Page 128 of Play Pretend

We looked happy.

I shifted the screen for Willow to see, and she grinned, though it didn’t meet her eyes. “I forgot we took that,” she murmured. “You look so good.”

“Me?” I snorted, staring at the photo. “Youlook incredible. Everyone’s lucky we weren’t late—that outfit you wore drove me insane.”

She rolled her eyes, a laugh slipping out, but it was laced with tension. Sunlight streamed in through the window, and the AC was on full blast, fighting the heat. A group of people loadedtheir suitcases into the trunk of the car in front of us, their laughter carrying to me through the windshield.

“It’ll be alright, sweetheart.” I slid my hand across the smooth leather of the bench seat and wrapped it around hers. It was clammy and shaky. Seeing her so nervous made my heart squeeze. “I’m right here. I’ll take care of you.”

“Thanks, Ro,” she whispered.

Her family should be out of the airport any minute now, and Willow was growing more and more anxious. She hadn’t said a word this morning as she got ready. She didn’t play music, or hum a little tune, or check on her plants. She didn’t do anything but silently sit on the floor in front of my floor-length mirror and put her makeup on, a sad, almost scared expression on her face.

No, not scared. Not sad. Defeated. She’d lookeddefeated, worn out. And they weren’t even here yet.

I set the photo to my screensaver before slipping my phone into my pocket. My fingers drummed against the steering wheel as I stared at the sliding glass doors. Willow’s knee bounced wildly, and she kept nibbling on her bottom lip, her eyes flitting from the door to the line of people waiting for their rides near us.

What could I say to make her feel better? What could I do to fix this? It felt out of my control, like she was free-falling, and I was helpless to do anything but watch. All I could do was hold her hand and hopefully help her land safely.

But that didn’t feel likeenough. She did so much for me, and I couldn’t protect her from feeling like this, from going through this. I wanted to take her out of this situation, away from this stress, protect her from the people causing her to feel like this.

“There they are,” she said, her voice shaky. Her chest rose as she took a deep, shuddering breath. “I can do this. It’ll be okay.”

I scanned the crowd of people, my heart slamming against my chest. “Remember. I’m on your side, baby,” I murmured. “I’m going to be right here the whole time.”

“I know.” Another deep breath. “I can do this. It’s only a few days.”

My gaze shifted back to her, finding her face pale and her eyes wide. She sounded like she was about to hyperventilate, and I rested my hand on the back of her neck. “Breathe for me, sweetheart.”

She forced air into her lungs as she reached for the door. I opened my mouth to tell her to take all the time she needed to compose herself, to catch her breath, but then, right before my eyes, her shoulders rolled back, and a smile filled her face.

It was fake, but you’d never know unless youknewher, and something told me that despite these people being her family they didn’t know her, and they wouldn’t care that her smile was fake.

She slipped from the truck, and I followed her lead. I rounded the truck, watching as she hesitantly approached a small group of people.

Her father was smaller than I thought he’d be. The way she talked about him, the fear and anxiety surrounding him, I was picturing someone huge. But he was half a foot shorter than me, and at least fifty pounds lighter. His light brown hair was combed neatly away from his clean-shaven face, and his button-down shirt and jeans were impeccable, not a wrinkle in sight.

Willow hugged him, and a tall, thin woman, almost taller than him, stood at his side, her hair bleach blonde and fried at the ends. She wore jeans that hit a few inches above her ankle with sandals and a blouse tucked into her pants.

Beside her was a young woman with dirty blonde hair gathered into a high ponytail. Her skin was tanned, and her clothes nearly as perfect as Willow’s fathers. She stared right at me, a sly grin curving her lips.

“I’m Vanessa,” she said, holding her hand out. Her silver jewelry jingled as she moved, and I stared at it before quickly taking it.

“Ronan. Willow’s boyfriend.”

Vanessa’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly as she slid her palm against mine. Her fingers felt more like claws as they wrapped around my hand, squeezing gently.

“Ro,” Willow called, and my gaze snapped to her as I dropped her stepsister’s hand. I had to resist the urge to wipe my palm down the front of my jeans. “This is my dad, Bill.” She turned and rested her hand on her stepmother’s shoulder. “And my stepmom, Lydia.”

With the way she was acting, no one would’ve ever known she’d been spiraling in the truck not even five minutes ago.

“Ronan,” I said, gripping her father’s hand. His hold on me tightened, as if he were trying to hurt me, and I nearly rolled my eyes.

He was one ofthosemen. The type who thought a firm, near-painful handshake somehow asserted dominance or showed that he was more manly, more masculine. I tugged my hand away, finally giving in and smoothing it down my jeans. All eyes were on me, but I didn’t care—all I cared about was Willow, her comfort, her safety. My gaze stayed on hers, gauging. Reading. Trying to figure out if she wanted me to tell everyone to get back on the plane and fly home.

“So, you’re the famous Rowan,” he said, his voice much lower and gruffer than I expected.

“Ronan,” Willow muttered.

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