Chapter Seven
ISABELLA
“Ithought you were going to North Carolina to recover from your injury,” Elise says, her voice full of disbelief. “Now you’re out making friends and going on a date with a hockey player? Things sure took an interesting turn.”
I laugh. “I am recovering. Everything else just sort of…happened.”
And it’s true. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect that coming home to my parents would lead to me going out with a professional athlete.
A few weeks ago, I was spending my days stretched across my parents’ couch, half-watching TV and feeling sorry for myself while my foot throbbed. Not to mention trying to use the crutches I never seemed to master. I was convinced my entire life had stalled. And without dancing that’s how it feels.
Now things feel completely different.
“How exactly does something like that just happen?” Elise asks.
I think back over how fast everything shifted.
“Well, my sister-in-law kind of started it. She introduced me to a few people, and one of them is engaged to the Bears’ goalie.” I pause. “Then Dane got tickets to a Carolina Bears game, and after that everything sort of fell into place.”
“Things like this don’t just happen,” she says with a laugh.
“I know,” I agree. “Austin asked about my injury while we were talking after the game. Then we just…kept talking.”
“And.”
“And that’s it. We chatted, then I saw him at the Community Fall Fest and we talked again.”
“And…”
I grin. “Fine. He was nice and very easy to talk to. He’s funny and seems very down-to-earth.
There’s a dramatic pause on the other end of the line.
“Any other questions?” I ask.
“Hold on.”
A few seconds pass which means she’s up to something. “Elise—”
“Okay,” she says. “Austin Reed. Defenseman. Carolina Bears. From Northern California. Six-three. Very good-looking.”
I burst out laughing. “Of course you Googled him.”
“Um, that’s my responsibility as your friend. I need to do my own research and gather my own conclusions. Don’t forget that I’m a lawyer.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious. This is important. I can’t just let you wing it on your own.”
“Fine. And what conclusion have you come to, counselor?”
“Oh, I absolutely approve.”
I laugh again. “Thank you. Your opinion is important.”
“You know I always have your back,” she reminds me.
“And I always have yours.”
We stay on the phone for a while longer, chatting the way we always do. She fills me in on everything happening with her—mostly business and cases she’s working on.
By the time we’re off the phone, I’m smiling. Although my smile fades quickly as I’m reminded that I miss my life. I miss my apartment, my friends, dancing. And most of all, I miss feeling like myself.
At the same time, there’s something exciting about being here. And about Austin.
And maybe this is what scares me the most.
“I cannot believe we still have all of this,” I say, searching through a box of memories from my childhood and teen years. One of several boxes I forgot existed.
My mom laughs from where she’s sitting across from me. “I wasn’t going to throw away your things without asking.”
“I wouldn’t have even known.”
She gives me a look. “I’m sure you would’ve asked about it at some point.”
Sunlight pours through the front window as I dig through another box labeled Isabella Lynn Martin in faded black marker.
This must be what it feels like to travel down memory lane.
So far, I’ve found old dance costumes, competition makeup bags.
Some tangled jewelry in plastic containers, and a bin of hair accessories.
Plus posters, event programs, and journals.
I set them aside because there’s nothing more cringey than reading entries from teenage Isabella.
They will provide many hours of humiliating entertainment.
I hold up a sparkly leopard-print leotard with an attached skirt. “Oh my gosh. This was one of my favorite costumes.”
My mom raises an eyebrow. “You’ve said that about every costume.”
“Not every single one.”
She gives me a look that says yes, every single one, and I laugh.
I keep digging, pulling memories out one at a time. A hoodie from dance nationals my sophomore year and several pairs of dance shoes.
It’s like I’m sorting through pieces of another person’s life, even though I lived every second of it.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes from somewhere beneath the piles of stuff.
I frown. “Where is my phone?”
“It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere near you,” my mom says, pointing in my direction.
After shoving aside books, I finally grab my phone from underneath more clothes.
The second I see the screen, every thought in my head disappears. A wave of nausea takes over and for a second, it feels like I’ve completely left my body.
“Isabella?” My mom’s voice cuts through the silence. “Are you okay?”
I stare at the message, not moving or saying a word.
“You just went pale,” she says, sitting up straighter. “Is it your foot? Did you move it the wrong way? You need to be careful.”
