Page 141 of Secret Obsession
Once I’ve caught my breath, I shake my hair out of my face and slide my helmet on. Then gloves. Checking my gear, my straps, my pads. Everything is okay, so I stand. I retrieve my stick, which somehow got knocked clear away.
Focus.
Head back in the game.
And for once, I’m glad that Willow didn’t have to see that.
43
VIOLET
The front door of Willow’s family house is unlocked. Aspen and I let ourselves in, and we find Willow in her room, buried under a mountain of blankets. There’s just a bit of her wet hair peeking out and the corner of her temple. One eye, that’s open and staring at us.
“Hey,” I call, stepping into the dark room.
I know it by heart—almost as well as my childhood home. I spent probably more time here than my house. Which is why I don’t fumble on my way to the lamp on her nightstand, and I find the little dial on the first try.
Warm light illuminates the room. She winces.
My heart hurts for her.
I pull the covers up and crawl into bed, wrapping my arms around her.
“I’ve been a bad friend,” I whisper. “I’ve been distracted, and not sympathetic enough—”
She buries her face in my chest and bursts into tears.
“I’m going to see if there’s stuff to make dinner,” Aspen says quietly, still in the doorway. She retreats, leaving us alone.
I let her cry for a while, then say, “I’m sorry, Willow.”
“It’s not your fault.” She sniffs and withdraws. Her cheeks are streaked with tears that she hastily swipes away. “I came back here and sulked for three weeks, and then I spent a week learning how to pretend to be okay.”
“Still.”
I missed the red flags flashing in my face and told myself that she was just being some louder version of herself. Acting out because of her devastating breakup with Knox. Drinking more, sure, or partying harder. Nothing wrong with that… until it becomes a problem.
And I didn’t see it.
I almost killed Grey that night. He knew about the freaking bet and said absolutely nothing to me. I could’ve warned my best friend, and instead, we got a front-row seat to her humiliation.
“Why did you run away?”
She reaches behind her and grabs a pack of tissues, dabbing at her eyes and blowing her nose. She stares at the ceiling and lets out a huff. “He said he loved me.”
“Loved? Past tense?”
Her head turns, her gaze landing on mine. “I told him I’d never love him. So… yeah, pretty sure it’s past tense.”
I snort. “Willow.”
“What?”
“You say you haven’t experienced love but grew up surrounded by it. Your parents just didn’ttellyou.”
She frowns.
I sit up and pull her up, too. “Okay. So, your parents liked to enroll you in summer camp. The math one. And that one year, you had a panic attack and they picked you up and took you home for the weekend.”
