23. Izzy
Izzy
Idon’t remember deciding this became my spot. But it did.
I recline back on Jack’s extra-deep couch and stare up at the ceiling soaring overhead of his penthouse.
The gas fireplace keeps the open living space toasty, but I’m still snuggled up in his sweatshirt and a big knitted blanket.
A candle flickers on the spotless kitchen counter, reminding me that in a few short months, the first breath of spring will meet with the salty breeze in Merritt Point.
Usually, I don’t like rushing through the seasons. There’s magic to Christmas and winter. But we broke every rule we made, I said what I said, and nothing has come of it. We just exist in it, waiting for the other to flinch first. The early dark afternoons now that it’s December don’t help.
I sit back up, grab my laptop, and dive back into the mountain of work I need to sort through for the shop. I probably should have stayed home, but when Jack asked if I wanted to spend my day off at his place, I was curious.
Because this could be a reality. We’ve made it work so far with the hectic Breakers schedule and the shop.
But he doesn’t love you.
I hate that small, nagging voice.
My phone pings with a text from the landlord, checking in. Mr. Piersanti means well, I’m sure of it. Still doesn’t make it easier that suddenly, it feels like the store expansion would be a terrible idea. I’m not sure if it’s just fear kicking in or if I’ve met my limit.
Or that I’m hopelessly in love with an irresistible hockey player who’s turned my life upside down.
Probably that.
With a frustrated sigh, I toss my laptop aside.
Tea. Everything will feel better with a cup of tea.
I stand, and my feet sink into the gorgeous area rug covering the gleaming hardwood floors.
It’s such a beautiful space, one that fits Jack perfectly.
It’s a balance of modern and mid-century and just… cool.
There are no kitschy magnets on his fridge or hand-painted doodles around the doorways.
Everything is clean and new and smells divine.
Like eucalyptus and cedar. I’m sure there’s some fancy air freshener around here.
My books are stacked on the ottoman, and the blanket I’m wrapped in he bought for me.
Little reminders of me are scattered everywhere, but they can easily be cleaned up, pushed aside.
I stretch to my tiptoes and open the tall kitchen cabinet, scouring it for tea. Not sure why I thought he’d have any. It’s all whole-bean coffee and electrolytes.
Maybe I’ll get dressed and grab some from the coffee shop on the corner. Or I could text him? How long was practice going t—
A key scrapes against the lock, and I hold my breath as the door clicks open.
Jack steps in, freezing as he’s about to drop his gear with a wide, earnest smile. No crooked grin, no charm. That’s all fallen away.
My hand fumbles for the counter behind me, and I fall back against the hard granite.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Tears spring to my eyes, but I force a wobbly smile. “You don’t have tea.”
Of all the things to say? But my brain can’t catch up to what I’m seeing. Having Jack walk through the door of his penthouse, smiling at me like I belong nowhere else, and that…
He didn’t tell me he loved me three days ago. Not last night when I showed up at his door with an overnight bag and Thai food, not when he went down on me in the shower this morning before he left for practice.
Not even now.
My chest tightens, my smile still stubbornly stuck on my face.
“I’ll get tea.” Jack drops his bags, tosses his keys on the counter, and scoops my face into his hands. “Why are you crying?”
His voice is so gentle, like the light in his eyes, like the damn smile again that hasn’t dropped. Even the way he holds me in his hands… it’s as if he expects me to crumple. Maybe it’s obvious that my knees are shaking.
He didn’t say he loved me. He doesn’t have to.
And it’s stupid to wait. Even dumber to expect because he doesn’t owe me anything.
It’s my fault. I’ve tried so hard to tell myself his silence doesn’t matter.
It shouldn’t. I knew this was going to happen, but I was starting to let myself believe I was someone worth choosing anyway.
“Izzy, sweetheart, it’s so nice seeing you here when I walk through the door.” His voice cracks as his thumbs sweep over my wet cheekbones. “We’ve always moved fast, so why don’t you just move in? I’ll buy you all the tea in the world.”
The laugh doesn’t come. My smile doesn’t either.
Jack makes a confused noise in the back of his throat.
“Okay, I’ll buy you a ring first.” He smirks, and I pretend not to notice how it wobbles. “Get your shoes on…”
I scoff, pushing my fists against his stomach. He smells like his expensive soap, all clean and freshly showered.
