Chapter 33 Isla
ISLA
Two days later, Kai leaves the house before the sun is properly up. The house is still cast in that blue-gray quiet that makes everything peaceful. I wake just enough to feel him lean over me and press his mouth to mine, then feel him do the same to Garrett.
Then, I’m falling back to sleep as the bedroom door clicks.
When I wake again, I’m alone in bed.
I know Garrett is mad that he can’t go with the club. They’re riding out to visit the Cedar City Outlaws. It’s a seven-hour ride, something Garrett just can’t handle with his ribs.
Kai didn’t offer to stay home, and I understand why. He has a job to do. He’s the club enforcer. If he doesn’t go, it sets the tone that these things are optional, which they most definitely aren’t.
And while Garrett didn’t ask him to stay home because he gets that, he’s pissed and grumpy about it.
I slip on one of Garrett’s huge hoodies and wander down the stairs.
He’s standing barefoot on the kitchen tiles, coffee in one hand and his helmet on the counter beside him.
His hair is still damp, curling at the nape of his neck.
He must have showered in one of the other bathrooms and not the en suite, as he didn’t wake me up.
Most of all, he looks steadier, more like himself than he has since the accident.
“Morning, sweetie,” I say, placing my face into the bouquet of flowers they got me to celebrate the success I’m having with my videos about the house renovation. They’re all white, and beautifully arranged in a pretty vase, but the thing I love most is how sweet they smell.
The corners of his lips lift in a smile. “Not sure I’ll get used to getting called sweet things by you.”
“You like it?”
He puts his cup down. “I love it. Come here.”
I walk into his arms, and he envelops me. My heart bursts a little. This is the safety I always wanted. A place, a home, with a man who knows how to care for me, with enough strength and masculine energy I can lean into.
“What’s with the bike helmet?” I ask.
“I’m not gonna push it, but the longer I stay off my bike, the harder it’s going to be to climb back on it.”
My chest tightens, a little. Kai’s fear lives in me. I’ve borrowed it, I guess. I never saw Garrett on the road. Never saw the way his body slid across the ground. But I saw Kai’s face when he stepped off his bike that night. I saw the horror of it.
“Did you deliberately wait until Kai left so he couldn’t talk you out of it?”
Garrett’s eyes are guileless when he looks at me. “Absolutely. Because I know what he would see if he was here. It’s gonna take a few deep breaths to climb back on. And I never want Kai to see how scared I am, because his own fear is going to be hard enough for him to manage.”
“It’s tough to argue when what you’re saying is so noble and I understand it.”
Garrett lowers his lips to mine. It’s not sexually charged. It’s comforting. Or, perhaps, seeking comfort. Garrett just admitted to me that he’s scared too. Maybe my job here is cheerleader. Helping him to convince himself that this is just another ride.
“Will you promise you won’t push it? Because I know you. If it’s feeling even remotely good, you’re gonna head off down the highway to blow off some steam.”
He huffs a laugh. “If it feels good, and I need some air, you’re right, I will. But I’ll stay close. Riding in circles around our properties is better than not riding at all. And I know it might start aching, so I don’t want to be fifty clicks away from home if it does.”
“I’m sure Kai would want me to put some more boundaries on it.”
Garrett laughs. “He would. But I’ll give you the same response I’d give him: I do what I want.”
“I’m gonna go put on some jeans and get layered up to come watch you. Make me a coffee while I get dressed.”
He salutes, and it’s so military that, for a second, I get a flash of him in uniform. But I know from Kai it’s a period of his life Garrett doesn’t love talking about, so I don’t ask to see the pictures of him. “Yes, ma’am.”
Once I’m dressed, I hurry downstairs and find my coffee waiting on the counter for me. There’s the rumble of a motorcycle engine in the garage, and I hurry out of the house with my cup.
The garage door is open, the engine is running, a helmet is on the floor by his feet, and Garrett is just sitting on his bike, running his hands along it. There are seven bikes in the garage, and I wonder what made him choose the one he’s sitting on.
While it’s tempting to ask him, I let him have the moment. Reacquainting himself with the feel of the machine between his thighs. I’m sure there are a million thoughts screaming through his head, right now.
