Chapter 12
Wes
Isla’s breath hitches, her body tensing, then freezing at my confession.
“How long were you listening to us?” she whispers, but the words maintain her signature bite.
I glance over my shoulder. “Long enough to know that you remember me.”
I didn’t intend to eavesdrop on their conversation, but when I made it halfway up the stairs, the vague voices crystallized into words I couldn’t turn away from.
My blood boiled listening to Thea recount how some piece of shit kid was bullying her.
I was about to make my presence known when I heard Isla’s confession.
No one thought I was beautiful when I was a teenager.
She reminded me of that sad girl I met, with fiery eyes and an iron will. She resisted opening up with every fiber of her being, but it didn’t last. Listening to her rip open her heart to comfort Thea tonight makes me wonder if that part still exists somewhere deep inside her.
I gesture toward the staircase. “I’ll be back in a few.”
I rush up the steps, two at a time, and power walk down the hall to Thea’s room. The door’s open, so I walk in and deposit the tea on the coaster on her nightstand. She glances up at me from her phone, eyes filled with wariness.
“I’m going to drive Isla home,” I say while backing up toward the door. I point toward her and add, “Don’t get into any trouble while I'm gone. It’s been a long day, and I’ve already got one pain in the ass downstairs to deal with.”
Thea snorts. “Right. You’re soooo broken up about Isla being here.”
I freeze.
“Face it,” she adds, jutting out her chin. “I did you a favor.”
“That’s not—” My sentence abruptly cuts off when I bump into the door frame.
She chuckles before her attention slides to her phone.
Before heading downstairs, I detour to my bedroom for a change of clothes and do a once-over in the mirror.
After a day of moving my dad’s belongings and driving hours through the North Carolina heat, I’m in desperate need of a shower, but that’ll need to wait.
Spencer offered to drive her home, but he needs his rest before jumping into training early tomorrow.
I can handle a simple fifteen-minute car ride.
“You ready to—” My words cut off when Isla comes into view again.
She’s thrown her hair into a messy bun, strands falling in multiple directions to the bare skin of her upper back.
A loose, light blue tank top reaches the top of her thighs, clad in black leggings.
She’s dressed for relaxation, not to impress, but it does nothing to curb the direction of my thoughts.
Nothing seems to any longer, not rehashing the yelling match we had in the parking lot, or her smartass remarks after she found out I was her boss. And forget about my teenage angst over meeting the most incredible girl and having her blow me off because apparently, that wasn’t by choice.
Her presence constantly distracts me. Even after a shitty day like today, all I can think about is bending her over my fucking counter.
“What?” Isla demands. She stops packing the food she cooked, which looks to be spaghetti and meatballs, a personal favorite of mine.
My stomach grumbles. I can’t remember what I ate today; my mind is too jumbled.
“Do you have some rule about who can touch your stuff? Because I will remind you that—”
“No, that’s not—” I interrupt, my voice full of gravel. I clear my throat and try again. “You made dinner?”
I try to remember the last time anyone cooked for me and come up empty. I like cooking, so I didn’t mind doing it for my ex-wife or for Spencer when we were kids and our father worked long hours. But sometimes, I desperately want someone to take care of me, to give me a night off to rest.
Isla’s body immediately relaxes, and she resumes dumping the contents of the pot into a glassware container. “It’s nothing special, but should last a day or two. Your plate is in the microwave.”
My plate. Dammit. I do not want to see this side of her. Caring, kind, soft.
Except I also fucking do. Against all my better judgment, I want to know every part of her.
This pull toward Isla Covington defies logic, at least for me.
Since my divorce, no other woman has captured my attention.
I thought this part of me—the part that wants—was gone.
I’d made peace with my life as it is, running the rink, taking care of my dad and Spencer, and stepping onto the ice once a week with my buddies. An uncomplicated life.
Until Isla strode in like a wrecking ball, disrupting my carefully curated existence.
I roughly run a hand through my hair and suck in a breath. Someone needs to put me out of this misery. “You ready to go?”
Without a word, Isla grabs her bag and heads toward the front door. I follow, and it’s not because I need to drive her home.
When presented with the chance to be around her, I cannot stay away.
“Where are we headed?” I ask while climbing into the driver’s seat. Cinnamon fills the truck, and I curse myself for not letting my brother drive her home. I’m going to breathe Isla in every time I drive the next few days.
“The condos on Wilkshire,” she answers. She shifts in her seat, folding her legs underneath her body. “I’m staying with my brother.”
“The basketball player.”
Her head whips toward me, hair swaying with the movement. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve lived here my entire life, Isla.” I put the car in reverse and back out of the driveway. “Besides, you told me all about him.”
Her small gasp reverberates through me until it settles with a sharp pang to the pit of my stomach.
Is she surprised that I remember her? Or did she expect me to pretend that I didn’t hear her tell my niece the story of her first kiss, which was apparently with me?
I’ve wanted to tell her that we’ve met before, to see once and for all if that night registered for her, so I could stop wondering. But I didn’t think any good would come from it.
I ease the car down the driveway and pause to meet her bright eyes, wide and fixated on me. “How long did it take you to figure out who I was?”
“Day one.” She juts her chin out like she’s proved something to me.
“Not in that parking lot.”
She crosses her arms over her chest while a scowl crawls across her face. “You have a picture in your office. You looked like…well, you, from before.”
