins me in place.
“Look, I get it,” he says, all the teasing gone. “She’s under our skin. And it’s not just you.” His lips press together, before he sighs. “But Graham’s right. We’re walking a thin fucking line here.”
Silence settles between us, thick and suffocating. Graham folds his arms, watching me. Waiting.
I clench my fists. Refusing to let go of this. I don’t care if I fucked up. I don’t care if I let things go too far.
What I do care about?
No one else is protecting her. And I’ll be damned if I let her go now.
“We’re not telling her father,” I say finally. “And we’re not stepping down.”
Graham’s expression hardens. “Hunter?—”
“No,” I cut him off, stepping closer, challenging. “Do you think anyone else is going to protect her like we will?”
Graham doesn’t answer. Because we all already know. No one else would die for her. We would.
Carson drags a hand through his hair, exhaling a long breath. “Well, damn.” He looks between us. “Guess we’re really in it now.”
Graham mutters a curse, running a hand down his face before pinning me with one final glare.
“This is the last fucking time, Hunter.”
I nod, even though we all know it’s a lie.
CHAPTER 22
Willow
I’m fine.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I lace up my skates, pretending the last few days haven’t happened. Pretending nothing has changed.
Because it hasn’t.
I’m still me. I still have a season to focus on.
And I’m still being shadowed by three overbearing alphas who don’t seem to understand the concept of personal space. Except when I’m practically begging one of them to knot me to make me forget. Then they know exactly what personal space is and give me plenty. I roll my eyes at the thought. I’m done with alphas anyway, why do I care?
I don’t.
I throw myself into practice, and it is the same as always—fast, brutal, exactly what I need. The girls laugh and joke the way they always do, the world steady for them even as it shifts beneath my feet, and for the first time since this whole nightmare started, I breathe.
Until I catch movement at the edge of the rink.
Hunter.
