A warning. They’re not going anywhere.
I drag my focus back to him, breathing through the tension coiled in my chest. Behind him, the rink buzzes with shouts and laughter, wheels clashing against the floor, air whistling with movement.
But here, between us? Silence.
The kind that presses down. The kind that feels like the whole damn world is holding its breath, waiting—will I walk away, or let him finally say whatever he’s been holding onto?
Landon exhales slow. His gaze traces over my face, steady, deliberate, as if he’s burning me into memory. As if he knows this might be the last time he gets to see me at all.
And fuck, that hurts.
But he doesn’t let it show, not in a way that begs. Not in a way that pleads. Instead, he smiles. Soft. Resigned.
“I can tell,” he says, voice steady, but there’s something raw just beneath it. Something breaking.
My stomach tightens. “Tell what?”
His lips twitch at my half-hearted deflection. We both know what he means.
“That you moved on for real,” he answers simply. No accusation. No bitterness. Just… acceptance. And it guts me.
I don’t correct him. I should.
I should tell him that my heart is a mess of contradictions, that I don’t know how to feel, that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. But I don’t. Because he’s giving me an out. A clean break. Even if it’s tearing him apart.
He rubs the back of his neck, breath slipping out rough, like it’s been trapped in his ribs for days. Maybe longer.
“Good,” he says. “You deserve that.”
I stare at him. His voice doesn’t waver. Not once. The regret is there—thick, heavy—but he’s already making peace with it.
“I never wanted to hurt you, Willow.” His head shakes, a sad smile barely there, gone as quick as it comes. “But I did. And now I don’t get to ask you for anything. Not after everything.”
My chest tightens, sharp and unrelenting.
“I’m happy for you,” he adds, voice softer, the words rough-edged, torn from someplace that hurts. “Really.”
My throat closes up. He tilts his head slightly, studying me, something almost wistful in his expression.
“I just…” His fingers twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t reach for me. “I had to come. I needed to see you with my own eyes to know that you were okay after…” he clears his throat, then continues, “after the bond broke.”
My lips twist, and I chew on the inside of my cheek as sadness washes over me. That explains him coming to New York and trying to talk to me, but it doesn’t explain him volunteering to help coach us for Nationals.
“And this?” I gesture around us at the roller rink.
“Derby means a lot to you. If I can help bring you happiness in any way, I want to do it.”
“You could leave…” I don’t mean it. Not really. It’s stupid, but I’m pretty sure my heart froze at even the suggestion that he walks away now.
He nods slowly and glances away. “Yeah.”
My stomach drops, but the only indication is the curling of my fingers into my palms.
“Or I could stay and help you win Nationals. You have natural talent, and with my help your team will be evenbetter than it is now. Which is pretty amazing. Honestly, you could probably win without my help.”
My eyes drop to his skates. We could. But there are things we could each work on, too. “Coach Crusher seems to think we need you.”
He huffs a quiet laugh and squeezes the back of his neck. “I’m not so sure about that. I think she was going to kick me out when I first approached her.”
