Page 113 of Sweet Poison

I hope he knows just how deeply I love him. I hope feels my support surrounding him, even from a distance. More than anything, I want him to know he’s not alone in this. He’ll never be alone again —not as long as I’m breathing, and even then, I’ll find my way back to him.

I turn my head, startled to find both Uncle Cianne and Lincoln watching me, their expressions filled with concern. I frown, a knot forming in my stomach.

I sign,“Have you been with him for long?”Lincoln nods, his gaze steady.

I press on, my fingers moving quickly across the screen.“How does he overcome all of this? The world tearing him down with likes and judgment?”

Lincoln shrugs, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. He signs,“He’s a tough fuck. Mostly, he drowns his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. That’s it, until…”

He pauses, the silence thick with unspoken words. I lean in closer, signing,“Until...?”

Lincoln meets my eyes, his eyes searching, before he finishes,“You. Until you, Willow.”

My breath catches in my throat. I want to be the light in his darkness. I want to help him find his way through the chaos. Always.

I sign back, my heart pounding,“Then I’ll be there for him. Always.”

Uncle Cianne raises an eyebrow, his expression softening. I see the pride in his gaze. I know it won’t be easy, but with that thought—him and me, together against the world—I feel a spark of hope igniting within me.

A spark I know will always burn bright.

It’s always been him, and if I have my way, it always will be.

Chapter

Thirty-Six

MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT

Willow

New Year’s Eve

After a long day of work and missing Madden, I finally settle onto the sofa, phone in hand. The only light in the room comes from the soft glow of the Christmas tree and the twinkling decorations, cutting through the darkness of the suite. It’s quiet now that Uncle Cianne has been gone for hours. He mentioned something about a New Year’s Eve beach party, but I wasn’t in the mood to join. Not without Madden.

He’s still away, and I’ll be ringing in the new year alone. Although, he promised he’d call so we could celebrate together. That’s why I turned down my team’s invitation to dinner— because I’d rather spend the last day of the year with my grinch, even if it’s just over the phone.

I open my social media, my thumbs move automatically as I scroll through my feed, as checking in on all my cousins. It’s become a ritual, something I do every day— a way to stay connected with all of them even when we’re scattered across different cities, living different lives.

The first post that catches my eye is from Artemis. It’s a backstage shot from a concert, the lighting all dark and intimate. She’s wearing ripped baggy jeans and a black tube top, her long blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her makeup, as always, is flawless—smoky eyes and plump, salmon-colored lips, her signature lip color.

A tattooed hand is wrapped around her waist. I frown. Huh. I didn’t know she was seeing someone.

When did that happen? After everything she’s gone through? Still, if she’s happy, I’m happy for her.

She’s glowing even in the dim backstage lights.

I smile, hearting the picture before typing:Stunning. I miss you.

Next, I see Ambrose’s post. In the photo, she’s sitting front-row at a fashion show, her confidence radiating off her like she belongs there, even though she’s still so young. Ambrose was born to model. She has the face and the attitude for it even if Aunt Arianna hates the industry she chose.

I like the post and type:Look at you, supermodel! I love you forever!

I keep scrolling, liking posts and leaving comments for everyone, until a knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts. My phone slips from my fingers as I stand, curious to see who is at the door. Maybe Uncle Cianne forgot his key card again.

I rise and make my way to the door, peeking through the peephole. My frown deepens when I see Lincoln standing there, his broad frame filling the doorway.

I open the door, and he stands there, balancing three boxes stacked precariously in his arms. His eyes flicker to mine, a mischievous glint lighting up his face. “Special delivery from my asshole boss,” he says cheerfully, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He shifts the boxes to one hand and lifts the edge of a black cover with the other.

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