Chapter 26
As soon as Miles and Owen leave the house, I know it’s a terrible idea. This is exactly what Isaac wants: attention and for Miles to show up at his door. Isaac is smart enough to know it won’t be me coming there, but if he can get Miles there, who knows what will happen.
I grab my phone, quickly calling Miles as Sloane watches me with concern blanketing her face.
I hate that she’s experiencing this with me, hitting too close to home with everything she dealt with in her past. Especially with Owen joining Miles in his crusade to end Isaac’s harassment.
Because in the end, that’s what this is.
Harassment.
He hasn’t crossed any lines into illegal territory, or at least I don’t think he has. There was the whole daisies decorating the inside of the house and then spray-painting ‘whore’ on the bedroom wall, showing up at the bar and staying for hours.
The only thing I can definitively link to him is loitering at the bar, and again, not illegal. It’s a public place, and he ordered food and paid for it.
Even as I hear myself, I hate it. I’m making excuses for him…still. Defending his actions is something I’ve done for so long now that I can’t seem to stop myself.
And as much as I would love for Miles to just beat the shit out of him, I know that isn’t the right way to deal with this. I don’t need Miles ending up in jail.
“You okay?” Sloane asks, a hesitation in her tone, and I mouth the words, “I’m sorry,” as the phone rings, waiting for Miles to answer.
“Babe,” Miles barks out. “What?” He’s keyed up, ready to have this out with Isaac, but I hope I can talk him down.
“I want you to come back. Don’t go,” I say insistently. “He wants you to show up at his house. He wants you to threaten him or beat him up so he can call the police. Please just come back.” The last line comes out shaky, and I can feel the sting of tears burning my nose.
Letting out a long, slow exhale, I try to calm myself before the tears start flowing. I’m frustrated and scared, angry and hurt, guilt weaving through all of it.
But even with my best attempts, the tears spill over, Sloane resting a comforting hand on my back, rubbing soft circles.
“Just come back,” I plead, desperate, anxiety wreaking havoc on my thoughts. I can picture the confrontation, and I hate what I see.
“Daisy—” Miles starts, but I cut him off, already hearing the determination in his voice.
“No. I’m not backing down on this. Come back now. I’ll go to the police, file a restraining order. Let them handle it.”
Miles sighs hard down the line, and I close my eyes, willing him to just listen to me. He called me a stubborn ass, so I’m just going to keep it up. If I have to, I will get in my car and follow him there. This will not go the way Isaac wants.
“Miles, please.”
“Fine,” he reluctantly concedes, and my body sags with relief, the tears silently spilling from my eyes.
Ending the call, I look over at Sloane, and she pulls me into her arms, hugging me with a weight that eases some of the stress. I don’t know what I did to deserve friends like this, but just like my relationship with Miles, I will never take any of this for granted.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers. “You’re doing the right thing.”
Am I, though?
Will the police think I’m crazy when I tell them I want a restraining order? Will a judge even grant it? And shit, I’m going to have to see him if this all goes before a judge. The dread I feel is all-consuming and frightening.
What if no one believes me?
All I have is Isaac’s word against mine. No concrete proof of anything, just a feeling all of this could be him. I mean, who else could it be?
I think about Miles on tour with the band. What if there is someone else? What if a fan is stalking us and causing all these problems?
But those thoughts float away as quickly as they came, knowing it’s not even a possibility. It’s all just an excuse to explain away Isaac’s behavior, and I need to stop.
I can’t be doubting myself or what is happening to me. It’s real, and it’s scary, and I have no idea how far he’s going to take things.
“Thanks, Sloane,” I mutter, my voice hoarse, my head beginning to ache with the seemingly never-ending tears. “I’m so sorry that this is happening. It’s all my fault.”
“No,” she says harshly. “None of this is your fault.” Pulling back, she shakes her head vehemently. “I don’t want you to say that. You are not in control of Isaac’s behavior, and you will not take the blame for it.”
I nod gently, letting her words soak in, needing to hear them since my mind is such a scrambled and fucked up mess.
She swipes her fingers over my cheeks, wiping away the tears as she gives me a loose smile. Sloane is the strongest person I know, going through way too much shit at a young age, yet she keeps going, smiling through it all.
I’m so happy that she’s found some solace and normalcy with Owen. He’s her rock, her stable home, her biggest supporter.
“So I guess we need to get that sign ordered, huh?” I say, trying to return her smile, pushing past the bullshit.
The opening of the bakery is set for six weeks, and the sign company said they need at least four weeks for ordering and delivery. I would hate to open with my hand-painted sign hanging in the window like it is now.
“Yep, that’s my girl. Fuck Isaac,” Sloane practically cheers, beaming, which is totally contagious. “I just like to think he’s walking around with shit on his hands and he’s going to give himself pink eye.”
Both of us start laughing at this comment, hoping like hell karma comes back to bite him in the ass.
