She blinked, the clouds in her gaze clearing. She sat up suddenly, pushing my hand away and wrenching her dress up over her breasts. “I’m fine,” she whispered, sliding down from the dresser. Her knees buckled as her feet hit the floor and I hurried to grab her. Again, she pushed me away.
“I said, I’m fine,” she bit out.
“Willow,” I growled. “What the fuck—”
“No, don’t.Please don’t,” she rushed to say, her voice cracking. “I’m fine.” Throat bobbing, her eyes filled with tears. Her hand moved to her mouth, crushing a cross between a gasp and sob, and then she was racing across the room and slamming the bathroom door shut behind her.
“Fuck,” I muttered, pulling my jeans up. Kicking a pathway through the mess we’d made, I twisted the bathroom doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. Willow, who’d been sitting on the toilet with her face buried in her hands, jumped up in surprise. “What are you doing—get out!”
I flinched at her tone, my back stiffening. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing. I just need a minute. Can I have a fucking minute, please?”
“Bullshit. You think I don’t know you well enough to know when something’s wrong?”
“Know me?” Willow let out a hollow laugh. “Most days you can barely look at me, and now you think youknow me?”
She was dead wrong. I knew her—I knew everything there was to know about her. I knew that when she was staring up at the clouds, she was picking out the ones that most resembled her beloved Alice in Wonderland characters. I knew that whenever she was mad, she almost always swung first and asked questions later. That she was klutzy and accident prone and that her attitude was infuriating, and yet, despite everything, I’d wanted her for longer than I would ever admit to. But instead of saying any of those things, my thick-witted mouth chose to blurt, “I know you well enough to know that you’ve never hid in a bathroom after fucking my brother.”
Willow’s mouth fell open and she staggered back as if I’d struck her. Freezing as I realized the extent of my own stupidity, I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could eat my words.
Willow recovered first, charging at me. “Move!” she screamed, shoving me. “Let me out of here!”
“I didn’t mean that,” I gritted out, ducking as her hand came flying at my face. “Willow—do you fucking hear me—I didn’t mean that!”
Dodging her hands, I caught her around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides. Pushing her up against the wall, I caged her body with mine. “Stop,” I rasped. “Willow, I didn’t mean it—please stop.”
It was minutes before she calmed, though it felt infinitely longer as she continued twisting and thrashing and calling me a colorful variety of names before eventually slumping in my arms. I folded with her, bringing us both to the floor, keeping her close.
“Oh my fucking god…” Her voice was strangled. “Logan, how could we do that to him… again?”
Again.
Again.
She finally admitted it.
She finally admitted it.
After all these years, without Willow ever having acknowledged what had happened between us, without her even alluding to it happening, I’d begun to doubt my own mind, wondering if it had been only a dream, or a hallucination brought on by stress or hunger, or both. Or that maybe, out of sheer fucking loneliness, I’d simply imagined it.
But, no, I hadn’t imagined it.
It had happened.
We had happened.
