Chapter 19
Isla
My hand tightens around Wes’s, and not for the first time tonight, I’m grateful he’s standing beside me.
He squeezes back like he knows I need the protection that comes along with holding his hand. If we were anywhere else, I’d need a few minutes to process this turn of events, how we went from bickering in a parking lot six weeks ago to having each other’s backs when it matters most.
“Chip,” I grit out in lieu of greeting. I can’t stand the sight of him, not after he destroyed our relationship with his selfishness and exacerbated the rift in my family.
Chip slips his hands into his black pants, the same ones he wore to work every day when we were married. I’m not surprised that he’s wearing them now. He wants so desperately to be like my father. “Hello, Isla.”
Silence descends as we face off in a contest of who will cave first. This polite facade will drop; it always does. I refuse to give him a second of pleasantness.
After thirty seconds, Wes’s cool voice breaks the quiet. “Are you going to make us stand out here all night?”
“Who’s this guy?” Chip asks me, altogether ignoring that Wes can hear him.
My lips slip into a half-smile as I sidestep toward Wes. He lifts his arm, inviting me closer, before he slings it around my shoulders. My side melds into his. The strength of him pressed against me causes my stomach to dip. It feels right having him touch me like this, like I belong beside him.
“Wes Davidson,” I answer.
“Her boyfriend,” Wes adds with an immediacy that shocks me. Is he enjoying rubbing our fake relationship in Chip’s face as much as I am?
Chip’s expression falls at the news that I brought a date tonight, and I couldn’t be happier. Before I ended our relationship, I believed that he wanted me to give him another chance because he loved me. But now, I think he just wants to win and please my father.
“Boyfriend.” The word stumbles from Chip’s mouth, but he tries to cover it by shifting the attention elsewhere. Unsurprisingly, the shift comes at my expense. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re moving on that quickly. Always were fast, weren’t you, Isla?”
Wes’s grip on my hand tightens as red flashes behind my eyes. This fucking bastard. I was his wife for five years.
I school my features into boredom, not wanting him to know how deep that comment hit. I fake a gasp, apparently so convincing that Wes takes a step as if he might intervene.
“Not with you,” I state, voice coated in fake sugar. “I do remember how fast you were with me, though. Minute, minute and a half?”
Brooks groans. “Jesus Christ, Isla.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Chip snarls.
Wes tries to stifle a chuckle, but it rips out of him anyway, drawing a glare from Chip.
“Are you going to move out of my way so I can enter my house?” I step forward, letting go of Wes’s hand.
Chip retreats immediately, leaving enough space to walk inside the house.
“Let’s get this shit over with,” Brooks mumbles as he strolls past us, leading the way toward the sitting room where my parents always wait as their chef prepares dinner.
I go to follow Brooks when Chip’s hand lands on my upper arm, stopping me from moving deeper into the house. He leans in close and whispers, “Bringing along some schmuck to pretend to be your date is so desperate, Isla.”
My head spins toward him, and our eyes meet. The intensity has me trying to take a step back, but his arm constrains my movements. Wes steps in front of me, glowering at Chip, primed to confront him.
Chip releases my arm. “I thought you were better than that.” He hurls the insult directly into my ear before striding away in the direction Brooks went.
The animosity stuns me into silence. I’m transported back in time, to Chip telling me I was useless after some business dinner where I didn’t perform to his standard.
People never see this side of him, which allowed him to play the victim in our divorce.
The husband whose wife chose her career over him.
I’m frozen to the spot, the words curdling in my gut. I want to cry over the time I wasted with him.
Wes squares his shoulders to mine. “What did that asshole say to you?”
I stare at the floor. “Nothing important.”
“Isla, your entire body tensed. That wasn’t nothing.”
“It’s fine. Let me handle it.”
He tips up my chin, and my stomach bottoms out at the fire in his stare. “What did he say to you?”
I purse my lips, remaining silent.
“Isla.” The soft command—a plea of concern—knocks a dent in my defenses.
“You’re acting like you give a shit, Davidson.”
“Maybe I do, Covington.”
