I swallow hard, eyes locked on the stark contrast of his dark hand against my pale thigh. It’s balance. Perfect. And my pulse stutters at the sight of it.
His purr rolls on, low and warm, wrapping around me, pulling me in. It makes me want to lean closer, erase the space between us, give in to the pull I shouldn’t want.
The sound cuts off.
Hunter’s body tenses beneath my hands, his fingers twitching against my skin before going still. The shift in theair is instantaneous. A sharp edge slices through the warm, intimate moment, replacing it with something colder.
Then I hear it, the unmistakable glide of wheels on the floor.
Landon.
His scent reaches me before I even see him. Fresh laundry and cedar, clean and crisp and painfully familiar. A scent I once associated with comfort now feels like an unwanted intrusion.
My stomach tightens as Hunter growls, deep and feral, the sound vibrating through his chest and into me through his fingers. A second later, he’s moving, shifting so that his broad body is between me and Landon.
A wall. A shield.
Before I can even process it, Carson and Graham are there too, a solid formation of muscle and silent, unyielding fury. I barely catch a glimpse of Landon’s face through the gaps between their shoulders, but I can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.
“No,” Hunter bites out, his voice vibrating with a warning. “Back. Off.”
Landon doesn’t.
“You can’t keep me away from her,” he growls, his skates stopping just short of the line they’ve drawn.
“No?” Graham steps forward, tilting his head slightly, gray eyes flashing. “Try us.”
The air crackles.
Landon’s jaw ticks, his fists clenching at his sides, but he doesn’t move. Hunter shifts slightly, his stance widening, his scent thickening, wrapping around me. Carson’s lip curls just slightly, the challenge written all over his face.
And fuck, why is this hot?
Not the fight. Not Landon standing his ground. The guys.
Their growls. Their protection. The way they’re willing to go toe-to-toe with my scent match without hesitation.
I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t want this. But I do. My body reacts before I can stop it, warmth licking up my spine, my breath catching as I shift on the bench.
Hunter growls again, and I swear it’s lower now, darker.
My pulse skitters.
Landon’s gaze flickers past them, locking on me, his eyes searching. “Willow?—”
Hunter moves an inch closer, shoulders squared, muscles coiled tight. “Not. Another. Step.”
Another layer of tension thickens between them, the rink silent except for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
Landon doesn't rise to the bait. His jaw tightens, but his eyes stay on me, softer than I expect.
"I'm not here to fight," he says, ignoring the other three completely. “I’m here for you.”
Hunter shifts even closer at those words, his stance going dangerous.
But Landon still doesn’t acknowledge them. Just me.
“I know nationals are coming up,” he continues, quieter now, gentler. “And I know how much it means to you. That’s why I took this job.”
