Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
I can’t remember the last time I felt so light.
I’m walking down Callahan Terrace, the day is perfectly warm, the traffic isn’t too loud, the footpath isn’t too crowded.
It’s one of those days you just can’t fault.
I’m breezing through it without a care in the world, and it’s all because of Isabelle.
Lucky for me, Mondays are like my weekends.
I took Tiny for a run along the beach, then we met Grams and Grandpa for coffee at Thistle Theory.
I grabbed some more gardening supplies while I was there, then spent the rest of the morning in my garden, smiling to the sound of my phone beeping with messages from Isabelle.
I was still wearing a stupid grin when I popped in to see Mum at her office with a takeout box of lemon doughnuts from Sweet Escape.
Mum didn’t know what to make of it. It’s not like I’ve been a miserable fuck for the last ten years.
I’ve smiled and laughed, and had good days, but I guess they weren’t as big or common as I thought.
I felt so guilty when Mum hugged me, with tears in her eyes, telling me that whatever I was doing, to keep doing it.
I don’t know what to make of the feelings Isabelle brings out in me.
She has a charm that’s uniquely hers, that I can’t help but lean into.
The light in her soul beckons to the darkness in mine, and all I want to do is follow.
Follow that light. Chase it and possess it until she burns for me.
She has a hold over me that I’m reluctant to fight.
So, I went back to Sweet Escape for a maple cinnamon cannoli, and something with coconut for Caleb to cover up the fact that I was really coming to see Isabelle.
She hasn’t answered my last text before lunch, so I’m hoping she’s here. I walk through the open floor of desks, stopping when I see Riley, Caleb’s assistant, hanging over the cubicle wall, chatting to some woman who looks totally annoyed by his presence.
“Riley,” I call out.
He looks up, tilting his brows. “Hey, Gage, what are you doing down here?”
“I was just looking for Isabelle.”
At the curious arch of his eyebrows, I stutter out, “I had a meeting about Smoke and Barrel.”
“If you say so. Unfortunately, she went home sick.”
Panic washes over me like white hot fire. “Sick? What happened?”
“She and a few other girls went to some sushi place for lunch, and like an hour later, three of them were blowing chunks in the bathroom.”
“Riley, for fuck’s sake,” the woman says, “some of us are still eating our lunch.”
“It’s after two p.m., eat faster,” he sasses straight back with a roll of his eyes, then he nods his head in her direction. “This is my cousin, Raven.”
“Gage,” I say, extending my hand. “I’m friends with your Uncle Tuck.”
Riley looks at Raven. “Gage and Dad met at grief counselling, and then he bought the tattoo studio for Dad.”
“I didn’t buy it for him, I invested in his business.”
“He was on the brink of losing his studio cos he was behind on rent, and you bought the whole building,” Riley deadpans.
I shrug, wanting to move on from the conversation.
I don’t help people for the accolades, and honestly, I don’t know how to take thanks or compliments.
But more so, I want to shut down this conversation so I can go and check on Isabelle.
She was throwing up? How did she even get home? I’m sure she needs me.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll go see Cale. Nice to meet you, Raven.” I wave and head back to the elevators, smashing the down button.
Isabelle’s apartment is only a few minutes’ drive from the office. I wonder if she walks to work every day. How did she get home if she was so sick?
I jump into my ute, tossing the bag of treats on the passenger seat and tear out of the underground parking garage. I make it to Isabelle’s in under five minutes, running up the three flights of stairs to her apartment and pounding on her door the second I reach it.
“Izzy, it’s Gage.”
I wait, pressing my ear against the door, not hearing anything.
I knock again a little louder. “Isabelle?”
“Can I help you?” I look over my shoulder.
An older woman stands in the doorway of her apartment on the other side of the hall, assessing me up and down.
“Isabelle left work early with food poisoning. Do you know if she made it home?”
“And who is she to you?” The woman folds her arms over her chest.