His words carry the tone of our usual banter, but with the intensity of his stare, they feel different. I can’t pinpoint exactly when this shift between us began, when our banter became fueled by something other than annoyance.
Maybe it wasn’t any single moment, and the dynamic between Wes and me has been changing for weeks, but I never allowed myself to notice.
I let out a slow sigh before I give him the real answer. “He thinks you’re not my real date, and I brought you to dinner to piss him off.”
Wes’s fingers trace along the side of my face, dark eyes searching mine. “How badly do you want him to believe us?”
My mind is a jumble of tangled thoughts. Wes is acting like my boyfriend, like I asked, but persistent questions won’t stop bubbling to the front of my mind. What if it’s more than that? What if I want it to be more than that?
“Isla, we can leave. Say the word.”
“And let him think that he got to me? Hell no.”
“That’s my girl.”
My cheeks heat remembering the last time he said those words to me, right before he made me come.
“I want him to believe it.” My gaze slips to his. “Badly.”
“He will.”
Wes holds his hand out to me, and I place mine into his waiting open palm. He tugs my hand until I’m pressed up against his firm body. My breath catches from the sudden movement. I lose every ounce of brain function when he brings his lips to mine.
His hands shift to my waist, pulling me closer like he doesn’t want an inch of air to separate us. My arms wrap around his neck, inexplicably overcome with the same desire. I part his lips with my tongue, deepening the kiss and pulling the sexiest groan from him.
A throat clears. I break the kiss and open my eyes, but keep them on Wes’s face, ignoring my mother and her disapproval.
I also realize that I don’t want to look away from Wes. I want the assurance that I’m not the only one losing my grip. It should scare me that he doesn’t turn away from me either.
But with Wes’s soft brown eyes drinking me in, I can’t find one speck of me that cares. I’m choosing to drop my defenses, to let him see everything I’m feeling, to stop being afraid.
I hope he doesn’t make me regret it.
All eyes watch Wes and me enter the room, taking our seats beside each other—Brooks to my right, Chip and my ex-mother-in-law across the table.
What the fuck is she doing here?
My wide-eyed gaze snaps to Brooks, who mutters “What the hell?” out of one side of his mouth.
Including my ex-husband in a Covington family dinner is foul, but welcoming his mother is unfathomable.
It’s no secret that the woman questioned my worthiness; her dissatisfaction increasing the longer we didn’t have children.
I became the cog in the wheel of that dream, and she never failed to let me know it.
“Is this a sick joke?” I flick my wrist in their direction, staring down my mother before sending my attention to my father at the opposite end of the table.
“It’s been so long since you’ve seen them,” Mom replies without a tinge of remorse. “I thought you’d enjoy having a reunion.”
“With my ex-husband and his mother?”
Wes’s hand lands on my knee, reminding me of his earlier words. We can leave right now. Say the word. I take a breath, trying to calm my thrumming blood, my pounding heart.
Chip drops his utensils onto the plate with an obnoxious and avoidable clang. “Are you suggesting that I should’ve left my mom, who’s alone this week, at home tonight?” Chip asks coolly.
“Typical,” Lorna mutters. A benefit of the divorce was supposed to be never having to hear that cutting tone again.
“I’m suggesting you and your mom could’ve had dinner somewhere else. You know, since you’re not a Covington.”
“I’ve been more of a Covington this past year than you,” he replies. My blood boils seeing Chip’s stupid smile.
“That’s not the insult you think it is,” I snap.
My father clears his throat, and the table falls silent. His entire attention has been focused on cutting his disgusting, bloody steak.
“There will be none of that,” he orders in his sternest tone. “The Rutherfords are guests in this house. They’ve been family friends since long before you were born, Isla. They will always be welcome here.”
I whip my head in the direction of my mom. “You want to know why I don’t return your calls? Why I don’t come see you? It’s because of stunts like this.”
She slowly takes a sip of red wine. “If you told me that you were bringing a date, I would’ve suggested a different night. You never tell me anything about your life, Isabella.”
“Because you weaponize it against me!” The shrillness of my voice makes me flinch. I take a breath, pulling air deep into my lungs and slowly letting it out.