Good memories of time on the road with Kai and their motorcycle club brotherhood battling with fifteen seconds of uncontrolled skidding across asphalt.
The feel of bones and joints and muscles and sinew being stretched and pulled in directions they aren’t meant to go.
Wondering if this is going to be your last view of the earth.
When he looks up, he’s stricken. I don’t know what to do in these situations, but I remember Nanna saying toward the end of her life that one of the things she found hardest was the ways in which people tried to avoid talking about death directly.
I walk up the driveway to him and put my bare hand over his gloved one. “What did you think about, when you were skidding?”
Garrett glances up at the ceiling. “When I realized the momentum, my first thought was that, if I died, I would die doing something I loved. That I was on my bike, in a wide-open space I always dreamed of, with Kai, a man I loved, by my side, in a place we could finally call home.”
A lump forms in my throat. “That’s really beautiful, Garrett.”
He huffs. “Yeah, maybe. But I also thought how I wasn’t fucking ready to die. And how noisy the smash of my helmet against the gravel was. And how heavy the weight of the bike on me was. And how it was all so fast, it was impossible to know how I felt or what hurt.”
Knowing what to do, now, I climb on the bike behind him and slide my arms gently around his middle before resting my chin on his shoulder.
“That’s a lot to process,” I say, close to his ear.
“And I would think it’s perfectly normal to feel a little unsure.
Maybe this is enough of a first step for today. ”
“I always thought I’d fight death, but in that moment, I actually felt powerless, and I can’t explain why.
And then, Kai was there. He tried to be calm.
Telling me to stay down and not move. Telling me the driver didn’t stop.
Calling Greer. But the look in his eyes, Isla…
Never seen Kai so terrified. And I’ve seen him in plenty of situations that warranted feeling terrified before.
He asked me what hurt, I told him my bike. ”
I feel his chuckle rather than hear it.
“Look at you using humor in times of difficulty.”
He removes his gloved hand from the bike and puts it over mine, which are sitting at his middle. “Yeah, well, I then asked him to tell me whether my feet were moving.”
“Oh my God, Garrett. That must have been awful.” I’ve been so wrapped up in worries about the injuries he has that I forgot there must have been a moment where he was worried about whether he would walk again, and what that might mean to his life if he couldn’t.
Garrett shifts so he can look over his shoulder at me. “You know what was worse?”
I shake my head. “What?”
“Watching Kai suffer. He pressed his fingers to his lips to kiss them, then pressed them to mine. He told me he loved me. Called me Bear. And told me how terrifying it was to watch me spin. It was so evident he thought he’d lost me.
Weirdly, because of how my father never accepted me because I wasn’t straight, I think I’ve never truly believed that even Kai could love me.
I kept five percent of myself separate and ready to tell myself ‘I told you so’ when Kai eventually left me, if you get what I mean.
But seeing how he reacted when he thought I was going to be killed showed me there’s no five percent.
He really fucking loves me with every piece of him. ”
I press a kiss to his shoulder and resist the urge to hold him tightly. “That’s a lot, and also beautiful.”
Garrett nods. “If a good thing had to come of crashing like I did, it’s that singular epiphany. I love him, and you, one hundred percent.”
“I love you one hundred percent too.”
“Do you trust me, Isla?” he asks.
“Implicitly.”
The bike rumbles beneath me, and then, we move. Slowly, at first, we roll down the driveway. It’s smooth and controlled, like every turn is choreographed. I press closer to him. My chest to his back.
It’s not adrenaline that fuels him. It’s trust. Trust in himself. Trust in the machine we’re on. Trust in me.
True to his word, we don’t go fast.
It’s steady. I can tell his faith in himself and the bike returns when we start to move a little faster, and weave a little.
When we get back after only ten minutes of riding up and down our road, I’m smiling so hard, my cheeks hurt.
“Kai’s going to kill you when he gets home,” I tease.
He points to the cameras. “You should probably wave. He probably already knows. Bet we’ve got text messages. He’ll be pissed I got you on the back of my bike before he did.”
His physio shows up just as we’re putting the bike away.
“I’m going to go to my place while you have your treatment,” I say. “You’ve inspired me to do something brave.”
