20. Isla #2
“Doesn’t make it hurt less,” Killian says quietly, his hand squeezing mine. “Time doesn’t really heal that kind of wound. It just teaches you how to carry it.”
“Yeah…” His words hit me right in the chest. I turn to look at him, surprised by his understanding. “That’s exactly right.”
We fall silent again, but this time the quiet feels different. More intimate. Like we’ve crossed some invisible line between us. I allow myself to close my eyes and breathe through the quiet stillness of the night. Several long minutes go by before I hear Killian’s voice again.
“You asleep, Coach?”
“Nope.”
“What are you doing?”
“Existing,” I reply, my gaze now fixed on the stars above us, searching for the one that could be my dad’s.
“That’s not a thing,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I let out a watery chuckle, grateful for his attempt to lighten the moment. “It is. Maybe you just need more practice at it.”
He turns his head toward me, and even in the dim light, I can see the curiosity in his expression. “What do you mean?”
I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts.
“I mean, we spend so much of our lives doing, achieving, moving from one thing to the next. But sometimes, the most revolutionary act is just...being. Not filling every second with noise or activity. Just existing in the moment, exactly as you are. Like you did when you were in high school.”
Killian is quiet for a moment, considering my words. “I don’t think I’m very good at that anymore.”
“But you were…which means you could be again. It just takes practice.”
Killian shifts closer, his shoulder pressing against mine. “Teach me?”
I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. “My therapist taught me that I don’t have to fill every second,” I say quietly, watching the night sky. “I don’t have to be ON all the time. Sometimes it’s enough to just...be. To feel what you’re feeling without trying to fix it or make it go away.”
His hand tightens around mine. “Is that what you’re doing now? Just...feeling?”
I nod, a tear escaping down my temple and into my hair. “Yeah.”
“What are you feeling?” His voice is so gentle it causes a twinge in my belly.
I open my mouth to answer, but the words catch in my throat. How do I tell him I’m feeling everything? The grief for my father that never truly fades. The fear of losing Killian when our arrangement ends. The love I’m falling into despite my best efforts not to.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I sigh, my voice breaking. “It’s like...everything all at once.”
Killian doesn’t push. He just waits, his thumb continuing those gentle circles on my hand, anchoring me to this moment.
“I’ve looked at the stars so many times over the last eight years and I can never find my dad,” I continue, my voice barely audible. “How do I know which one is him? How do I really know he’s here with me?”
Killian shifts beside me, turning onto his side so he can look at me properly. Even in the darkness, I can feel his concern. “Isla,”
A tear slips down my cheek, then another. “I miss him so much sometimes that it physically hurts.” The admission comes out raw and unfiltered, surprising even me. “Even after all these years.”
And losing you is going to hurt every bit as much.
Killian moves closer, his arm sliding under my neck, drawing me against his chest. The gesture is so natural, so instinctive, that I don’t resist. I let myself be pulled into the warmth of him, my face buried in the crook of his neck where his heartbeat thuds steady and strong against my ear.
His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us.
“It’s okay,” he consoles, his lips brushing against my hair. “You can let it out. I’ve got you.”
The dam breaks and the tears come in earnest now, hot and relentless, soaking into his shirt.
I’m crying for my father, for the years I’ve spent pretending I’m fine, for the love I’m feeling that terrifies me, for the inevitable goodbye that looms on the horizon.
I cry for all of it, and Killian holds me through every sob.
He doesn’t tell me to stop. Doesn’t offer empty platitudes or try to fix what can’t be fixed.
He just holds me, his hand making slow, soothing circles on my back, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath my ear.
His chin rests on top of my head, and I feel his lips press against my hair in a gesture so tender it makes me cry harder.
“I’m sorry,” I manage between sobs, embarrassed by the force of my emotions.
“Don’t be,” Killian assures. “Don’t ever apologize for feeling, Isla.”
We stay like that for what feels like hours, the stars wheeling overhead, witness to this moment of real emotion.
Eventually, my tears slow to a trickle, then stop altogether.
The sobs that wracked my body settle into occasional hiccups, and I become aware of Killian’s steady heartbeat beneath my ear, the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his arms around me.