I slowly shake my head, still trying to process what I’m seeing.
“It’s not my foot.”
“Then what is it?”
“Dexter sent me a message.” I hold up my phone.
Her eyes widen.
“He did?” she asks carefully. “What does it say?”
I clear my throat and begin reading aloud.
“Hi. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reach out. I’ve wanted to send this message for weeks. I’m so sorry about your injury. I can only imagine how devastated you must be. I hope you’re recovering okay. Maybe we could catch up soon. — Dex.”
My mom’s expression turns thoughtful as she leans back against the back of the couch.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “So he’s checking in on you.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You don’t have to respond,” she reminds me gently.
“I know.”
“Unless you want to.”
I stare down at my phone. The screen has already dimmed, but the message is still there waiting for me.
Do I want to respond? I honestly don’t know.
But there is a part of me that’s curious. And another part of me wants to delete the message and forget I ever saw it.
Instead, I ignore it and set the phone face down on the floor next to me.
“It was nice of him to reach out,” I say with a shrug, turning back to the half-unpacked box I was sorting through. “He’s probably just being polite. I mean, we cared about each other a lot and he knows how important dancing is to me.”
My mom doesn’t say anything. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, piecing together thoughts and debating on what to say out loud.
“It would make sense if you felt confused by his message,” she says carefully.
I pull a stack of books out of the box. “I’m not confused.”
Of course this isn’t true. I am confused, and why wouldn’t I be?
Dexter and I haven’t spoken in forever. Our breakup was painful, but it was a clean break.
We’d said everything there was to say and went our separate ways.
And that was it—until today’s text. Dexter made it very clear that building his business was his focus and that he needed to move forward giving it all his attention.
I don’t want to read into the message. Asking about my injury is one thing, but why ask if we can catch up?
“I’m confused for you,” my mom admits after a moment.
I glance up at her.
“Dexter was very clear about what he wanted when the two of you split up,” she continues. “And if I’m being honest, I never thought he handled your dance career very well. He was very threatened by it, all the attention and the success.”
I stare at her in surprise.
My parents were supportive after the breakup, but they never shared their opinions. They stayed neutral through all of it, only offering advice when I asked for it. And at the time that’s exactly what I needed.
“I don’t know if that’s true,” I reply. “He never said anything about it bothering him.”
She gives me a look. “Does that surprise you?”
I open my mouth to say something but then close it quickly.
Actually it doesn’t surprise me because Dexter wasn’t the kind of person who would intentionally try to hurt me. He knew how much I love dancing, so if there were issues, he probably wouldn’t voice them.
“I guess not,” I admit quietly.
My mom continues talking. “I think he probably believed the grass would be greener on the other side. And now maybe he’s realizing that’s not the case and he gave up on a good thing.”
I stare at the mess around me while I process what she’s saying.
“Your injury gave him an excuse to contact you,” she continues. “It was only a matter of time.”
I don’t say anything. I never realized she had such strong opinions about Dexter, or about our relationship. Part of me wishes she had said something, even though I wouldn’t have listened.
“Well, even if we did catch up, our relationship is long over,” I say. “I’ve moved on with my life. I’m even going out with someone this weekend. It’s a group thing, but at least I’m getting out of the house.”
Her face lights up. “Since when? Who is it?”
I wasn’t planning on saying anything about going out with Austin just yet, but here we go.
“Austin Reed, from the Carolina Bears.”
Her mouth drops open, and then a grin spreads across her face. “The hockey player, of course.”
I laugh. “You make it sounds like you knew it would happen.”
She shrugs. “I had my suspicions. It was obvious Austin was interested from the second he saw you after that game.”
“Let’s not go overboard,” I tell her. “A little bit of flirting doesn’t automatically mean someone is interested.”
“Sure it does.”
I know better than to argue with her. We both like being right too much. It’s another Martin family trait.
“Anyway, I’m looking forward to it. I’m tired of sitting around feeling sorry for myself.”
My mom moves over to me and puts her arms around me. “I know how difficult this has been for you,” she says softly, rubbing my back. “But I have a feeling things are finally starting to look up.”
I lean into her embrace. “Thanks, Mom. I think so too.”
Right now, a hug from my mother is exactly what I need. It’s funny how this still helps even as an adult.