Knot Today: Hiddenverse, page 42
Hunter’s shirt is inside out. And he smooths his fingers over it, messing with the tag on the side. Graham steps into the hallway first, our silent protector with rumpled sweats and sleep-kissed eyes.
I follow him, still warm in the center of my chest from everything that just happened. Everything that’s changing. Carson and Finn are bickering behind me, Hunter yawning so wide it makes me laugh.
And then we see him.
Landon. And my heart skips a beat. He’s standing just a few feet down the hall, room key in hand, ready to enter his room.
He stops.
His gaze lands on Graham first—then Carson, then Hunter—each one clearly part of this. Part of me. And then it finds Finn, trailing behind them, hair messy, shirtless, a bruise blooming at the base of his throat that I definitely didn’t put there with my mouth, so it must have been one of the guys.
His eyes finally land on me.
I feel the air shift. Just slightly. But it’s enough. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t frown. Doesn’t say anything.
But I see it. The flicker of disappointment. The knowledge that we almost kissed last night, and this morning, I’m leaving my hotel room with not only my pack but my stalker too. My chest hurts, like I’ve betrayed him, which doesn’t make any sense. Is this how he felt when he kissed someone else to push me away?
I did a hell of a lot more than kiss someone else. Under different circumstances, of course, but it still hurts.
His jaw ticks, just once, and he gives a small nod, accepting something he wasn’t quite ready to admit until now. Then he turns, sliding his keycard into the door to his room. He disappears before I can open my mouth and say anything.
Graham threads his fingers through mine and squeezes. “You okay?”
I swallow. Nod. But the words won’t come.
I’m not okay.
And if Landon leaves—really leaves—I’m not sure I’ll ever be.
Graham stops me, turning me toward him and cupping my face. “Don’t lie to us.”
My lower lip trembles. I blink away the sudden burn behind my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt him. And I think… seeing us just now did.”
“It’s because he thinks he lost his chance,” Finn says, pulling our attention to him. “I’ve been watching him.” He shrugs. “It’s kind of what I do. Had to know who he was, if he was gonna be hanging around you.”
He hesitates, eyes softer now. “He’s in love with you. And if he took photos like me, you’d be all over his walls too.”
Hunter chuckles, shaking his head like he can’t believe Finn just admitted that out loud. Carson ruffles Finn’s hair with something close to affection. Graham nods.
“He’s right.”
“Of course I am,” Finn says, a little too smug.
Graham’s nostrils flare—fire sparking in his gaze. If we were still in the room, I have a feeling Finn would be face down, getting reminded who’s in charge.
“You’ll get used to it, alpha,” Finn adds sweetly.
They hold a look that simmers with heat and warning before Hunter breaks the tension.
“You want me to knock on the door? Set things straight?”
I shake my head; I’m not sure that would do more than push him further away. “No. Let’s focus on winning Nationals. My team will hate me if I screw this up over boy-drama, as they call it.”
But I glance back at Landon’s door anyway. Quiet. Closed.
Not forever, though.
“After we win,” I say softly. “I’ll talk to him. Really talk to him.”
Finn watches me, unreadable for a second, before his voice cuts through the space between us.
“You should,” he says softly. “If you don’t, it’ll haunt you.”
The words settle heavily in my chest. Because he’s right.
Carson arches a brow. “You sure he’ll want to listen?”
“I think he’s been waiting for me to say something for a long time,” I admit. “And I finally know what I want to say.”
Graham threads his fingers through mine again. “We’ve got your back. Whatever comes next.”
Hunter presses a kiss to my temple, murmuring, “Let’s win this first.”
Some things have to wait. But not forever.
CHAPTER 77
Landon
The derby track is alive as Willow and her team complete warm-ups.
Music pulses through the stadium, skates squeak against polished concrete, and the sound of laughter and shouting bounces off the rafters. But I only hear her.
Willow.
Pink hair piled on her head in a messy twist, her skates cutting smooth, deliberate curves into the track. She’s in the zone, eyes narrowed, body fluid with focus and strength—and even surrounded by her teammates, she somehow looks completely alone.
I’ve done everything I can to help her and her team be amazing today. And after today, it’s over…I no longer have an excuse to see her daily. My stomach twists. Sure, they will still practice, maybe not as often in the off-season, but they won’t need me.
She comes around the curve, her eyes meeting mine briefly, and I feel it everywhere. I am so in love with her it hurts. It’s just a second.
Barely enough time to breathe. Her expression is unreadable—maybe a flicker of surprise, maybe something softer—but she doesn’t smile. And then she’s gone again, pulled back into movement and motion and the chaos of the start of Nationals.
I exhale slowly, fingers curling tighter around the lanyard at my neck. I’ve got my staff pass. My VIP access. I’ve got the seat my sister demanded I accept so I could "finally stop sulking and go support the girl I’m in love with."
But I don’t have her.
And after this morning, I’m not sure I ever will.
