Lou’s green eyes flick to me. “Should we go back to our hotel instead?”
I shake my head. “You can drop us off at the airport if you don’t want to make the drive this late, but I need to get her home.”
I need to get her off this beach and as far away from Parker as possible. I need to get her into my bed and into my arms, and I need her to be where she feels safest when she wakes up tomorrow morning. I can’t explain the instinct, the urgency in it, but something in meknowsthat she won’t feel okay again until she’s back in Pacific Shores.
“Of course not,” Lou says. “We’re going to take Willow home if that’s what she needs.”
Liv and Zander both nod in agreement before the three of them slowly head in the direction of the parking lot.
As I make my way toward Willow, I pull off the hoodie I put on after the competition. Reaching her, I squat down behind her, gently placing the sweatshirt over her shoulders. “Willow, love. We’re going to go home, baby.”
She doesn’t respond, but her entire body trembles beneath my touch.
“C’mon, Wills. Please.” I slowly slip my hands beneath her arms, and thankfully, she works with me to lift off the ground. I tuck her beneath my shoulder, walking her toward the parking lot. “That’s my girl. Let’s get you home.”
She’s still crying, but it’s a soft, continual type of sorrow rather than the violent sobs she was letting out when she ran from Parker earlier. I’m honestly not sure what’s worse.
I kiss her forehead. “I have you, love.”
“I ruined your competition,” she whispers brokenly.
“Don’t take responsibility for his actions, Willow. You didn’t ask for that to happen. You didn’t initiate it. You didn’t ruin anything. I still won.” I smile into her hair as we walk. “I’ll show you the check when we get to the car. It’s fucking ridiculous.”
She doesn’t laugh, and my chest splits open when she murmurs, “I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Willow. You did nothing wrong.”
“I . . .”
I hush her, kissing the top of her head again. “I want to get you home right now. We can talk about it tomorrow, but know that you have nothing to fear when it comes to me, all right?” Echoing what she said to me yesterday, I add, “I’m going to hold you through it.”
She sighs, and I can’t tell if it’s in relief or devastation, but she doesn’t say more as we find the rest of her family. I help her into the car, and outside of soft murmured greetings, we don’t speak.
We drive through the night back to Pacific Shores in silence.
CHAPTER 37
WILLOW
“Willow, love,” Weston whispers into my hair. “We’re home now.” Kissing me gently, he opens the car door, and cool ocean air breezes over my skin.
I slept on him for the return back to Pacific Shores, though sleeping would put it generously. I lay with my eyes closed, biting my tongue to halt my tears, pretending I’d slipped out of consciousness to avoid anyone asking me about what happened, or how I was feeling.
I didn’t want to be asked because I don’t know the answer. I’m somehow numb and torn to shreds at the same time. I didn’t want to talk about it because Weston is owed an explanation, and that’s not a conversation that needs to happen in a group setting.
I think Weston knew I was awake. I know the difference in his breathing between sleep and wake, and I think he understands me on that level too, but he never pressed. He stroked my hair, whispered quiet reassurances against my cheeks, kept his hold solid and steady.
I slowly sit up in the middle seat as Weston reaches across to unbuckle me. Swallowing hard, I lift my head and blink,adjusting to the low light of Livia’s dashboard. She watches me with curious concern in the rearview mirror as Lou spins in the front to face me head-on. Zander sleeps soundly beside me.
“We’re going to stay with my parents before we head back to Costa Mesa in the evening. We’ll check in later after everyone has had some rest, okay?”
I nod, murmuring my gratitude as I slip out of the truck and shut the door behind me. Weston stumbles up onto the curb, holding both of our bags and his massive check. I wordlessly take my duffle from him, and before he can protest, I sling it around my shoulder and head up the driveway.
“Your bed or mine tonight, love?” Weston asks from behind me.
I pause, I don’t know how to answer.
This moment feels painfully reminiscent of when I came home all those months ago. I’m running away from Parker and his death-tipped words once again. Climbing the stairs of my childhood home and crawling beneath the sheets of my girlhood bed is too familiar a heartbreak, but sleeping beside Weston when I have so much left to explain doesn’t feel right either.