“She works with my brother, Caleb Heart.” I’m hoping our name is somewhat recognisable to this woman to find me reputable, but she continues to stare blankly at me.
“And she’s my…” What’s the answer to that question? “She’s mine.”
“Gage?” a pained whisper says.
My head whips back around, taking Isabelle in. Her face is pale, hair tied at the nape of her neck, with rogue curls stuck to her sweaty forehead. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt with little sleep shorts that have ruffles on the hem.
I cup her face, directing her eyes up to mine. “I heard you were sick. Are you okay?”
I attempt to soften my voice, hiding the worry. She smiles sweetly up at me, eyes barely open as her hands come up to wrap around my wrists, her thumbs rubbing against the back of my hands.
“I’ve been better.” She chuckles, but the sound is exhausted.
“Back to bed then, come on.” I bend down, scooping her into my arms, careful not to jostle her too much.
I kick the door closed behind me and head straight for her bedroom. The blankets are pulled back in a mess, and I pull up when I spot a grey ball of fluff glaring at me from the end of the bed.
“Ah, is this the cat you’ve told me about, Iz?”
She nods. “Hallie.”
She’s told me about her cat before, but I didn’t see it when I was here the other night. I didn’t notice anything besides the pure existence of Isabelle.
I walk around to the other side of the bed, one eye on the animal who looks like it could pounce at a moment’s notice, then I lower Isabelle to the mattress.
There’s a bucket beside her bed, but there’s nothing in it. I crouch down beside her, brushing her hair back from her face.
“Do you think it’s all out of your system now?”
She huffs out a tired breath. “I think so.”
I look on her nightstand, noting there’s no water, so I kiss her temple and then head into the kitchen.
She’s got some bottles of water in the fridge, so I grab one and set it on the bench before going through her cupboards, trying to find where she stores her medicines.
I open the first cupboard and wow. I thought I was organised.
Everything in here is sorted into a labelled tub: snacks, baking, cereals, condiments.
Everything has a place. The inside of the doors is lined with contact paper covered in pastel coloured fruit.
It makes a smile break out on my face. Is there nothing this woman does in life that isn’t completely untouched by her eternal sunshine?
I shut the door and move on to the overhead cupboards next.
I find a white basket labelled with a red cross and start searching for some electrolytes.
Thankfully, she has some soluble ones, so I crack them and drop them into the bottled water and head back to Isabelle’s room.
She’s curled up in a ball, hands tucked under her head. The damn cat is still sitting on the end of the bed, glaring.
I sit beside Isabelle, rubbing a hand up and down her back.
“I got you some water,” I whisper, but she just mumbles in response. “Can I do anything for you?”
My foot bounces. I feel helpless.
“Can you cuddle me?” she says with her eyes still shut, and my hand stills on her back.
Well, shit, that’s the easiest thing I can do for her, but she must need more. “You don’t want anything else? Paracetamol? A heat pack?”
“No. I just want you.”
Emotions well inside of me. At the feeling of being needed. It’s not just something anyone could have given her. She needs me.
I stand up, unlace my boots, and kick them aside before rounding the bed. The cat wags its tail menacingly, but doesn’t move as I crawl over the other side of the bed, aligning myself behind Isabelle’s body.
My arm comes around her, resting over her side, and she stirs. Rolling herself over to face me, she buries her cheek against my chest and threads one leg between mine.
My chest settles as I hug her close, letting my fingers glide under her shirt where it’s pulled up on her back, and I tickle her skin gently.
I have group therapy at seven. I haven’t missed a session in the decade I’ve been going. I’ve tried to be present in my healing, to not be dismissive of my need to feel and process my grief in my own time, but right now, I’m torn. If Isabelle says she needs me, I can’t leave.
I sneak my hand back from under her shirt to double-check the time on my watch, freezing as soon as I spot the numbers.
Three p.m. On the dot.
Threes are my sign for August. I always take them as him shoving me in the direction I need to go, to follow my gut.
So I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trusting that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.