As I gape and try to figure out just what the hell to do, it comes to me that the worst part of this whole clusterfuck is that there’s no calculation in her face. No cruelty or triumph. The truth is that Willow believes every word she’s saying.
“I’m with Zara,” I say again. “I care about her. I will always care about her.”
Willow nods. “I know.”
Frustration bites at the back of my throat, and I take a breath to calm down. “Then you understand there’s nothing between you and me.”
“Oh, Locke,” she says in an affectionate tone. “The universe isn’t asking you to choose today.”
“Willow.” I go completely still. “This isn’t about timing.”
“Everything is about timing.”
“No. This is about reality.”
The word sounds harsher than I intend, and pain flickers across her face, and guilt follows i
