Chapter 14
Isla
Iwalk through the front doors of the rink, a bounce in my stride, ready to work out in the glorious morning silence.
Spencer doesn’t arrive for another hour, which leaves me the time to wake up gradually. I might love the morning atmosphere, but I’m cranky as hell until my coffee kicks in and I finish a run.
I push through the door that leads from the foyer to the hallway and take two more steps before pulling open the gym door. The light’s already on, like usual, but unlike every other time I’ve worked out at this hour, I’m not alone.
Wes lies on the weight bench, wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else.
The definition of each muscle along his torso flexes as he stabilizes his body while pressing the hundred and twenty pounds on the weight bar. Sweat drips from strands of his brown hair onto the floor as he pushes the weight bar straight over his chest.
I’m spellbound, unable to tear my eyes from him, and suddenly I’m hit with this blinding anger that he’s ruining my morning routine. That he’s always around with his stupid hair and that raspy voice calling me a nickname that I didn’t endorse.
The words, You were my first kiss too, Red, haunt my dreams.
My bag falls to the ground, the sound echoing off the walls. “What are you doing here?”
Wes presses the bar one more time before setting it onto the rack. “Good morning to you, too, Red.”
He sits up, giving me a closer view of his body.
The tattoo I’ve seen peeking out from beneath his shirt, which he has perpetually unbuttoned, finally comes into view.
It’s a night sky, dark blues and purples blended against one side of his chest, with the outline of what looks to be a connected constellation of stars.
I swallow hard, but refuse to look away and give him the satisfaction of knowing how the sight of his body affects me.
“Good morning.” I cross my arms over my chest, hiding my hardened nipples. “I’m used to being alone, at least until Spencer gets here.”
“Yeah, I’m usually gone by now, so I can cook breakfast for Thea, but she stayed over a friend’s house last night.”
Well, dammit if that isn’t adorable. This gruff, silently cocky man of few words has caretaker in his bones.
Designing this rink to support Spencer’s training.
Bringing Thea tea with honey before she goes to sleep.
Supporting his father to remain in his home for as long as possible.
Creating a vibrant hockey community, with camps, recreational leagues, and family events. He has two cats, for fuck’s sake.
Maybe he only wants to be my date to my family dinner to help me.
“It’s not a problem that I’m here, right?” he asks.
“No, of course not,” I say, bending down to pick up my bag and finally giving myself a break from looking at him.
Wes is hot—a fact that has become harder to ignore now that I know he remembers our first kiss. But this reaction—the inability to wrangle the storm brewing deep in my belly—has more to do with lack of sex.
I forced myself to get back out there after my separation from Chip.
I craved a connection after being lonely in my marriage for so long.
I missed that feeling of being desired. But each date left me empty, worse than I had before, so I haven’t been with anyone since.
And I don’t see that changing any time soon.
“I’m glad you didn’t change your hair color,” Wes says.
I didn’t realize I was running my hands through my hair, but I immediately stop after hearing his words. I also have no idea what he’s talking about, which must show on my face, because he goes on to explain.
“You said it made you stand out, and all you wanted was to blend into the background, to be left alone to skate. You didn’t like how ‘Covington’ it made you.”
Because every woman on my father’s side of the family had strawberry-blond hair.
How the hell does Wes remember this so many years later? I know we made an impression on each other, that if my phone hadn’t been stolen that we would’ve kept in touch, maybe become something more.
But I let my memory of him fade, the way you do with a favorite childhood movie lost to time.
Since finding out Spencer’s brother is my Wes, it’s all flooding to the surface.
The moments between us dusted off and replaying anew in my mind.
The hesitant way he paused his steps when he found me crying in a stairwell, the nervous shake in his voice as he asked if I wanted to go somewhere with him.
The clamminess of his hands as they held mine while we roller-skated.
My first kiss, with the boy who got me to smile on one of my saddest days.
Wes told me not to ask questions I didn’t want the answer to. So I don’t ask how he remembers our conversations from that day, because Wes Davidson would tell me the truth. And I’m not ready for it.