“Or worse, hopefully he gets norovirus and is shitting and puking his brains out,” I add, only making us laugh harder.
“I hope he shits his pants…in public,” Sloane barely gets out through the belly laughs. “While having pink eye too.”
When the guys walk in, Sloane and I are nearly rolling on the floor laughing, and they pause in the doorway watching us.
“Guess you both find shit funny, huh?” Miles quips, still obviously upset over what happened, but hearing him say “shit” only has Sloane and me roaring in hysterics.
No point in trying to explain things, so I walk over to Miles, pulling him in for a hug and thanking him for coming back.
“We have to be the bigger people in this situation. You and Kai both tried the aggressive route, and it hasn’t worked. Let’s just go to the police. Let them handle it.”
“You know they aren’t going to do anything,” Miles replies, his teeth clenched, his hands balling into fists.
“Maybe so, but at least we’ve done what we can, put the police on notice that Isaac is causing trouble.” I shrug, looking up at Miles as he processes what I’ve just said.
I get that he’d rather just go fuck up Isaac’s world, and honestly, I would too, but again, that’s just what Isaac wants. He’s playing the victim here, but we need to take that away from him.
“Fine,” he mutters begrudgingly, slinging an arm around my shoulders. He walks us back over to the table.
“Ready to put the finishing touches on this place?” I ask him as we sit down, joining Sloane and Owen now.
“I am.”
We finalize the order for the sign based on Sloane’s design, and I can’t wait to see what it looks like in person.
I can’t even believe she was able to take such little direction on what I wanted, sharing the colors and a few inspiration ideas I pinned on Pinterest, and ultimately coming up with the perfect design.
“You doing okay?” Miles asks as we crawl into bed, exhausted from the day. It’s not just everything with Isaac. That’s a big part of it, but opening this bakery has consumed so much of our time and energy.
Some days I can’t believe we continue to work our regular jobs, spending any free time working on the bakery. I can’t remember the last time we went to bed before two in the morning.
Tonight being no different.
“I’m good,” I tell him, and while it’s not entirely a lie, it’s enough that he can sense it in my tone and the way I wrap my body around his.
“Tomorrow we’ll go file for a restraining order,” Miles says reassuringly, but I’ve already talked myself out of it again.
“Do you think we need to?” I ask, and Miles props himself up on his elbow, looking down at me, his gorgeous brown eyes shining in the moonlight.
And as beautiful as his face is, with his strong jawline and stubble from the busyness of our days, his perfectly sloped nose and soft, full lips, it’s enough to remind me that I’m safe with him, safe in his warm and comforting embrace.
“Daze,” he purrs sweetly, but behind the kindness is concern and the pressure to move forward with the restraining order. “I think you need to, and if you don’t, then I will.”
It’s not a threat or a demand, but more a need to protect me, and if I won’t do it myself, he will do what he can to do it for me.
“Okay, tomorrow. I promise,” I tell him, resting my hand on his cheek, leaning in to kiss him gently. “Thank you for coming back.”
And for a split second, I don’t know if I’m thanking him for coming back instead of going to Isaac’s or for coming back to Maui.
“All I ever want is for you to be happy and safe, Daisy,” Miles whispers, the softness of his breath peppering my lips.
Easing back down onto our pillows, we both close our eyes, listening to the quiet stillness of our cottage, of our life together in a place that we call our own.
I let out a slow exhale, hoping I can sleep tonight as I run through a mental list of all the things we have to do tomorrow. Adding the restraining order just feels like an added stress I don’t want or need. So in my head, I’ve decided against it again.
Everything is so messed up, and I’m over it.
I wake to Miles dotting soft kisses along my shoulder, then my collarbone and to my neck. A sweet and gentle early wake-up.
“Let’s surf,” he murmurs, his lips caressing the shell of my ear. “The swell is perfect.”
It’s music to my ocean-loving ears. It feels like it’s been forever since we’ve been out on the water, felt the salt on my lips, the waves under my board.
“Yes,” I whisper back, closing my eyes, picturing us out there, and a calm washes over me.
In the darkness of the room, we move silently. Miles pulls on a pair of boardshorts, me slipping on a bikini and a rash guard.
And after brushing our teeth, we have our boards tucked under our arms and are walking across the street to our favorite spot.
It’s still early, just before six, and the sun is just peeking out on the horizon. The white crests of the waves are all we can see.
Perfection.
We paddle out into the emptiness, a vast blue sea of nothing, just the way we want it. It will give us the clarity we need to start the day, starting over, clean and calm.
I can picture the bakery with its unique pink and white tile floor, the building now painted a soft pink with gold accents. The display cases are in place, along with all the tables and chairs in the most perfect color, like driftwood. Like the beach, like the sand, like the place we call home.
Today, Miles will hang the floral garland that Sloane designed to match the awning. It will dot the walls inside and around the window outside. The last finishing touch is the sign.
I can’t wait to see it all come together, I think as I catch my first wave and ride it all the way to the shore.