Chapter Nineteen
The morning sun filtered through Isabela’s childhood bedroom’s gauzy curtains, bright and cheery in complete opposition to her mood.
Monday morning greeted her with a pounding headache and the unmistakable stiffness of a body battered from the inside out.
Her temples throbbed in rhythm with her heartbeat, and every muscle in her back protested as she shifted in bed.
She didn’t know if the ache was from the jolt of the crash, the stress that had clawed at her nerves for days, or the sheer mental overload waiting for her when she eventually dragged herself out of bed. Probably all of the above.
First on her to-do list was calling the insurance company.
Her car, or what was left of it, was somewhere at the bottom of a neighborhood pond.
Maybe they’d be generous and just declare it totaled.
Please God, she thought, rubbing the knot forming at the base of her skull.
She couldn’t even remember if she’d paid her most recent premium.
Then there was her career. The one she hoped to continue practicing in even though she hadn’t been acting like it. She was scheduled to meet with the team of lawyers assigned to Chris’s case on Thursday, and she needed to be ready.
For now, she was working remotely from her parents’ house, where she'd returned after the accident.
They had insisted on taking her to the hospital, and thankfully, she'd been cleared of anything serious.
No concussion, no internal injuries. But the seatbelt had done its damage.
A deep, raw scrape wrapped around her neck like a burn, and her chest was molted with bruises in the unforgiving pattern of the restraint strap.
Her phone buzzed for the fourth time that hour.
Probably her father, calling from downstairs, checking to see if she was still alive.
She ignored it and flopped back against the pillows, wincing as the movement jarred her neck.
At this rate, she’d need a chiropractor, a therapist, and a shot of tequila before noon.
Her father had already peeked in three times that morning with fresh water, toast, and endless concern.
Her mother was baking downstairs, humming along to her favorite playlist in denial, like she didn’t almost lose her daughter to a truck-driving lunatic.
Nic had come by before heading to work, standing with his arms crossed at the door like a bodyguard from a spy thriller.
“You need defensive driving lessons. From me,” he’d said gruffly, before softening with a rare one-armed hug.
As overbearing as it was, she knew they meant well. She still felt like a porcelain doll about to shatter under the pressure of their worry.
Sitting up with a sigh, she dragged herself out of bed.
Fetching her laptop from the workbag she’d tossed on the floor, she resettled on top of the comforter.
After opening the Macklin file, she located the working brief she was close to finishing.
Scrolling through the document, she found the highlighted sections that still needed work and dug in.
The thought she kept coming back to all morning was Chris kissing her like she meant everything ... and then still not telling her the truth about July ninth.
That date lived in her mind like a splinter.
The files were maddeningly vague. Something had gone wrong, but there were no disciplinary write-ups, no internal memos that gave it weight.
Just gaps on what should have been a straightforward outstanding warrant arrest. Chris deflected every time she asked, charming his way out of accountability with kisses and half-answers.
He doesn’t trust you.
Worse, maybe he didn’t believe in her at all. The thought made her groan. She really should call her girlfriends back. They were owed a conversation and, honestly, she needed the distraction. If she put it off any longer, one of them was bound to show up on her doorstep uninvited.
Which was why it didn’t surprise her when two hours later, Lianna barged into her bedroom. There was no knock, no warning, just the sound of her best friend’s reprimands.
“Isabela Marie Cruz!” Lianna yelled from the doorway, hands on her hips.
“That’s not my middle name.” Izzy rolled her eyes.
“Isabela Mary?” Lianna tried again.
“May,” Izzy supplied.
“Isabela May Cruz, how dare you call me from a hospital, tell me some psycho drove you off the road into a lake and then not return my calls all night!” The anger in Lianna’s words was fake, but her concern was not.
“It was a pond, about four feet deep, but you’re right. I’m sorry for not calling to let you know I was okay. But you shouldn’t have driven all the way down here,” she said, closing her laptop.
“Gabe’s off today. He’ll grab the kids after school,” Lianna replied, dropping her purse on the dresser and eyeing the bed with sympathy. “Now scooch.”
Lianna kicked off her shoes and wiggled onto the mattress beside her, her head immediately plopping onto Isabela’s shoulder.
“Ouch,” Izzy squeaked as pain flared in her collarbone.
“Oh shit, sorry!” Lianna recoiled, rearranging herself to face Izzy properly. “I’m a disaster.”
“You’re a welcome disaster,” Isabela said with a tired smile. “I really am sorry I didn’t call you back. The last few days have been one emotional landmine after another.”
Lianna tilted her head. “Including the part where you ended up in a pond?”
“Shockingly, not even the craziest part.”
“Dish,” Lianna said.
So, Isabela did. She told her friend everything. How her world had flipped on its axis. About Marcus’s accident and the gut-punch of seeing him unconscious in a hospital bed. Then about Chris. His charm, his defenses, and his maddening ability to make her forget where her boundaries were.
She confessed to the lines she’d already crossed, and the ones she still hadn’t figured out how to re-draw. She told her about the tension, the stolen moments, and the tangled web of professional obligation and raw, inconvenient attraction.
Lianna didn’t judge. She listened. Then, when Izzy’s eyes had glistened with tears, Lianna knew she needed a distraction. Her bestie pulled out her phone and made her laugh with memes and throwback selfies from college.
They stayed like that all afternoon, tucked in among pillows and blankets, their conversation drifting from legal drama to dating disasters to whether Macaulay Culkin could pull off being cast as James Bond. It was exactly what Isabela needed, an oasis of laughter and loyalty.
By the time her father knocked gently on the door to announce dinner, her ribs ached not just from her accident, but from laughing. Her soul felt a little lighter.
After eating, they stood on the front porch. Lianna hugged her as tightly as possible without causing a new injury, promising to check in after she made it back to Vancouver. Isabela watched her taillights disappear into the twilight, a bittersweet ache blooming in her chest.
The quiet settled around her like a weighted blanket, comforting, yet heavy. She wasn’t ready to go back inside just yet. Not while the air was still warm, and the memory of her friend’s support lingered like a balm over everything that still hurt.
But the longer she stayed outside alone, the more her anxious thoughts began to creep in. Was someone watching her right now? The moment was ruined, but before she could go inside, her phone buzzed with a call from Chris.
Her heart skipped. She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the “answer” button. But exhaustion weighed her down. It wasn’t avoidance, just fatigue. Her thoughts were too convoluted to deal with them now.
Across the street, a motion light blinked on, drawing her attention. She squinted, but the sidewalk looked empty. A moment later, the light clicked off.
The quiet settled back in, heavy and suffocating. She shivered, suddenly aware of how exposed she was standing out here alone. With a final glance at the darkened street, she slipped inside, bolting the lock behind her.
She’d call Chris back tomorrow. For now, she needed sleep. She would be up with the sun tomorrow if she wanted a chance to redeem herself professionally. If she dreamt of handsome detectives and dangerous secrets ... well, she’d deal with that in the morning too.