17 | Morning rides

"My love, you are worth it all."

Dominic

𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼

The early morning air is crisp, the last traces of night clinging to the sky, but I barely feel it as I lean against my bike, one boot braced on the pavement.

The engine is off, but the weight of it is steady beneath me, familiar.

The Myers' front porch light flickers off, and then the door swings open.

Willa steps out, her movements quick and light, like she's half-skipping. She's tying her hair up in a loose ponytail, fingers flying as she wrestles with the golden strands, completely oblivious to me.

Until she isn't.

She looks up. Sees me.

And stops dead.

Her brown eyes widen, and a slow smile spreads across her face. Not surprised in a bad way—surprised in a way that says she wasn't expecting this, but she loves it anyway.

Because Willa loves my bike. She always has. And I'd be an idiot not to use that to my full advantage.

"You're taking me to school?" she asks, eyes lighting up.

I smirk. "If you're up for it, baby."

She narrows her eyes at me for a second before moving towards me, her smile stretching impossibly wider. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

Then, just as quickly, her steps slow, her lips pressing together like she's remembering something, her brows pinch together.

"My dad's home," she mutters, shooting a glance over her shoulder toward the door.

Like I give a shit.

And, like clockwork, it swings open again.

Luke Myers steps out, coffee mug in hand, already scowling. "Willa."

She winces but grins at him anyway. "Morning, Dad!"

"Don't even think about it."

She pouts, tilting her head, her best attempt at innocent. "Think about what?"

"You know what." He levels me with a glare, but I don't move. Don't react.My brief years in London never let me forget that, despite spending countless hours with Willa and the fact that her parents are my fucking godparents, it's always best to let Willa handle any conversation about me with her father.

Luke's never been fond of me around his daughter. That's not news. But Willa?

She just spins on her heel and jogs down the porch steps, coming straight to me, all golden hair and endless energy. She snatches the helmet from my hands and winks at me before turning back to her dad.

"I love you," she calls sweetly. "Tell Mom I took the car!"

"Willa."

Too late.

She's already climbing onto the bike behind me, her arms looping around my waist like she belongs there. Like she never stopped belonging there.

"Willa, get off that bike."

My lips twitch, but I keep quiet because Willa would punch me in the face if I instigated a fight between me and her dad.

"Bye, Dad!"

The engine roars to life beneath us, drowning out his response, and Willa tightens her grip as I kick off from the curb.

Then, just as we're pulling away, I catch sight of the front door swinging open again.

Lizzie Myers steps out, still in her pajamas, a coffee mug matching her husband's in her hands.

She takes one look at us, at Luke's obvious frustration, and laughs.

"Let it go, babe," she says, tugging him back inside. "You knew this was gonna happen."

I don't hear his response, but I don't need to. Because Willa's laughing against my back, the sound bright and free, her fingers curling into the fabric of my hoodie.

And just like that, everything else fades.

Because I've got her.

And that's all that fucking matters.

The ride to school is fast, but I make it last as long as I can, taking the long way, weaving through side streets just to hear Willa laugh behind me. Just to feel the way she presses closer every time I take a turn.

She loves this. She always has.

The wind in her hair, the speed, the rush of it all. She was never meant for slow, never built for careful.

She's a wildfire, and she wants to burn.

And I want to burn with her.

When we pull into the parking lot, heads turn.

We're not exactly subtle.

I kill the engine, and Willa is off in a second, tugging the helmet off and shaking out her hair. She's grinning, eyes bright, practically vibrating.

"I forgot how much I missed that," she breathes.

I smirk. "Yeah?"

She spins to face me, stepping closer, tipping her head back. "Yeah."

And then—

"Damn, Willa. Didn't know you were getting rid of me as your personal driver."

Alec.

I don't even have to look to know he's grinning.

Willa rolls her eyes but doesn't step away from me. If anything, she leans into me more, her shoulder bumping against mine.

"Please," she scoffs. "I could never get rid of you, I just had a temporary adjustment."

Alec snorts. "That's debatable."

Willa smirks. "Are you jealous?"

"Of you? Never."

Roman joins then, slinging an arm around Alec, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. We go one morning without her, and she's already switching up the lineup."

Willa giggles, and I swear the sound does something to my chest.

"Where's Alex?" she asks, tilting her head as she scans the group.

"Something about needing to talk to Mr. Modridge about her last test," Roman shrugs.

I shoot him a look, brow furrowing. He meets it with one of his own, just as unreadable.

Then Willa turns, tilting her head at me. "Are you coming to class?"

I should say no.

Should let her go, should step back, should remember that this thing between us is fragile as hell.

But instead—

I brush a strand of hair from her face, watching the way her breath catches.

"Of course, butterfly."

And just like that, we fall into step together, moving through the halls like we've done this a million times before.

People stare.

They always do.

Because Willa's the sun, and everyone wants a piece of her warmth. And me? I've never been the kind of guy people stare at for the right reasons.

But Willa?

She just keeps smiling, like she doesn't even notice, like she doesn't care.

And maybe she doesn't.

Maybe she's never cared about the way I fit into this school, into this world of hers.

Maybe she just cares about me.

We stop outside her classroom, and she hesitates, glancing up at me.

"I will see you later, right?" she asks.

I brush my fingers over hers, the touch barely there. "You know where to find me."

She smirks, but there's something softer in her eyes when she tilts her chin up at me. "Yeah, well. Keep your track record straight, West. And I'll find you just fine."

She says it teasingly, but I know what she means.

Stay out of trouble.

Keep your head above water.

Don't screw this up.

And for the first time in a long time, I want to tell her I will.

But instead, I just watch her disappear into the room, my jaw tight, my hands curling into fists.

My soul aching for hers, yearning for a connection I can't seem to escape, no matter how much I try. It's a longing that gnaws at me, constant and raw, always there, a reminder of what I crave but fear I can't keep. I walked away before.

But staying away from her once more?

That's a battle I don't want to know how to win.

𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼

I just finished binge watching bridgeton again😛😛😛😛😛 what can I say I hate studying.

If you guys have any questions that I've never answered about any of the books feel free to ask!!

I know that some of the characters like JJ (from the first book Our Misfortune) were left with open endings but trust in my head their futures were all planned out!