Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 40Willow

Chapter Forty

Willow

I stare at my phone, the screen glowing accusingly in the dim light of my hemp-curtained room. River's number sits there, taunting me. I take a deep breath, my green hair falling into my eyes as I hit the call button. My heart does an annoying tap dance in my chest as it rings.

"Willow?" River's voice crackles through the speaker, a mixture of surprise and wariness.

"Hey, Riv," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Listen, we need to talk about the pipeline plans."

There's a pause, and I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. "What about them?"

I bite my lip, wondering how to phrase this without sounding like a total sellout. "I think... I think we need to call them off."

"What?" The shock in his voice is almost comical. Almost.

"Look, I know it sounds crazy, but?—"

"It's too late, Willow," River cuts me off, his voice hardening. "We can't back down now."

I flop back on my bed, frustration bubbling up inside me. Of course, he'd say that. River's about as flexible as a redwood tree when it comes to our causes.

"Riv, please," I plead, hating how desperate I sound. "Can't we just take a step back and rethink this?"

"Rethink what?" he snaps. "The fact that this pipeline is going to destroy ecosystems? Pollute water sources? Displace wildlife?"

I close my eyes, picturing River's intense green gaze boring into me. Even over the phone, his passion is palpable. It's one of the things I've always admired about him, but right now, it's making my job a whole lot harder.

"I know all that," I say, trying to keep my cool. "But maybe there's another way to fight this. One that doesn't involve, you know, potential jail time?"

River snorts. "Since when did you start worrying about jail time? The Willow I know would be right there on the front lines, chaining herself to a bulldozer."

His words sting more than I'd like to admit. Because he's right—that is the Willow he knows. The one I've been for years. But it's not the real me. Things are different now, aren't they? I've got a shot at making real change, even if it means playing nice with the enemy for a while.

"Things change, River," I say softly, twirling a strand of my dyed hair around my finger. "People change."

"Yeah," he replies, his voice cold. "I guess they do."

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with unspoken accusations and disappointment. I want to explain, to make him understand why I'm doing this. But how can I when I'm not even sure myself?

River's breath crackles through the phone, and I can almost see him running his hand through that choppy, multi-colored hair of his.

"You know what?" he says, his voice rising. "I always thought you were different, Willow. That you actually gave a damn about our cause, not just some rich girl playing activist for kicks."

I flinch, his words hitting me like a slap. "That's not fair, River," I protest, my own anger flaring. "You know how much I care about this."

"Do I?" he shoots back. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've traded your principles for a taste of the high life. What, did Daddy's trust fund finally run out?"

My stomach drops. Of all the low blows, he had to go for that one. I grip the phone tighter, knuckles turning white. "You leave my family out of this," I hiss, memories of gilded cages and suffocating expectations flashing through my mind.

"Why?" River's voice is razor-sharp. "Isn't that what this is all about? You, running back to your privileged roots? Bet those fancy galas are a lot more comfortable than sleeping in tents and dodging security guards, huh?"

I close my eyes, willing away the hot tears threatening to spill. River's words are arrows, each one finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The worst part? A tiny voice in my head wonders if he might be right.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I'm not going to let River's accusations go unanswered.

"You don't understand, River," I say, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "I'm doing this to make a difference. Larry is offering funding for other causes that can help so many communities."

I can practically hear River's eye roll through the phone. "Oh, please. Lawrence Sinclair? The guy's about as environmentally friendly as a coal-powered chainsaw. What, did he promise to plant a tree for every mile of pipeline?"

I bite back a sarcastic retort. Now's not the time for my usual snark. "It's more than that," I insist. "We're talking about real change here. Clean water initiatives, sustainable energy projects?—"

"Save it for your press release, Willow," River cuts me off, his voice dripping with disdain. "You know what this is? This is you selling out. Trading our ideals for a fat check and a seat at the big boys' table."

His words hit me like a sucker punch, leaving me breathless. I want to argue, to defend myself, but the accusation hangs heavy in the air between us. Am I really selling out? The doubt creeps in, insidious and unwelcome.

I stare out the window at the lush greenery of Greenwood Hollow, the very landscape we've been fighting to protect. The irony isn't lost on me. Here I am, in the heart of what we're trying to save, considering a deal with the very people threatening it.

"River, I—" I start, but the words die in my throat. What can I say to make him understand? How can I explain that sometimes, to win the war, you have to lose a few battles?

The line goes dead with a sudden click, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence of my room. River's words echo in my mind like a broken record, each repetition more accusatory than the last.

"Selling out... fat check... big boys' table..."

I flop back onto my bed, the springs creaking in protest as if even they're judging me. The ceiling fan whirs lazily above, its monotonous rhythm doing nothing to calm the storm in my head.

"Great job, Willow," I mutter to myself. "You've managed to piss off your best friend and probably tank years of activism in one fell swoop. Gold star for you."

I roll over, burying my face in my pillow. It smells faintly of lavender and guilt. The scent reminds me of the wildflower fields back home, the very ones we're trying to protect. Or were trying to protect. God, when did everything get so complicated?