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WILLOW

B y the time Ari parks her car in the parking lot of Crestwood Arena, I’ve convinced myself I’m fine. Not good, not stable, but fine. It’s a lie I’ve been telling myself, but here we are.

Even though I deactivated my social media accounts days ago, I decided that deleting the apps themselves would also be wise. It wasn’t out of strength, but pure exhaustion, and I’ve told myself multiple times that I’m allowed to feel this way.

But that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is I’m about to surprise the guy I’ve been ducking for the last couple of days due to this situation.

He doesn’t deserve the way I’ve been acting and frankly, neither do I.

Shutting him out hasn’t been the best move, and I know I need to apologize for it, but with being overwhelmed with everything, I didn’t know what to do.

So here I am, even though I’m still a hot mess.

I pull my baseball hat down lower over my face and let Ari lead the way into the arena.

The event isn’t even technically open yet, but the Crestwood Red Wolves’ fan event already has a ton of volunteers and early bird superfans walking about.

All the tables are draped in red-and-white tablecloths with Red Wolves decor everywhere.

There’s a separate, smaller line off to the side that I assume is the table where the team will be signing their autographs for who knows how long.

No sign of Blaise or Knox yet. I scan the area twice just to be sure.

Ari glances back at me and I know she knows I’m freaking out. She’s wearing a sick pair of mirrored sunglasses, even though it’s cloudy and we’re inside. “You wanna check out the merch table first?”

“Nah, let’s just walk around,” I say, keeping my voice low. My heart isn’t up for merch or small talk. I want to keep moving, keep breathing, keep the momentum before I can start making up reasons to bail and go back to my dorm room.

We roam around the perimeter of the arena floor, past the concession stands and photo booths, until I catch sight of something that makes my blood freeze.

A microphone. Professional lighting. A camera setup that's too polished for a simple fan event.

And then I see him.

Leo.

He's positioned near the tunnel entrance, angled perfectly to capture both himself and the Red Wolves branding in the background.

His usual streaming setup, but mobile. Portable.

Strategic. He's talking animatedly to his camera, that practiced grin plastered across his face like he belongs here. Like he’s still getting that brand deal.

My shoulders lock. The pulse in my ears drowns out everything else. I can’t hear Ari's voice, the crowd noise, the music playing over the arena speakers anymore. Everything narrows to this single, brutal realization: He's here to film content so he can go viral.

Not to apologize. Not to make amends. He's weaponizing this event, using the Red Wolves' platform to rehabilitate his image.

To spin himself as the victim who's been wrongfully excluded from something that was “rightfully” his. And he’s doing it at my college, the place where I have to see many of these people day in and day out.

That’s when I’m finally able to admit to myself that I'm done letting him control the narrative. I don't think about what I’m going to do. I don't plan what I’m going to say. I just move.

I walk across the arena floor like I own this place. I’m not rushing or charging. I head toward him like I have every right to be here because I do. This is my school. My space. And he doesn't get to poison it with his performance.

The closer I get, the clearer his voice becomes. He's mid-sentence, gesturing toward his camera with the same fake-ass charisma that used to make me think he actually cared about something other than himself.

“I think it’s cool when teams do stuff like this. It gives fans a chance to actually meet the players and give back to the community. I’m glad I was able to come here today even after everything that has gone on the last few days.”

It’s then I realize not only is he trying to go viral, he’s trying to get on the Red Wolves’ good side to have them extend him another opportunity to do content with them. And that’s when I step into the frame.

Not beside him. Not behind him. Directly in front of his camera, cutting off his perfectly curated shot.

"Hi, Leo."

My voice is calm. Even. The kind of tone I use when I'm explaining something to Abue because she’s not as tech savvy as the rest of us.

He freezes mid-gesture, his practiced smile faltering for just a second before snapping back into place. "Willow. Hey." He tries to angle the camera away from me, but I move with him. "I'm actually in the middle of?—"

"I know exactly what you're in the middle of." I don't raise my voice. Don't need to. "You're in the middle of lying to your audience about why you're really here."

