7. Killian
KILLIAN
“What do you mean?” she asks, tilting her head, her hair cascading over one shoulder.
I’ve never been this nervous about a conversation that doesn’t involve a contract negotiation.
And yet here I am, sitting across from Isla Fallon in a hotel bar close to midnight, my heart pounding so hard I’m pretty sure she can hear it over the shitty background music.
The M&M’s between us are arranged in a color-coded line like I’m some kind of candy psychopath, and I can’t stop fidgeting with the wrapper of a Reese’s Cup I’ve already destroyed.
“I mean, what if I went with you?”
She blinks, her wine glass paused halfway to her lips. “To the gala?”
“Yeah.” I grab another Reese’s Cup and tear into it, mostly to give my hands something to do. “As your plus-one. Then you wouldn’t have to do it alone.”
Isla sets her glass down carefully, like she’s afraid it might shatter. “Killian, you don’t have to—“
“I know I don’t have to.” The peanut butter is sticking to the roof of my mouth, which is great because now I can’t backpedal even if I wanted to. “But I’m offering.”
She studies me for a long moment, her head tilted slightly to one side. “Why would you do that?”
I need to say it. I need to just open my mouth and say the words, but every time I try, my brain short-circuits because I know how fucking insane this is going to sound.
“So,” I start, then immediately stop because my voice comes out sounding like I swallowed gravel. I clear my throat. “Hypothetically speaking—“
“Red flag number one,” Isla says, pointing an M&M at me. “Whenever someone says, ‘hypothetically speaking,’ they’re about to say something insane.”
“Fair.” I smile leaning back against the booth, trying to look casual even though I feel anything but. “Okay, not hypothetically. Actually speaking. I have a proposition for you.”
Her eyebrow arches. “A proposition?”
“Not like that.” I hold up my hands. “I mean, not the kind you’re probably thinking.” I try to keep my voice steady, but I’m pretty sure I’m failing miserably. “This is more of a...mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Isla’s eyes narrow, and she leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “I’m listening.”
I take a deep breath, mentally rehearsing the pitch I’ve been running through my head. “Look, I’m just going to be honest here. The front office is breathing down my neck. Harper—my agent—says they’re worried I’m burning out. That I’m too tense on the mound, too isolated from the team.”
“What?” She rears back. “Are they insane? You’re their star pitcher.”
I nod and finally say what really needs to be said because fuck it. I’m in this far. “Right. Their star pitcher who has panic attacks in the bathroom before games and severe anxiety on the mound.”
Her brows furrow as she studies me. I’m sure she’s waiting for me to laugh and say ‘just kidding’ so when I don’t, she quietly says, “Wait. Really?”
I nod. “Really.”
Her eyes grow huge. “So, all those times I’ve heckled you, you were actually—”
“Up in my own head telling myself I’m not good enough.” I nod. “Yeah.”
“Fuck,” she whispers, her jaw hanging open. She brings a hand to her chest. “Killian, I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be sorry. Especially not for giving me a hard time. You’re not saying anything that isn’t true and if I’m being honest, hearing you in the stands sort of…” I shift in my seat, completely uncomfortable with what I’m about to say. “Helps…in some fucked up weird way.”
My confession doesn’t lessen her concerned expression. “It does? Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Look, something about you razzing me in the stands helps me remember that the game isn’t all about me even when it feels like the entirety of the game rides on my shoulders.
I put a lot of pressure on myself when I’m out there because I don’t want to let anyone down.
But the truth is, batters get hits because of my bad pitches. ”
“That’s not entirely true.” She shakes her head, trying to make me feel better.
“You can be an excellent pitcher and someone can be an excellent batter. Two things can be true. You can throw the best pitch of your life and someone can still hit and earn a grand slam. Sometimes it’s just the luck of the game, Killian. ”
Her knowledge of the game comforts me in a weird way. Like she gets it…even if she doesn’t. “I’m not sure I can convince myself of that.”
