Chapter Eighteen
If this was Isabela’s idea of playing hard to get, Chris was going to have to remind her the game was already over. The problem was it didn’t feel like a game. Not now. Not with the silence stretching out into full-blown nightfall.
He hadn’t heard a word from her since she’d walked out the front door hours ago. The sun had set. The sky outside turned navy blue, then black, and still nothing. No call. No text. No sign she was okay.
Maybe she’d just forgotten to check in. Got caught up in family chatter and never looked at her phone. But that nagging voice in the back of his mind kept twisting the narrative. Because he would’ve liked to think their time together had left more of an impression than just forgettable.
His stomach growled, but the sound only irritated him. He’d tried to eat earlier, made three separate attempts, but each time he sat down to a plate, he wound up pushing it away. His nerves had no appetite.
When his phone rang, he nearly took out the kitchen chair hurdling it. He sprinted into the living room, heart rate picking up. The name on the screen wasn’t Isabela’s. It was his sister, Beth. His disappointment wasn’t subtle, it was a punch to the gut.
He answered, breathless. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just needed to chat about something. Are you okay?” Beth asked.
“Now’s not really a good time unless it’s important.”
There was a long pause. “It is,” Beth said.
That words made Chris sink onto the couch.
“What’s up? Is it Mom? Sophie?” His unease grew.
“No one’s hurt or anything. It’s about Sophie though,” Beth said.
“What happened?”
“She came home upset after practice. Some of the girls were giving her a hard time ... about you.”
“Ah, shit.” Chris closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the couch.
“She doesn’t know what to do. These are her teammates, her friends.
They’re not bad kids, but their parents talk.
Sophie adores you, Chris. She doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but.
..” Beth paused, as if she were choosing her words carefully.
“Well, I was thinking, maybe it’s best if you don’t come to the next game on Thursday. Just until things quiet down a bit.”
Chris said nothing. He couldn’t. The words were caught somewhere in his throat.
“I hate asking you this,” Beth added gently. “It breaks my heart. I’m just trying to protect Soph from being caught in the middle.”
“Yeah,” he finally managed. “I hear you. I’ll stay away.”
“Not stay away. Just skip next Thursday’s game.”
“Understood,” Chris said.
A pause.
“Chris?”
“I’m sorry, Beth. I’ve got to go. Don’t beat yourself up. This isn’t your fault.”
“And it’s not yours,” Beth said, her voice pleading.
He didn’t respond to that. Just said, “Kiss Soph for me, okay?”
“Maybe we can do dinner after the game instead?”
Chris sighed. “Maybe. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. I love you.”
He ended the call without replying. Not because he didn’t love his sister. But because he couldn’t say it with the fire in his chest roaring like it was.
Rage churned in his gut, hot and directionless. There was no one to scream at. No one to blame. Just himself. Every time he tried to get close to something good, he tainted it. Contaminated it. Poisoned it.
He thought about having a drink, getting lost in a glass.
A bar wouldn’t be hard to find. But he wouldn’t do that to his mother.
Wouldn’t make her final memories of him stained with booze and regret.
He wouldn’t become the kind of man Sophie and Beth were embarrassed of. Although it may be too late for that.
Flopping into the more comfortable side chair, he picked up the remote and tried to lose himself in the NBA Finals, but the game felt meaningless. The air was too still, the room too quiet. Every few minutes he found himself glancing at the door, half-expecting Isabela to walk back through it.
Eventually, exhaustion won out. Chris dozed off, head resting back against the chair, muscles tight, heart still uneasy.
When he woke sometime later, disoriented and dry-mouthed, the TV was still on.
Highlights from earlier games flashed across the screen in a dull loop.
He wiped his face and blinked the sleep from his eyes.
Then he saw his phone. There was a missed call from her. Scrambling to grab it, he saw he also had a string of unread texts. Ignoring the ones from Randall, he zeroed in on hers.
Isabela: Sorry it took so long to text, had a minor accident on the way home. But all is well. Have a good night.
What the hell? He was already dialing before he’d finished reading. His heart pounded with each ring. When her voice finally answered, low and raspy, it nearly knocked him over.
“Hi.”
“What happened?” Chris demanded.
“Nothing to worry about. Just a fender bender. Tweaked my neck but I’m okay.”
“A fender bender?” he repeated. “Did you hit someone?”
Isabela paused just a second too long. “No. They hit me.”
Chris’s entire body went cold. “What? Where? Who was it?”
“I’m ... not sure,” she admitted around a yawn. “They didn’t stop.”
“You’re saying it was a hit and run?”
“Yes.” She sounded exhausted. Possibly in pain.
His fingers dug into his thigh. “What kind of car was it?”
The sigh was loud and pointed. “Chris, I already gave all of this to the cops. It was a truck.”
His mind exploded with alarms.
A truck. A hit and run. Her boss had a truck-related “accident.” The timing made this thing look an awful lot like a pattern.
“Isabela, you do realize your boss is in the hospital from an incident that sounds exactly like this. Now you’ve been targeted in the same way.”
This yawn was so loud he heard her jaw crack. “I’m so tired. My head’s killing me.”
Chris didn’t want to hang up. He wished he could lock her in this townhouse and never let her out of his sight. That was an impossibility. Realizing that it was late, and she’d already been through hell, he reined in his anxiety. Pushing would only make her retreat.
“Damn it,” he whispered. “I’m sorry this happened to you. Try to get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Okay,” she murmured. “Bye.”
The call ended. Chris stared at the phone in his hand like it might offer answers. It didn’t. This was his fault. He knew something felt off when she left. Every protective instinct he had told him not to let her go. But he ignored it. Why was that a theme with him?
Now Isabela was hurting. She was in danger, while he was stuck here doing nothing. The pattern was too clear to ignore, and it all traced back to him. If they wanted to get to Chris Macklin, they’d found the perfect way. And if he didn’t stop it fast, Isabela would pay the price for his sins.