“What’s going on?” he asks, dropping his hands from my cheeks.
I hastily wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands and blow out a breath. “How was practice?”
I hate how easily I’m knocked off balance by the bruise by his eye and his split lip.
“Good, fine.” He’s too busy studying me to notice me slipping away from between him and the kitchen island until I’m walking back toward the couch.
“Great.” I scan the living room, grab my slippers by the ottoman, my laptop on the coffee table, and practically run into his bedroom to stuff everything in my overnight bag. I can’t be here. Not anymore. I don’t want—
“I thought you were going to stay the night.”
“Things are super busy. I need to get back.”
“Did I miss something?” He leans in the doorway, his damp hair hanging by his eyes. “I was kidding about moving in…”
And that damn bruise.
Okay, well him guessing isn’t helping. Maybe only making things worse.
“I didn’t want to leave when you were out, but I have something…” I know I have a giant to-do list, but I’m blanking at the moment.
What if I had a call that he was hurt at practice? What if next time he’s at a game and in a fight, he doesn’t get back up?
I stuff everything into my overnight bag.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for lunch and help me pick out a Christmas tree. Never had one set up here before. Thought it could be fun to decorate. Maybe you could head back in a few hours instead? I’d like to spend the afternoon together.”
When I look up, I don’t have it in me to meet his eyes. Instead, I focus on his feet, then slowly, I bring my gaze up to his chest. “I should head back now. Still not feeling well…”
“Izzy.”
I slip my bag over my shoulder and pull on a fake smile, one I’m all too used to wearing. Anything to make everyone around me comfortable. Anything to let myself slip away without any more conflict.
So why the hell does this feel so fucking terrible?
Because I love him.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, then sighs. I know before he even says anything that he’s hurting. I bet he never spoke up to anyone about it, either.
“You should take some Advil before it gets too bad. I’ll text when I’m home.
” I scan his room, trying to find any piece of myself I’ve left behind.
My hair ties, my hairbrush, the lace underwear he peeled off me last night and tossed beside the nightstand.
I swear I’m forgetting something, somewhere.
“Want me to drive you back? Forecast says it’ll snow.”
He moves out of the way, then follows as I make my way to the door.
“No, car’s fine.”
This all felt too normal, too real, and I can’t…
“Izzy, we can deal with whatever’s bothering you. We can figure it out. If I said something wrong, I’m sorry. But please stay.”
Except I know how this goes. I love someone, and they leave. Doesn’t matter if he’s traded, hurt. Fake or not, we started with a plan and things have blurred. One way or another, he’ll be leaving me.
I’ve just been lying to myself that it wouldn’t matter.
It takes everything I have to calmly mask that panic coursing through my body as I step out into the hallway to the elevator. Which is a horrible mistake because Jack fills his doorway, his palms open, his eyes pleading.
The elevator button glows under my finger, and I can’t make myself press it.
Behind me, Jack remains still. No crooked grin. No easy charm to hide behind. Just him, stripped bare and hurting, and it’s my fault.
I press the button anyway.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
The chip reader is dying.
There’s a line crawling around the back of the store. Someone knocked over the Christmas tree tower of books I spent hours making last night after running away from Jack. The wrapping station is almost empty. I need to order more wrapping paper. My throat is sore. My nose is starting to run.
And that damn to-do list racing through my mind won’t stop.
I swear, I look around and find one more thing to add.
Meanwhile, I’ve spent all morning smiling and checking out customers, prepping for another event at the store this weekend with any lull I can find, tackling the dumb thermal printer that’s jammed again.
I did this to myself. I mean, I built this business. I’m proud of that. But the Salty Romantic is eating me alive, and for so long, I was okay with throwing myself all in. And it’s worked, because we’re growing.
But when does it stop?
Zoe pops her head out from the office where she’s trying to untangle a missing shipment of books. “Peyton’s calling for you.”
“Not now,” I snap. “So sorry, Zoe.” My voice softens, even as she waves off my anger. “Not now. Tell her I’ll call back soon.”
My eyes dart toward my phone on the counter, and that’s when I see another text from Mr. Piersanti.
Shit.
I really need to get back to him, but instead, I make some silly joke with the customer waiting for me to figure out what the fuck I’m doing. I force a swallow, even though it feels like I’ve swallowed a bunch of knives, and say with a lot of unearned confidence, “We are switching to cash.”
