Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 52Willow

Chapter Fifty-Two

Willow

The gentle whisper of leaves mingles with a distant trickle of water, providing a serene backdrop as I nestle into the earthy scent and sheltering arms of the old oak. Its cascading boughs sway slightly, granting me privacy in this quiet corner of the forest. The rest of the world feels miles away, the din of daily life replaced by the subtle chorus of nature's own.

Suddenly, a rustling sound interrupts the tranquility. I stiffen, my senses heighten. The branches part, and there he is—Larry, his approach almost as silent as the shifting shadows around us. His eyes find mine, conveying a mix of concern and relief that seems to pierce through the veil of leaves.

"How did you find me here?" I ask, my voice barely above a murmur, yet carrying clear surprise.

He steps closer, the dappled sunlight painting patterns on his face. "I just had a feeling you'd be here," Larry admits, his gaze never wavering. "It's where we first met."

I nod. "And it was my first victory. You never cut down this tree."

His eyes linger for a moment, searching my face as if to ensure I am truly unharmed. The light breeze plays with the loose strands of my hair, and in that brief silence, the weight of recent events lays heavy between us.

"Are you alright?" My voice breaks through the stillness, carrying with it an undertone of concern. The echoes of the explosion seem to reverberate within the question, its impact still fresh in my mind. Was he there when it happened?

He exhales slowly, and even though his posture remains upright, I can see the subtle release of tension in his shoulders. "Yes."

A pang of guilt surges within me, and I cast my eyes downward, unable to hold his steady gaze. "I should have told you what River was planning," I murmur, the apology feeling inadequate even as it leaves my lips.

But before the words fully register in the air, Larry closes the space between us. "I don't care about that right now," he interjects, his voice firm yet laced with a vulnerability that tugs at my heartstrings. "I'm just so relieved that you're okay."

The oak's low branches brush against my cheeks as I pull away from him, a veil of green between the truth and his perception of who I am. "Lawrence," I start, the words heavy with an unspoken weight, "there's something I haven't told you. I'm not the person you think I am. There are things about me... about my past, that I need to clear up."

The confession hangs in the air, fragile as the dew clinging to the leaves around us. Larry's eyes search mine, but his expression holds an unexpected calm. "Wilhelmina," he says gently, "I know about your family."

Shock jolts through me like lightning, my heart stuttering in its rhythm. "You what? How?" The questions tumble out, each one laced with a mix of fear and disbelief.

"By chance," he continues, his voice even, betraying none of the turmoil that surely must have accompanied such a discovery. "I met with your father. He misses you a lot."

His words land with the force of falling stones, stirring up a storm of emotions within me. Nostalgia clashes with the resolve I have forged over years of separation, each memory of my parents both a sweet melody and a dissonant chord. Yes, I miss my father—the man whose laughter once filled our home. But I left for a reason, severed ties with a world that no longer aligns with the person I want to be.

"Lawrence, I—" My voice falters, caught on the thorns of choices made and paths taken. My past and present stand at a crossroads, and the way forward is shrouded in the dense foliage of consequence and longing.

Leaves rustle softly as Larry steps closer. He hesitates, as if weighing his next words against the silent symphony of nature that surrounds us.

"Your father," he begins, the two words heavy with unspoken history, "he wants to talk to you. He's willing to invest in the pipeline but only if you call him.”

A tide of emotions threatens to pull me under—hope, anger, love, all warring within me. My hand finds the rough bark of the oak tree, its ancient grooves grounding me as I process his revelation.

"Lawrence," my voice is a whisper, almost lost among the whispering leaves. "I can't just... What about everything I stand for?"

He nods, understanding, and takes another step, closing the distance between us until I can see the earnestness etched into his features. "Willow, you shouldn't make that call if it means compromising who you are, your principles. They're what drew me to you. What makes you, you."

The sincerity in his eyes stirs something deep within me. It isn't manipulation that colors his tone but a genuine respect for the choices that have led me here, to this moment.

"But the investment..." I trail off, the pragmatic part of me wrestling with the idealist.

"An investment in a project isn't worth the cost of your soul, Willow." His thumb brushes against the back of my hand—a touch that speaks volumes. "You have something many people long for—a family that cares, even from afar. Remember how lucky you are to have that, even if it's complicated."

Family is a tapestry of intricate bonds and knotted threads, each one a testament to a shared past. I have walked away from mine, yet here it is, reaching out once again through the steady voice of the man before me.

"Thank you," I murmur, the gratitude mingling with a newfound clarity. Whether I will reach out to my father is a decision for another day. For now, I am content to sit with the complexities of life, of family, and of love, beneath the wise old oak tree.

Larry pulls me into a soft embrace, holding me tight. I lean back against him and the embrace finds us in a quiet surrender, his arms a firm cradle around my shoulders. Beneath the canopy of the tree, our shadows merge into one somber silhouette. We sit like this in silence for some time, until I decide I can't put it off any longer.

"Lawrence," I begin, my voice barely a whisper against the rustling leaves, "this can't go on."

He tenses.

"My heart," I say, feeling the weight of each word, "it's entrenched in the soil, the water... in every leaf that falls. It aches with the thought of that pipeline cutting through the land."

His jaw sets, eyes clouding with a conflict mirroring my own.

"And you," I continue, hands resting against his chest—feeling the steady beat of his heart, "you're driven to build, to create. But what you see as progress..." My voice falters.

"Willow," he interjects, his tone laced with hope and desperation all at once.

"No, Lawrence." Firmness creeps into my resolve. "If that pipeline comes to life, if it scars the earth—it won't matter how much you donate to conservation or give to me for other causes. Resentment will take root between us. It's inevitable."

Silence stretches out, a chasm as vast as the one dividing our convictions.

"Your dreams, they're important," I whisper, breaking the stillness. "But they come at too great a cost to mine. We're at odds."

"I love you, Willow," he says to me. There's tears in his eyes as I hold his gaze. "There has to be a way."

Droplets start to cloud my own vision and I shake my head. "Love... love cannot bridge this divide."

For a moment, we are two statues under the oak, weeping. Then, slowly, Lawrence nods—a gesture heavy with the gravity of acceptance.

"I understand, Willow. I really do," he says, his voice a low echo of the sadness that has settled in his eyes.

It is a resignation, a farewell not just to what was, but to what can never be. As he steps back, the finality of our parting hangs in the air, as tangible as the branches that sway above us, whispering of endings.