The image flashes again behind my eyes—Willow stepping out of that hotel room, Graham leading her, with Hunter on her other side and Carson and her stalker bringing up the rear. The beta stalker, the same one who threatened me with that smug little smile. Standing close enough to her that there was no mistaking it. She let him in. It was obvious by how relaxed they all were. She might have washed off their scents in the shower that left her hair damp, but I could still smell everything from where I was standing.
I don’t know what happened after I left her at the hot tub. I don’t need details to know it was everything I used to have with her—and more.
And still, I can’t shake the hope. Pathetic, but there. Because last night, when we almost kissed, she looked at me as if I wasn’t a mistake. Like she still felt something real. Like I mattered.
That has to count for something. Doesn’t it?
My chest tightens as she rounds the curve again, laughing now as Twinkle shoves her playfully. Her body is fluid, gorgeous, effortless. And even though it’s not my place anymore, I can’t help wondering what kind of night she had. How she ended up in that bed. What it meant.
If she regrets it.
If she regrets me.
The announcer’s voice booms over the intercom, calling the teams into position.
I sink into my seat just behind their bench, close enough to hear their chatter, to catch the edge of Daisy’s encouragement and Knox’s trash talk. I’m not coaching tonight—that job’s not mine today—but I’m still with them. My spot might be unofficial, but it’s with them. Not apart. Not on the sidelines.
Because I said I’d see this through.
Even if every second near Willow feels exactly like a slow bleed I can’t stop.
She’s got work to do.
And I’ve got answers to find. Not right this second, but soon. Because some part of me still believes there’s a version of the story where I don’t lose her twice.
Daisy glances back, catching my eye. Her expression is unreadable for half a beat, and then she gives a small nod. It’s enough.
Because she’s Willow’s best friend. If she’s not icing me out, then maybe there’s still a thread worth holding onto.
The whistle blows. The teams roll forward, the crowd roaring around us, and Nationals begin.
It’s brutal from the start. Fast, aggressive. Their opponents are relentless, blocking hard, skating dirty. Willow takes a hit early that sends her staggering, and I half-rise from my seat before I catch myself. She’s up again in a blink, shaking it off as though it didn’t even register—but I saw her wince. It felt like a sucker punch to my gut.
She weaves, ducks, pushes harder.
Another round. Another hit.
She goes down again.
And this time, she stays down just a second too long.
My body moves on instinct, standing fully now, fists clenched at my sides. I hear Daisy shout her name, Knox closing in, offering a hand. Willow waves them off, getting to her feet, jaw set, shoulders squared.
She’s not quitting.
My heart’s a mess, pounding with every pivot of her skates, every breath she sucks in between gritted teeth. I might not be on the bench. Might not be calling shots. But I’m still with them.
Still with her.
The first half is brutal.
The other team came to win, and they’re skating like it—fast, ruthless, tactical. They’ve got the height, the strength, the strategy. Our girls are fast, scrappy, and skilled, but even the best get knocked around when the rules blur.
Twinkle takes a hard shoulder to the boards.
Daisy goes down on a whip and limps off the track.
And Willow—fuck, Willow gets hit straight in the ribs by a blocker twice her size. She doesn’t stay down, but the way she hunches forward, just for a second, has my gut twisting.
When the halftime whistle blows, we’re behind by double digits. The crowd’s loud, but the bench is quiet. Winded. Bruised.
I don’t wait for permission.
I step through the staff gate and follow them into the locker room.
Coach Crusher is already rallying. “We’re not out. You hear me? They came out strong, but they’re getting cocky, leaving gaps. You’re not here because of luck. You’re here because you earned it.”
Daisy mutters something under her breath about needing oxygen and a new hip.
Twinkle throws her a bottle of water.
Coach keeps going. “We know how to fight. And that’s what we’re going to do in the second half. Grind. Every point. Every block. Play smart, not just fast. They don’t know how much heart this team has.”
The girls murmur, shifting, nodding. I can see it building again, that thread of belief.
When Crusher pauses to take a drink, I move.
Straight to Willow.
She’s leaned against the wall, stretching her thigh as though it’s no big deal that she’s probably hiding a cracked rib.
“You took a nasty hit out there,” I say, voice low so it doesn’t carry.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re holding your side.”
“It’s just sore.”
“Let me check, Will.”
She straightens up, clearly ready to brush me off, but I take a step closer. “Please. Just let me make sure it’s not fractured. Skating through pain like that isn’t tough—it’s dangerous. Especially with how dirty they’re playing.”
She hesitates.
I soften my voice. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re the strongest person I know. But I’ve seen careers end on a second half like this.”
Her eyes flash with frustration. But not at me. At the idea of slowing down. Of being told no.
She finally lifts her shirt just a little, turning slightly.
My breath catches.
Angry bruising is already forming. A deep purple spreading across her left side.
I press my fingers gently against the edge of the bruise. “Does that hurt?”
She flinches but shakes her head. Liar.
“Willow.”
She meets my gaze. “I’m not sitting this out, Landon. Not when we’re this close. I can rest tomorrow. I can ache tomorrow. But tonight, I skate.”
I swallow the knot in my throat and nod slowly.
Because I know that look in her eyes. She’s not backing down. But I’m not backing off either.
“Then promise me something.”
