6. Isla #2
“So, what’s got you hiding out in the hotel bar at this hour?” Killian asks, his eyes finding mine over the top of his glasses. “I mean, pardon me for saying so, but you don’t seem the type to regularly avoid people.”
I take a sip of my wine, considering how much to tell him. The email from The Step Forward Foundation sits heavy in my pocket, a constant reminder of the past I’ve been trying so hard to outrun.
“Just got some news today that’s been on my mind,” I admit, surprising myself with my honesty. “Nothing major. Just...life stuff.”
Killian nods, his expression softening. I’m grateful he doesn’t push for details. He simply opens a pack of Skittles and offers me the bag. “Want to taste the rainbow?” he asks with that crooked smile.
I take a handful, letting the sugar dissolve on my tongue. “Thanks.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the hotel bar quiet enough that I can hear the soft pop music playing through hidden speakers. It’s strange how at ease I feel with him despite the chaos of my thoughts.
“How was the game?”
“Lost by one.” He pops another Reese’s Cup into his mouth. “Games like that are hard to watch when I’m not pitching and can’t do anything to help.”
“I can imagine. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“You know,” he says after another quiet moment, “if you need to talk about whatever’s got you down, I’ve got an ear. Hell, I even have two.”
I take my time chewing the last Skittle, buying a little time to respond.
The last thing I want to do is dump my emotional baggage on Killian, especially after our surprisingly pleasant conversation last night.
But then again, he did have that moment of vulnerability with me in the hallway, and something about the way he’s looking at me—like he genuinely wants to know—makes me consider it.
“I got an email today,” I finally say, pushing my half-eaten burger aside and wiping the corner of my mouth with my napkin. “From The Step Forward Foundation.”
His brow furrows. “Is that the same organization tied to Portland Memorial Hospital? Or is there another organization with the same name?”
I nod, surprised he knows about them. “They want me to speak at their annual gala. As a ‘success story.’” I make air quotes around the words, unable to keep the apprehension from my voice.
Killian leans back against the booth, his candy momentarily forgotten as he keeps his eyes trained on me. “Success story.”
I drop my shoulders and release my breath knowing I now have to explain why I’m a supposed success story.
Something I never had any intention of doing.
Especially not to him, but here we are. “I was in a major car accident right before my senior year of college. I was on my way back to school when someone in the other lane hydroplaned and hit me. Pushed me off the road and the truck rolled over an embankment.”
“Fuck.” That’s the only word that comes from Killian.
“Yeah.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll spare you the details but I was in and out of the hospital for well over a year. I was told I may never walk again and might not have use of my right arm. I went through one surgery after another and then physical therapy so…”
He watches me as I tell the condensed version of my story. “But you’re walking now.”
“My father didn’t raise no quitter, I guess.” I shrug my shoulders. “And I figured if he wasn’t going to be around anymore, the least I could do was make myself fucking walk for him.”
Killian tilts his head, his expression softening even more. “Your father was—”
“In the car with me.” Tears well up in my eyes. “It was his truck, actually. I had asked him if I could drive and he said yes so…”
“Shit. I’m sorry Isla.”
“Yeah…it was…rough. And so now the foundation has asked me to speak about my experience. Tell my story. You know, tug the proverbial heartstrings so donors will write bigger checks.”
He nods. “I guess I can understand why you look like you would rather eat glass.”
“Yeah. I mean don’t get me wrong. I know it’s a blessing to be alive and I don’t take that for granted anymore.
I usually plow through each day living it to the fullest because…
well, fuck if I didn’t learn how fast the ones you love can be taken from you.
But the foundation doesn’t want the real story.
The gory details. The fear. The anxiety.
The amount of times I was screaming my fucking head off.
They just want the inspirational version where I smile through the pain and make everyone believe that if they just try hard enough, they can overcome their challenges.
” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And to top it off, they want me to bring a plus one. Because getting up in front of a room of strangers to tell my story isn’t hard enough.
They think my story includes a loving, supportive man who has probably given me three beautiful children, a house with the cutest picket fence and maybe a goldendoodle to round out the family. ”
“Goldendoodle?” Killian cringes, shaking his head. “Nah. Too trendy. At least spring for adopting some lovable pitty mix from a local shelter. Poor things get a bad rap but they have hearts of gold.”
My eyes finally meet his across the table.
Something about the absolute certainty in his voice about the pitbull mix cracks something open inside me, and the laugh that escapes me is the first real one I’ve had all day.
“All that and you have the biggest opinion about the fake dog my non-existent husband has provided for my non-existent family?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I mean, I can’t compete with the car accident comeback.
Once you added the dead father into the story, I knew I couldn’t even try.
” He leans forward and suggests, “You should work on the delivery though if you’re going to share it all.
Really get those assholes weeping, know what I mean? ”
At first I think he’s being serious but when he winks at me, I laugh even harder. “Make them weep? That’s your grand advice?”
“Hey, I’m not just a pretty face,” Killian says, popping another Reese’s Cup into his mouth. “I know how to work a crowd.”
I take a sip of wine, studying him across the table. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me now—less guarded than before, more genuine—that makes me feel things I can’t quite describe.
“So, what are you going to do?” he asks, all traces of humor fading from his expression. “About the speech?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to just say no, but they did so much for me. They literally helped me learn to walk again. I feel like I owe them, you know? They believed in me when I didn’t.”
“And the other part?”
“The other part wants to run in the opposite direction and never look back.” I twist my wine glass between my fingers. “I’m not exactly keynote speaker material.”
“Bullshit.” The word comes out of him so forcefully it startles me. “You could stand up there and read the nutritional facts from a cereal box and people would be inspired.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s quite the compliment, Haynes.”
He shrugs, suddenly looking uncomfortable with his own sincerity. “I’m just saying what I see.” He gestures to me with a half-eaten Reese’s Cup. “You’re one of those people who lights up a room without even trying.”
My cheeks warm at his words. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough.” He tears open a package of M&M’s, letting the colorful candies spill onto the table between us.
“I’ve seen how you interact with the team, how you make everyone laugh even when they’re in a shitty mood.
And I saw how you handled yourself at the game.
You didn’t back down, even when I was giving you my best death glare. ”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Oh. That’s what that was? I thought it was your ‘I’m constipated but trying to look intimidating’ face?”
Killian laughs, a genuine sound that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You call people on their bullshit and you do it in an amusing way.”
“And yet,” I sigh, “standing up in front of a room of strangers and telling them about the worst moment of my life feels impossible.”
He’s quiet for a moment, arranging his M&M’s by color like it’s the most important task in the world. When he looks up, there’s a renewed confidence in his stare.
“What if you didn’t have to do it alone?”