“So, this is about your contract?” Isla asks, her voice neutral. “Are they threatening to pull you?”
“Not yet. But for me, this is more about staying in Portland,” I admit, surprising myself with my honesty.
“If they think I’m a liability, they’ll trade me.
And I can’t—“ I pause, struggling to find the right words. “I can’t leave my brothers. Bishop and I have been playing together since we were kids. Shepherd’s here with the Rush.
Sebastian’s working with his team. We’re all here in Portland.
How often does that happen realistically?
My brothers are my home. Portland is home. ”
Isla nods slowly, her expression unreadable. “Okay, but what does this have to do with me?”
I shift in my seat, suddenly very interested in the pattern of the tablecloth. “The front office wants to see me ‘settling down,’” I say, making air quotes with my fingers. “They think if I had someone in my life—someone stable—it would show I’m more grounded. Less of a loose cannon.”
Understanding dawns on Isla’s face. “So, you’re suggesting we pretend I’m that person for you? Like what? A fake girlfriend or something?”
“I guess I’m suggesting we help each other out, yeah.
” I lean forward, my voice dropping. “I could go to this gala with you, help take some of the spotlight off you when you’re feeling anxious about being there in the first place.
I can be the cheerleader for you. The supportive man by your side, just like they think they want to see.
Like I said, I know how to work a room and I can get some of those big donors to write lofty checks.
We could let the media see us together. Go on a few public dates.
You know, just enough to make it look like I’ve found someone who’s good for me.
Someone who keeps me...I don’t know, centered. ”
Isla stares at me, her expression somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “You want to fake-date me to save your contract?”
“Fuck, it sounds insane when you say it like that, I know.” I bow my head and wrap my hand around the back of my neck. “But it’s not just about the contract. It really is about staying with my brothers. It’s about not being traded away from the only home I’ve ever known.”
She’s quiet for a moment, studying me with those bright green eyes that seem to see right through me.
I half expect her to laugh in my face or call me out for being ridiculous.
Instead, she drains the rest of her wine, her expression thoughtful as she sets her glass down. “You’re serious about this.”
“Completely.” I nod, my pulse quickening. “Look, I know it’s crazy. But you need someone for this fundraiser, and I need to show the front office that I deserve to be here. We could help each other out.”
Isla picks up an M&M, rolling it between her fingers. “And what happens when the season ends? When I take another job and you’re...wherever you’ll be?”
The question hits harder than I expected. “We’d end it, obviously. No hard feelings, no complications. Just two people who didn’t work out and went their separate ways.”
Isla laughs, the sound bright and musical in the quiet bar. “Just two people who didn’t work out. How very Hollywood of you.”
“I’m nothing if not original,” I say, trying to keep my tone light even though my heart is hammering against my ribs.
She taps the M&M against the table, chewing the inside of her cheek. “And what about in between? What does this fake relationship actually look like?”
“Uh, I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.
” The idea just came to me when she mentioned the plus-one, and now I’m scrambling to fill in the details.
“I suppose we’d definitely need to be seen together a few times.
Maybe some dinner dates, a couple of public outings.
Nothing too crazy. Whatever you’re comfortable with. ”
“And the media?” She raises an eyebrow. “You realize if Killian Haynes is suddenly dating someone, it’s going to be a headline, right?”
“I know.” I nod, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “But I can handle the media. I’ve been dealing with them for years.”
“Okay, but is the media going to come after me?” For just a moment a flash of worry crosses her face and I hate myself for putting it there.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I assure her. “I promise I’ll protect you to the very best of my ability. And once we’re together, the team will protect you to.”
Isla studies me for a long moment, searching my face like she’s trying to figure out if I’m truly serious or if this is some elaborate joke. “And what about...physical stuff?”
The question catches me off guard, and I feel heat creeping up my neck. “What do you mean?”
“Would we have to pretend to be...intimate?” She says the word carefully, like she’s testing how it sounds out loud. “Would there be expectations of kissing or touching in public?”