He tugs me gently into his arms. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“Tackle some of Nanna’s most personal and precious items.”
He kisses me tenderly. “Maybe you inspired me to be brave too. I’m glad I’m still alive to experience this…with you.”
“Me too.”
“Be careful. Lock your doors. Call me if you get scared or for any reason.”
I pat his chest. “I promise I will.”
With a full heart, I practically skip across the road, ready to tackle one of the jobs I’ve been dreading. I turn to wave when I reach the front door, knowing he watched me all the way home. But as I approach the dresser containing all of Nanna’s precious things, I feel a tightness in my chest.
I set up my phone and press record. “Hey, it’s Isla and welcome back to the renovation of my nanna’s house.
This one is going to be difficult. I guess it’s been easy enough to tackle junk and wallpaper and out-of-date food cans.
But I’ve been putting off going through her personal effects.
I know people are going to have all kinds of views on how I should handle this, but, please, be kind in the comments.
My nanna got joy from dressing her best, even if no one would see her.
If you showed up any time of day, she’d greet you in her indoor dress shoes and a piece or two of mostly costume jewelry. ”
Everything is in boxes or little fabric bags. There are layers of tissue dividing everything. I lift one of the fabric bags and smell it as I look at the camera. “Everything smells like her.”
Tears sting, but this time, they don’t fall.
I open the pouch out onto my hand and smile.
“Did you know that during World War II, there was a thing called Sweetheart Jewelry? Sometimes, it was called Patriot jewelry. It showed you had loved ones on the front lines.” I hold up the delicate piece of silver jewelry.
It features the US Navy’s insignia and delicate forget-me-not flowers.
“My great-grandmother, my nanna’s mom, was sent this in 1944 by her husband. And, of course, I’m keeping this.”
I make my way through various other pieces.
While my decision to keep, gift, sell, or donate isn’t monetary based, I do look out for gold items that I could possibly melt down and have made into something I would want to wear.
“I’m keeping the pieces that remind me of Nanna.
These were her everyday pearl studs. And I have a picture of me when I was seven and Nanna is wearing these little silver flowers.
I guess it’s a challenge to decide what’s meaningful to you.
I know Nanna wouldn’t want me to keep this place like a museum or time capsule.
But there are times when I wish she’d left me clearer instructions of what she wanted done with her things. ”
At times, I shift the filming to a timelapse, as I don’t think viewers want to sit through two hours of me emptying little bags of goodies.
By the time I’m done, my heart is full, but as I turn off the camera, I realize I’m emotionally exhausted.
When I finally shower and change into some soft pajamas and I lie down, it’s with a quiet satisfaction that I’ve gotten another difficult job done. But more than that, I’m feeling less broken, more healed, and lighter.
I fall asleep almost instantly.
And when I wake, it’s to the smell of something sharp and acrid.
Something…wrong.
Groggily, I open my eyes and see smoke crawling along the ceiling, looming above me.
For half a second, my brain refuses to fully switch back online.
Fire.
Fire!
I sit up too fast, heart slamming in my chest. Heat presses against my skin as I grab my phone and stumble into the hall, coughing, to see the back of the house is already burning.
“No. No!”
The fear I’m losing the only tangible thing I have, the very roof over my head, collides with the reality that I’ll die with it if I don’t move.
I throw my phone, laptop, and shoes into a bag, run into Nanna’s room, scoop up the box containing the jewelry of hers I wanted to keep, and run out of the house.
Flames lick at the curtains of the living room as I turn back to look at the building. With shaking hands, I dial 911, words tumbling out in gasps as I sprint across the road, barefoot and in my pajamas.
Tears blur my vision.
“It’s already consumed half the house,” I gasp when asked about the size of the fire.
And as I answer more questions, I know they won’t be able to save it, because it’s a fair drive here from the nearest fire station and the house is burning up fast.
“Garrett,” I scream as I approach the house. I don’t question why his door is open. Instead, I run straight inside, where grief crashes into horror.
Garrett is on his knees. Hands on his head. He’s wincing and sweating.
A man stands in front of him, gun pointed straight at his face.
The scream dies in my throat.