I resume driving to give myself a break from her gorgeous face, the one I can’t stop thinking about. “I didn’t say anything to Spencer.”
“I wouldn’t care if you did. It was a lifetime ago.” Her voice is soft, uncharacteristically without attitude, but still, I grimace. That night clearly meant more to me than it did to her.
The car sinks into silence until I can’t take it any longer.
“Why didn't you say anything?” I ask.
“I didn't know if you remembered me.”
I let out a sharp sigh. “I doubt many people forget meeting you, Isla. Me, on the other hand…”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” She flips her hand in my direction. “You can’t expect me to remember you when you look…so different.”
People who knew me in high school rarely recognize me when they come into the rink.
My growth spurt hit right before graduation, and I spent all summer before college in the gym and on the ice, working to keep my hockey career alive.
No college recruited me, but I managed to walk on at Palmer City University and play all four years, thanks to my stubborn determination.
“You look about the same.” The words come out rough, but I don’t mean them as an insult. It’s the opposite.
Before I can smooth over my gruffness, she speaks again. “I happen to remember you liking the way I looked, so I will take it as a compliment.”
I can hear the smile in those words, her satisfaction from knowing how I reacted to her all those years ago, how I still react to her. Despite my best efforts, I haven’t hidden it well.
She hasn’t either. A tension underlines every interaction between us, and it won’t go away.
Maybe it’s time we give in, save ourselves the endless headache of denying our attraction for the rest of the summer.
But I don’t know how to broach this subject without making her uncomfortable or hurting her working relationship with Spencer.
And I’m not sure it’s the right move, whether I’d be able to give in to these feelings and then let her go. I’m better off on my own, and she doesn’t want a relationship.
“Did everything go okay today?” Isla’s voice busts through my heavy thoughts, pulling me into the present moment. I glance over at her, and our gazes collide, plummeting my stomach into a complicated state, a mix of battling instincts, apprehension and want. “Thea said you were helping your dad.”
I focus on the road. “He has dementia. Spence and I spent the day going through the remainder of our childhood home. We let him stay as long as we could because that’s what he wanted.
But his condition advanced to the point that living in that home by himself endangered his life, so we moved him into an assisted living facility closer to us. ”
“I’m sorry, Wes…that must be so hard.”
Isla’s hand lands on my forearm, and I almost vault out of my seat at the unexpected comfort. Her fingers dance across my skin in a soothing motion. I want to curl up beside her until I fall asleep and put this day behind me.
I’m shocked at the direction of my thoughts, but after the way this year has burned me out, maybe I shouldn’t be. I drove to my hometown multiple times a week these past few months to spend time with my father before he forgot me.
He won’t always know the difference between me and the strangers who take care of him, but at least having him closer means he’ll never be alone. I might still have moments with the dad who raised me and molded me into the person I am.
“I’ll see him more,” I hear myself saying, not fully in control of the words spewing out of my mouth.
Emotion floods my bloodstream, my brain.
Memories hit me one after the other—my father teaching me how to hit a puck in our driveway, barbecue cooking in the backyard as Spence and I wrestled in the grass, the four of us huddled in front of the fireplace after my mom took off.
We didn’t have much in terms of material items, especially not after the investments made in our athletics, but I had a good home and people who had my back regardless of what I did.
It’s more than most people get in this world.
That’s true of the stubborn woman sitting beside me. That’s why, despite what she says and how she acts, I remind myself of her tear-stained face the night we met, and the reasons for those tears. She’ll never know the love I grew up with, which I’d taken for granted until I realized its rarity.
Isla’s grip tightens on my forearm. “It’s good you weren’t alone today.”
I’m weak for the way Isla mouths off to me, the way her nostrils flare and the apples of her cheeks pinken, but this kindness in her voice might end me.
Isla doesn’t know me well enough to care for me. It’s another glimpse at her good heart. It would be easier for me if she didn’t have these layers.
“Yeah, well. I would’ve been alone if you hadn’t gotten Thea, so—”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Isla’s hand leaves my forearm, sliding along my skin and igniting an array of goosebumps in its wake. She points out her window at a The Condos at Wilkshire sign. “You can drop me here.”
I continue to drive forward and pull into the parking deck. “I’m not leaving you by the side of the road.”
“It’s right there,” she points to the building immediately to our left. “I’ll be perfectly fine.”
I ignore her, driving until I’m parked inside the deck. I place the truck in park, turning toward her—to say what, I don’t know, but I’m too late.
“Thanks for the ride.” Isla hops out of the truck and shuts the door behind her, walking around the back to reach the sidewalk.
I roll my window down. “Isla?” I call.
“Yes?” She turns halfway to face me.
“Thank you…for everything.” She won’t ever know that I’m thanking her for more than taking care of Thea, but I need to acknowledge it.
A weight eased on my chest for the first time tonight in as long as I can remember, all thanks to the simple gesture of her hand on my forearm, her fingers grazing my skin. “I owe you.”
“You don’t. It’s not a big deal,” Isla says again with a shrug.
Fuck it. That seals it for me. I take a deep breath, letting the air out slowly to calm my jackhammering heart.
“For the record, I always thought you were beautiful.”
I don’t wait to register her reaction before rolling up the window and heading toward the exit. At the stop sign, I glance in my rearview mirror. She’s still standing in the same spot, watching me drive away.
It takes every bit of discipline I can muster not to turn back.