It’s fine. It’s all fine.
Only, my nose won’t stop running, and my eyes burn. I’ve been fighting off whatever this is for the past few days, but it’s unrelenting now. I rush into the office to make myself a cup of tea and dig through my purse to find some more zinc.
The bottle’s empty. I toss it into the trash, quickly make a cup of tea, and collapse into my office chair.
Zoe knocks on the door. “Izzy, are you okay? If you’re not feeling well, you should go home.”
My bed sounds like heaven. Some hot soup. Maybe a hug from Jack.
I squeeze my shoulder, except the knot that’s been building there for months doesn’t budge. It tightens. “I’m fine,” I sigh, ignoring the way my eyes sting with the threat of tears. “I don’t want to leave you with all of this.” I wave around. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
“You pay me to deal with this.” Zoe adjusts her glasses, then grips the doorway, leaning into my small office. “There’s only one of you, Iz. At some point, you’re going to realize you’re human and not a robot.”
“Damn, I was hoping I never had to tell you—”
“Izzy.” Her voice is firm, which is a surprise. Zoe is never anything but sarcastic and quippy.
“Are you mad at me?” I drop my head on my desk, speaking into my folded arms. I don’t want her to be. But at twenty-eight, I’m still afraid I’ll get in trouble.
“No, I’m not mad at you. Izzy, you’re a grown ass adult.” She sighs. “If you won’t go home, then at least take a few minutes. Rest your eyes, and I’ll shut the door. I’ll grab you if there’s a romance emergency, but I promise you, everything is figureoutable.”
“That’s not a word,” I grumble, sleep already pulling at my eyelids.
“Be grumpy at me if you need to be. Someone needs to take care of you.”
The door shuts softly behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts. But it’s not a kind place to be. My head is pounding, my chest is tight, and Mr. Piersanti’s message is still waiting for my reply. I’ve been avoiding it, but I can’t breathe.
I pick up the phone before I can talk myself out of it—not because I’m ready, but because I’m so tired of carrying everything. Still, that nagging voice reminds me I’m a failure. That if I tried harder, I’d be better. Easier to love.
“Hi, Mr. Piersanti,” I say when he answers. Shit, why did he have to pick up?
“Izzy, so glad to hear from you. Do you have any news for me?”
I grab a tissue, wipe my nose, and glance up at the ceiling, fighting back tears. “I want to thank you for your consideration. I’ve decided not to move forward with the expansion right now.”
The room tunnels around me, Mr. Piersanti’s voice sounds far, far away. The panic that’s been gnawing at me since yesterday—okay, longer—doesn’t play nice. I tell him I have to go as my hands shake and the air in my lungs burns, squeezing out on each breath. My heart drums in my chest.
My knees buckle when I stand. The thin throw rug doesn’t help when I collapse.
The concrete beneath still collides against my knees, cold and hard.
I hold my knees and focus on drawing air in and out of my lungs, certain I’m about to die.
I reach my hand up to the desk, fumbling for my phone until my fingertips brush over it, and I grab it, pressing it to my ear on another shaky breath.
For once, my mom picks up, and I drag in a breath. I just want her to tell me it’ll be okay.
“Call back later, baby.” She slurs a bit. “Busy. Gotta go.”
“Mommy.” I choke back a sob.
I want so desperately for her to be there to comfort me.
I can’t hear her well, the sound of music and someone laughing in the background drowning out her voice.
I want her to be the soft place where I can land after a bad day, or bad heartbreak, or anything.
I want to hear her tell me I made the right choice about the bookstore. That I need to be careful with Jack.
I want my mom.
There’s another mumbled “Ssshh” before the line disconnects, and I’m left with me.
It’s always been me, and probably always will be. It’s safer that way because my mom sure as hell isn’t going to be there. I’ve always been the one to lift me up, to push me forward, after everything went to shit, time and time again.
I have no one to blame for this except me. I took a risk. I let myself want more, and now I’ve lost it all. This is what happens.
I should have just stayed safe. I should have remembered that people leave, and nothing good ever comes from wanting more. Because the moment I let other people in, I only fail myself.
The lights go out as the wind picks up outside.
Great. Now I’ve lost power too.