I try to speak again at a normal volume this time. “Even if I showed up tonight alone, ambushing me like this would be out of line. I expected it, and still I’m here because I don’t want you to give Brooks shit for not being able to convince me to visit.”
“Isla, it’s been a year since we’ve separated. Can’t we be adults about this and co-exist for the sake of our families?” Chip places a hand flat against his chest. “You claim you’re in a relationship. I’ve moved on. Shouldn’t—”
“Huh,” I cut in. “You were texting two months ago about giving our relationship another chance.”
Lorna’s head turns sharply toward her son, lines creasing her forehead.
My father’s flat palm lands on the table, rattling the dishes. “Enough. Your mother is trying to speak.”
Mom’s lips turn down, and sadness creeps into her eyes. I don’t know whether to believe it; that’s how broken our relationship has become.
“What would you have me do?” she asks. “Send them home? Or can we have dinner like civilized adults?”
She won’t call me by my preferred name. I don’t know why I’d ever expect her to respect any other choice I make.
“Great,” Mom says to the resounding silence.
I grit my teeth. My feelings never mattered in this house when I was a kid, and they mean nothing to my parents now. Continuing with this farce of a dinner is the last thing I want to do, but I’m too proud to leave. I also don’t want Brooks to deal with the backlash.
“So, Wesley—” my mother starts.
“Wes,” he corrects, voice low and gruff. I place my hand on top of his hand already on my knee, grateful that we’re a team.
“Why don’t you tell us how you met our Isabella?”
Wes glances sideways at me, and I roll my eyes. My mother not using my chosen name is the least of my complaints.
“Isla and I met through my brother, her new skating partner.”
My mother makes a clicking sound with her mouth. “Ah, well, that’s….” She struggles to come up with an adjective and gives up trying. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Isabella has always been dedicated to her skating more than anything else.”
A compliment wrapped in a critique. A Monica Covington special.
“She’s brilliant,” Wes replies without hesitation.
My gaze is glued to the side of his head, admiring the shape of his mouth, as he sings my praises to my family. He’s never been more attractive to me than in this moment.
“I remember the first time I saw her skate,” he continues, gaze bouncing around the table, but I know these words are for me.
“I was annoyed that I missed a pool party for my brother’s skating competition.
I was waiting for him when this girl zipped onto the ice, her hair in braids flying behind her as she moved. She made everything look effortless.”
I can’t believe he remembers this.
Wes turns his head to face me and hits me with that smoldering look he’s perfected. Someone might need to scrape me off the floor. “But what stuck with me was that smile you gave the crowd after nailing that last move. So beautiful that for a second I couldn’t catch my breath.”
This is the longest I’ve ever heard Wes Davidson speak in a single go, all to describe the day we first met fourteen years ago, like it’s a core memory for him.
“I didn’t know that you saw me skate that day,” I whisper.
Wes pushes some hair behind my ear, leaning in to reply to me. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Covington.”
A shiver zips up my spine.
“Wait—you’ve known him that long?” Brooks asks, his first out-loud words since we sat down. This dinner is as tough for him as it is for me. He sees our parents more than I do, but his relationship with them is complicated.
“We met a long time ago,” Wes answers, beating me to the punch. “Isla knocked me on my ass, but that’s nothing compared to how she’s turned my life upside down now.”
He’s either a magnificent actor or he means what he says. I’m not sure which option is more terrifying.
“I hope you don’t want children,” Chip spits. “She won’t give them to you. She’s—”
“Think about what you say next very carefully.” Wes’s deep voice is all warning, a threat on my behalf. Even with the shift in our relationship, I’m shocked by his lethal tone and withering stare.
Lorna’s head swivels from my mother to my father. “Do you hear these threats?”
Chip pays no attention to his hysterical mother. “Or what? You’ll beat me up?” He turns his tone comical for that second question, as if the idea of Wes giving him a beatdown is absurd. Chip has never been punched in the face before, and it shows.
Wes remains stone-faced as he stares Chip down. “It wouldn’t be the first time I put an asshole in his place.”
I drop my utensils onto the table. “Davidson, can I speak to you?”