“Better?” Killian asks softly, his voice rumbling in his chest where my head rests.
“Yeah,” I nod against him, not quite ready to pull away from the safety of his embrace, my voice hoarse from crying. “Sorry about your shirt.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating through me. “It’s just fabric.”
I smile despite myself. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
“I’ve been told I’m a good hugger,” he says, his tone light but gentle. “Plus, I figure if you’re comfortable enough to cry on me, that’s kind of a compliment.”
I pull back slightly to look at him, his face half-illuminated by starlight. “How are you so good at this?”
“What? Hugging?”
“Not just hugging,” I say, my voice still thick with emotion. “This. All of this. You’re so... present with me. Most people would have gotten uncomfortable or tried to distract me with a joke by now.”
Killian’s thumb traces the curve of my jaw, his touch feather-light. “I’m not most people.”
“No,” I agree, my heart swelling painfully in my chest. “You’re not.”
His eyes search mine in the starlight, and I wonder what he sees there. The vulnerability I’ve been hiding for years? The fear that’s been building since I realized how much I care about him? The love I’m too terrified to name?
“I like seeing this side of you,” he says quietly. “The real you, not the one who’s always deflecting with humor.”
I swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed. “It’s scary.”
“What is?”
“Letting someone see me like this.” I gesture vaguely at my tear-stained face. “Not having my walls up.”
Killian’s hand moves to cup my cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. “You don’t need walls with me, Isla.”
I want so badly to believe him, to let myself fall completely into whatever this is between us because it’s definitely not nothing, but I’m terrified. I’m scared of losing another person in my life that means the world to me. I was barely strong enough to survive it the first time.
The next time might very well be the end of me.
“This dress is a no,” I report from the dressing room. “Light pink looks dumb against my red hair.”
“Come on, let me see!” Tara calls from outside the curtain. “I bet it’s not as bad as you think.”
I step out reluctantly, turning to face the mirror. The pale pink fabric washes me out completely, making my freckles look more pronounced and my hair appear almost garish in contrast. “See? I look like a flamingo that got into a fight with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.”
Tara covers her mouth to stifle her laugh. “Okay, maybe not your color.”
“I told you.” I spin around, catching a glimpse of myself from the back. The cut is nice—sleek and simple—but the color is all wrong. “Maybe black or purple or dark green? Or a shade of blue? Definitely not pink.”
I’ve been putting it off long enough and didn’t have a choice but to go dress shopping today.
It’s my one day off before the gala on Saturday so I begged Tara and Sutton to come with me to help me pick out a gown.
Something to make me look and feel sexy and confident but also sophisticated and classy.
Something that says, “Hey rich people, make a huge donation because I look good and I say so.”
Because obviously that’s how the world works.
Killian offered to go dress shopping with me but part of me really wants my dress to be a surprise for him. I don’t know why. It’s not like what I wear for the night needs to be anything super special but since he offered to be my date I guess I wanted there to be some element of surprise for him.
“I think I have the perfect one,” Sutton says, emerging from a rack with a dress draped over her arm. The fabric catches the light, shimmering with an iridescent quality.
“What color is that?” I ask, stepping closer.
Sutton holds it up. “It’s a light blue, tealish color. Similar to the Lagers team colors, don’t you think? It’s not quite blue, not quite green. I think it’ll make your hair pop.”
I run my fingers along the fabric, feeling its silky smoothness. “It’s beautiful.”
“Oh, my God, try it on,” Tara encourages, pushing me gently toward the dressing room. “I have a feeling about this one.”
I slip back behind the curtain, shimmying out of the pink disaster and carefully pulling the teal dress over my head. The fabric slides against my skin like water, cool and luxurious. Sutton pops in to tie up the corset back, and when I turn to look in the mirror, my breath catches in my throat.
The dress is stunning. The color is exactly right, deep enough to complement my skin tone but vibrant enough to make my red hair practically glow.
The cut is a sophisticated mermaid shape, hugging my curves without being too revealing, with a beautiful sparkly lace applique on the front and a subtle slit that shows just enough leg.
The neckline frames my collarbones perfectly.
“Holy shit,” Sutton exclaims. “Killian is going to come in his pants the moment he sees you in this.”