“I kept my hair color because I like it.” My mom also wanted me to change it because she thought it drew attention from boys she didn’t approve of. I didn’t want her to win. “And being a Covington got easier as I got older.”
When I started dating Chip. The arguments from the past stopped.
My parents didn’t make comments about my skating.
They thought I was on the right path, working toward a college degree and dating a guy they deemed worthy.
I loved Chip once, but I also think my feelings were influenced by how he smoothed my family dynamic.
Wes rises off the bench, taking a few steps towards me. “But you need a decoy boyfriend to get your family off your back.”
“I don’t need—” My tone is sharper than I intend, but I don’t like the way Wes seems to think he understands my family situation. “This was Spencer’s idea. You could’ve said no if you don’t want to be involved.”
“I know,” Wes says softly, his soft brown eyes locked on mine.
He’s slipping into the boy I knew right before my eyes, but I’m not that same girl. I don’t want to talk about the aspects of my life weighing me down—my family or my divorce, or how I feel like I’m starting over again when I should be settled in my life.
I’ve got one goal. Nothing will distract me from it.
“What does your tattoo mean?” I ask, flinging a hand toward his chest.
His lips fall into a firm line. Wes clears his throat. “It’s the Gemini constellation. You know the story?”
I shake my head.
“It’s about two brothers. When one brother died, the other one—who was already immortal—begged his father, Zeus, to bring his brother back to life and let them live together forever.” Wes traces his fingers over the lines on his chest. “This is them, side by side for all eternity in the stars.”
He loves his brother so much that he memorialized it in a tattoo. The dedication is admirable, and something I understand.
“I’m not going to let him down,” I say.
“You wouldn’t be here if I thought you would.”
I hike my bag up higher on my shoulder and hook my thumb toward the other side of the gym. “I should work out.”
Wes’s eyes trail me as I beeline for the treadmills facing the opposite wall.
My eyes wander to the mirror in front of me during my warm-up jog, to Wes settling back onto his weight bench.
I crank the speed and my music and lose myself to a run for twenty glorious minutes and three miles.
My brain shuts off; the only sounds filling my head belong to my carefully selected playlist to keep me on pace.
I look up, and am met with Wes’s gaze in the mirror. He’s hanging from a pull-up bar twenty feet away with me directly in his line of sight. He’s pulled his hair into a freaking man bun. Gray sweatpants, shirtless, and a man bun. I am not that strong.
He’s doing this on purpose, the jerk.
I slam the stop button on the treadmill and walk until the belt stops moving.
When I spin to face him, he’s still staring at me, not having turned away after being caught. “You're not going to try to hide that you're looking at me?” I demand.
He pulls himself up to the bar, muscles shaking with strain. “Is that what you want me to do?” he asks.
“I don't care what you do.”
“Sure about that?” Wes lowers himself again. His arms look obscene, cut muscles on display as he controls his descent. Jesus, the discipline and strength that takes. “You're looking a bit hot under the collar, Isla.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I'm exercising. Of course I feel hot.”
Wes places his feet on the ground, letting go of the bar. “So that's what that flush is from? Exertion?”
“Yes.”
“Might want to work on your stamina.”
“My stamina is fine,” I snap, one hand landing on my hip. “Not that I need to prove it to you.”
Wes flashes that patented smirk, a new development in the years since we met. “Because my presence doesn't register for you.”
“Exactly.”
He gestures toward the treadmill beside mine. “Then, you won't mind if I join you?”
I hop down from the treadmill. “I’m done, so have at it.”
I glance over at the clock. Spencer should arrive in fifteen minutes. I can make it that long if I focus my attention on something other than his brother.
The sounds of the treadmill tempt me, but I keep my head down, stretching my leg muscles.
Maybe I need a night out to shut my brain off. A couple of guys from Wes’s hockey team invited me to join them for their weekly night out at a local bar. If this is going to be my home, I should make friends and settle in, expand my circle beyond the Davidson men.
Balancing my figure skating with a personal life is important, and something I’ve struggled with my entire career. But moving here is a new beginning, a chance to approach everything differently, and avoid the mistakes of my past.
Best of all, tonight will stop me from thinking about the man jogging on the other side of the room.