His laugh sounds forced. "Come on, don't be dramatic. I'm just here supporting the team?—"

"You're here because your deal got canceled." The words come out clean and sharp. "You're here because you need content to spin the narrative after your management leaked Lilly's name and mine to you, and you decided to weaponize your platform against us."

I watch his face change. The mask slips just enough for me to see the panic underneath.

"Look, I don't know what you think happened?—"

"I know exactly what happened." I take a step closer, and he actually backs up.

"You found out we came forward about what you did to us, and instead of taking accountability, you decided to paint us as bitter exes who can't move on.

You sent your followers after us without ever saying our names directly, but you let your management do it for you. Very smart. Very calculated."

His camera is still rolling. I can see the red light in my peripheral vision, but I don't look at it. Don't acknowledge the hundreds or thousands of people probably watching this live. My focus stays locked on him.

"That's not—you're twisting things?—"

"Am I?" I tilt my head slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're exactly where you've always been. Using your platform to tear down women who threaten your image. The only difference is now you're doing it in my space."

"Your space? This is a public event, Willow. You don't own?—"

"I go to school here. This is my campus. These are my people. You lost your deal with this team because of your own actions. Not because of anything Lilly or I did. We didn't ruin your career, Leo. You did."

“You’re overreacting?—”

“I’m overreacting?” I laugh because I can’t help it. My tone is sharp enough to draw blood without laying a finger on him. A few heads turn our way because of the commotion this is causing, but I don’t care.

Let them watch.

Let them hear.

"You want to know what's actually pathetic?

" I continue, my voice still perfectly level.

"It's being so threatened by women telling their truth that you have to send an army of strangers to attack them online.

It's standing here right now, trying to manipulate this situation into content for your brand. "

This is my opportunity to do what I should have done a long time ago.

When he adds nothing to the conversation, I keep going.

“I watched you twist the truth, spin it on stream, and call it healing. You’re not a victim.

You’re just an asshole with Wi-Fi who will do anything to protect his brand. Including ignoring what’s right.”

He reaches for me and I shove his hand away, hard. I don’t give him a chance to respond before I continue. “You didn’t break me. You broke the version of me that believed you could be better. Stream that.”

The crowd that has gathered around us has gone completely silent. I can feel dozens of eyes on us, phones probably recording from multiple angles, but all I see is Leo's face cycling through emotions, and I’m able to pinpoint anger, panic, calculation.

That's when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. Blaise appears at the edge of the crowd, but he doesn't rush forward. Doesn't push through to get between us. He just stands there, steady and still. I appreciate that he isn’t running in to save the day.

Leo's eyes flick to him, which I find interesting, and then back to me. "Look, this is getting out of hand?—"

"No," I cut him off. "What got out of hand was you thinking you could come to my campus and turn your consequences into content." I take another step forward, and this time he doesn't back away. "But you miscalculated something."

"What's that?"

"You thought I'd stay quiet. You thought I'd disappear like a good little victim and let you rewrite history." I feel something shift inside me, like a door I've kept locked finally swinging open. "But I'm done being quiet about who you really are."

That's when I hear Ari's voice from somewhere behind me. "Got it."

I turn slightly and see her lowering her phone, a satisfied expression on her face. She's been recording this entire exchange. So not only is this being streamed live, but if he tries to spin it, we have backup.

Perfection.

Leo's face goes white. "You can't?—"

"Actually, we can." Blaise speaks for the first time. "Public space, public event. No expectation of privacy when you're literally streaming to thousands of people."

Blaise pulls out his phone and looks at Ari. “Send me that clip and I'll post this after the event. Between my followers and the rest of the team's social media reach, it's guaranteed to go viral."

The color drains completely from Leo's face.

He knows what that means. Blaise has thirty thousand followers just on Instagram alone, and that's before you factor in Knox, Levi, Wilder, Asher, and the rest of the Red Wolves’ roster.

When they share something, it spreads through the sports community like wildfire.

"You can't be serious,” Leo says.