Chapter 43
Izzy
Dad sends the volleyball over the net in a neat, if unpracticed, arc. I set, then spike it myself, the same routine we’ve
been doing for the past hour. Instead of hitting it back, however, he catches it, giving me a pleased smile.
“You’ve definitely improved.”
I run my fingers through my ponytail. “I practiced a lot last season.”
The unspoken part of my sentence hangs in the air uncomfortably. I stare at the floor of our home gym, blinking hard. I’ve
loved every second of the past hour, but whenever I think about spring league or next season, I’m filled with dread. At least
the thought of planning James and Bex’s wedding gives me the good kind of nerves. If I say yes.
“Isabelle,” he says, coming around the net. “You’re upset, darling.”
I startle at the use of my full name, wiping away a trickle of sweat from my brow. I sit on the built-in bench along the wall,
sipping from my water bottle.
“Aren’t you?”
He tosses the volleyball aside and joins me on the bench, stretching out his legs. The left one has a scar down the knee;
an old football injury that required surgery.
“Yes,” he says, after a moment. “Of course I’m upset. But not about what happened.”
“I promised you I’d play setter again, and now that’s not hap pening.” I have to whisper it. I thought I could take this conversation, but two seconds in, I’m already faltering.
“And I don’t care about that.”
Tears prick my eyes. “How could you not?”
He sighs, rubbing his scarred knee. “Well, I’m relieved you didn’t hurt yourself too badly, for one thing. And I don’t agree
with the way your coach has handled things, even if it’s her team to run how she sees fit.”
“You wanted me back at setter.” Nik’s words echo in my mind before I can banish them. Even though I tried for myself, I can’t
deny that I tried for my father’s approval, too. My whole family’s approval. I wanted to be worthy of the Callahan name, the
way my brothers are.
“I knew what that position meant to you, so yes, I wanted you to try to win it back.”
“And I failed you.”
He blinks, quiet for a moment. “Is that what you really think?”
I worry my lip between my teeth as I stand, needing distance. Even though the gym has high ceilings and plenty of space, it
feels tiny, a box without an escape. I turn my head, refusing to look at my father.
“Isabelle,” he says again.
“You know what I’m talking about.” A tear runs down my cheek. I wipe it away roughly. “Don’t act like you don’t.”
He stands too, reaching out as if to give me a hug. I turn, shaking my head.
“I’ve never been enough.” My brittle voice cracks on the words. “Not for you, not for our family.”
He sighs heavily, the lines on his face more pronounced, somehow. “Darling—”
“You’ve accomplished everything you ever set out to do,” I interrupt, my voice gaining strength. “James followed in your footsteps, and Cooper is massively talented, and Sebastian has this whole new passion to explore, and I’m just... here. Failing.” I sniffle. “Don’t deny it.”
His shoulders sag; something flickers in his eyes. “Isabelle, I’ve never once... All I care about is your happiness.”
“You care about us being the best.”
“ Your best. Not the best.”
I shake my head tightly.
“Yes,” he insists. “Come here, honey. Please.”
I can’t bring myself to step closer, but I don’t protest when he wraps me in a hug. I shut my eyes, trying to breathe.
“Not enough?” I make a soft noise. I feel him shake his head. “It breaks my heart to hear you say that. Our family wouldn’t
be complete without you. And that has nothing to do with volleyball.”
“But I failed,” I whisper.
“You made a mistake, one that you can learn from and move on. That’s all it is.” He strokes my hair. “Do you remember what
you told me when you started playing?”
“Not really.”
“You were so excited.” He eases away, meeting my eyes. “You said that you had so much fun, and that you just made friends
with a girl named Victoria, and that you wanted a pink volleyball, if they made them.”
“I remember the pink volleyball.”
He laughs softly. “I think I got you half a dozen, just in case.”
“Because you could tell I had a shot to be good at a sport, finally.”
“Because I could tell you really loved it,” he says, voice gentle but firm. “And I remember being so thrilled—not because
you found a sport to play, but because you found something you loved to do, and made friends doing it. I would’ve felt the
same if it was theater or art or, I don’t know, pickleball.”
I smile despite myself. Just a little, wobbly with emotion. I tried out a lot of other hobbies—the summer of piano was torture to everyone’s ears, I’m sure—but volleyball stuck like nothing else.
“What if... I don’t want to do spring league?”
He considers that. “Because of your coach?”
I shake my head, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Bex asked me to plan her wedding, and I think I’d rather focus on that.
At least for now. She’ll pay me and everything, and apparently Katherine already said she’d help.”
“Darling, that’s wonderful,” he says, the concern vanishing from his face.
“Really?”
“That sounds like an excellent plan to me.” He gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You’re allowed to take a breather.
And you’re allowed to stop if that’s what ends up working best for you. Play again if you still love it, but don’t do it for
me.”
I search his face, even though I can sense the truthfulness in his words.
“You promise?”
“Of course.” He kisses my temple. “You’re my daughter, and I love you.”
“Everyone should say those words more often,” Mom says, the door to the gym shutting behind her with a rush of cold air. “Did
I miss practice?”
I look at Dad. He just raises an eyebrow. Before, I’d have said it was a challenge, but now I recognize it as encouragement.
I pick up the volleyball and toss it to Mom. “Guess who has a wedding planning gig?”
Half an hour later, I’m breathless with laughter, watching Mom jostle Dad for the volleyball. I’m not sure when our straightforward
practice devolved into a volleyball-basketball hybrid, but I’m not complaining.
“Your point! Your point!” Dad says, throwing the volleyball like it’s a football. It sails through the air, landing in front of me with a smack. He lets Mom push him against the gym wall, kissing him.
I wrinkle my nose, but I’m smiling. “I’m going back to the house.”
“Start your playlist for New Year’s karaoke!” Mom calls. “Rich, don’t you dare —”
Outside the gym, I hurry down the path to the house, still beaming. I didn’t bring a jacket with me, and it’s cold enough
that my breath looks like smoke. I feel so much lighter. I should have had that conversation with Dad weeks ago. I’m not entirely
certain where I stand with volleyball right now, but at least I have some time to think. To reflect.
I round a corner and see Nik leaning against a tree, his back to me as he talks to someone on the phone.
“You’re back from training early!” I smile even wider, stepping around a patch of ice. Nik and Cooper went to a nearby rink
for a skate, and I wasn’t expecting them back until dinner. “Guess what?”
He looks over. His face is a stiff mask. The phone falls from his fingers, hitting the ground. He flinches at the sound, eyes
wide, hand curling and uncurling in a fist. His body is as tense as when we argued after my conversation with Alexis.
I stop in my tracks. My heart starts to pound. Last time, I thought that expression meant he didn’t care, but I know better
now. I take a couple careful steps forward. “Babe? What’s the matter?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“I know,” I say, still inching closer. “Novy God in Russian, right? I looked into it a bit, I thought maybe we could—”
He shakes his head once, violently, effectively cutting me off. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His scar stands out like a brand. I pick up his phone, tucking it into my pocket, and cup his cheek with my cold hand.
“Talk to me, Nik, please.”
He says something in Russian, then curses in English, then knocks my hand away.
“My father...” He trails off, clenching his jaw. “My father, he...”
“What?” I say, searching those wide, panicked eyes. I want to hug him, but I’m afraid he’ll push me away again. “He what?”
His eyes shutter. “He tried to kill my mother on New Year’s Eve.”