“What?”
“You’ll play smart. If it gets worse, you come off the track. You don’t push past the pain until it becomes permanent. Don’t make me watch you fall and not be able to catch you.”
Her expression softens just enough to steal my breath.
“I promise,” she says. “Now go sit down before Coach yells at you.”
I give her a long look, memorizing the stubborn set of her jaw, the spark behind her pain, the way she always looks ready to burn the world down if it stands in her way.
She’s not mine.
But I still love her.
And if this is the only way I get to stand beside her—off the track, on the sidelines, watching her rise—I’ll take it.
“Go get ’em, Jinx,” I say, voice just loud enough for her and maybe Daisy to hear.
Her mouth curves into the smallest smile.
Then she turns, grabs her helmet, and skates toward the team, toward whatever comes next.
I don’t move right away. Just watch her go. And Coach Crusher continues to rally them.
CHAPTER 78
Willow
The whistle blows, sharp and piercing, slicing through the roar of the crowd—and I take off as if fire is raging behind me.
Second half. New energy.
My ribs ache with every breath, but I push it down. I’ve skated through worse. Maybe not physically, but emotionally? This is nothing. Pain reminds me I’m still here. Still fighting.
I duck low and weave between blockers, eyes locked on the opposing jammer. She’s fast, but I’m faster. I always have been. My body remembers what to do, even when my lungs scream and my bruised ribs throb with every pivot.
I cut inside just as two blockers collapse toward me. One clips my elbow, but I stay upright, in bounds, clean. No whistle.
Then I’m past them.
The ref’s arm shoots into the air. The crowd erupts.
Lead jammer.
My heart pounds as I come around the curve, lungs burning, legs aching—but I push harder. I slice through their wall on the scoring pass, hips swiveling as I duck and twist between shoulders and swinging arms.
The announcer’s voice is lost in the chaos, but I hear Twinkle’s holler and Daisy’s scream of victory behind me as I break through the pack. I glance up just long enough to see Finn in the front row, camera raised, eyes glued to me. His expression is intense—like he’s starving and I’m the only thing in focus through his lens.
Just behind him, my pack is a wall of motion and noise. Hunter stands with his arms crossed and a grin that tugs at my heart. Carson’s up on the seat, yelling as if we’ve already won. Graham’s gaze stays locked on me. Unshakable.
And then there’s Landon.
He’s not shouting. Not smiling. Just watching as though I’m the only player on the track. Like I’m the only thing in the world. My chest squeezes, and it’s not just the bruising. It’s him. It’s the fact that I see every emotion he won’t say out loud burning behind his eyes.
I don’t have time to think about it. Not when the other team closes in again and I have to throw my weight against blockers twice my size just to earn a few more points.
One. Two. Three points.
Twinkle’s voice rings from the sideline—“Call it, Jinx!”
I tap both hands to my hips. Once, twice.
The whistle blows. The jam ends.
I skate back, breath ragged, and Twinkle nudges me toward the bench with a knowing grin. “Tag out, babe. Hydrate before you pass out on me.”
I nod, grateful, and let her take the jammer star from my helmet. My legs are jelly as I slump onto the bench and grab a water bottle. The whole team is buzzing now—tired but excited. We’ve found our rhythm. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.
Coach Crusher paces in front of us, barking praise and strategy. Daisy’s bouncing in place. Knox is still bleeding a little from a split lip but grinning like a lunatic.
I look back toward the VIP section, bottle still in hand. Finn lowers his camera and winks. Hunter blows me a kiss. Graham meets my eyes, seeing straight through the exhaustion, and I can tell he wants nothing more than to carry me away from here so I can rest. Carson mouths something obscene that makes me laugh.
And Landon…Landon doesn’t look away.
My ribs might be on fire, but I’ve never felt stronger.
This is our game now.
And we’re not giving it up.
The next few jams blur into muscle memory and grit. Twinkle takes over for two brutal runs, then I’m back in. Over and over, we trade places like synced machines, reading each other’s cues, anticipating every block and opening. The other team is relentless—fast, heavy hitters with brutal shoulder checks—but we’ve been training for this. Bleeding for it.
Every time I go down, I get back up. My ribs hurt, but I keep skating. Keep scoring. Keep pushing.
Because we are not losing this.
By the last jam, the score is tight. Two points. One final round to close it out. Coach Crusher is yelling from the sidelines. Twinkle and I nod at each other, and then we’re off again.
I find the gap. Burst through it. My team peels back the blockers like they’re opening a door just for me. I duck low, explode forward, every muscle screaming in protest—but I don’t stop.
The crowd is on their feet.
My skates hit the straightaway, and I pass the last opponent with one final surge of speed. The whistle blows. Points tallied.
We win.
The scoreboard flips. Our team’s name lights up, and for a second, I coast on the track, my heart pounding in my chest.
Then the roar of the stadium hits me.
My team swarms me. Twinkle tackles me into a hug, both of us laughing and sobbing at the same time. Daisy’s shrieking, hoisting her arms in the air. Arms wrap around me, people shouting my name, hugging me, crying, spinning.
We did it.
