24. Isla #2
“You know what? Maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing,” I snap, anger flaring to life in my chest. “Maybe I’m protecting myself. Maybe I’m protecting you.”
“Protecting me?” Killian’s laugh is sharp and humorless. “From what, Isla? From loving you? Because news flash,” he pounds his chest. “It’s too fucking late for that. I’m already in love with you.”
The silence between us stretches taut, a wire about to snap. Killian searches my face, desperate for something—anything—that might give him hope that I’ll change my mind. The key glints on the bed between us, a tiny, cruel reminder of the future he offered me.
“I’m not asking you to stop being scared,” Killian says, his voice pleading. “I’m asking you to be scared with me. Together.”
My throat tightens so much it hurts to swallow. “You don’t understand what it’s like—”
“You’re right, I don’t.” He crosses the room in three quick strides, kneeling in front of me so we’re eye to eye. Water droplets still cling to his skin. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone the way you did. But I do know what it’s like to be terrified of losing you.”
His hands find mine, his fingers lacing through my trembling ones.
“Every time you go somewhere without me, I hold my breath until you text me that you’re okay.
Every time we’re on the plane, I watch you like a hawk because if that plane ever goes down, I’m not grabbing my seat cushion, Isla.
I’m grabbing you. The thought of losing you makes me physically ill. ”
“That’s not healthy, Kill,”
He nods in agreement. “Tell me about it. But here you are, running because of the same damn fears. Please, Isla. Stay. I’ll help you find a different job if it’s what you want. Call your company and beg them for another assignment. Anything. Just…don’t go.”
My heart shatters into a million pieces at the sight of Killian on his knees before me. His eyes—those beautiful hazel eyes with their gold flecks—are glistening with unshed tears, and I’ve never seen anyone look so broken.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my own heart. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Killian’s grip on my hands tightens. “I’m not trying to make it hard for you, Isla. I’m telling you that it can be an easy decision. All you have to do is stay. Love me. And let me love you.”
The tears flow freely now, hot tracks down my cheeks that I don’t bother wiping away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises through my sniffling. “I just signed a three-year extension with the Lagers. I’m staying in Portland. I’m staying with my brothers. I’m staying with you, if you’ll let me.”
My resolve wavers. The key on the bed between us seems to pulse with possibility, with the promise of a future I’m too terrified to reach for. My soul feels like it’s being ripped in two, each half pulling in opposite directions.
Stay.
Go.
Love.
Run.
“I don’t know what to do, Killian. I’ve never done this before. I don’t think I can—”
“Then don’t make a decision right now,” he tells me. He lifts the key off the bed and places it in my palm, wrapping my fingers around it. “Keep this.”
“But Kill—”
“You will always have a home here, Coach. Whatever you decide, this will always be home for you, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there will never be another person in this life for me but you.”
He lifts from his knees and cradles my face, kissing me so gently it breaks me open. His thumbs move across my cheeks, catching tears as fast as they fall. When his lips leave mine, I have to press my hand to my sternum just to make sure my heart is still inside my chest where it belongs.
“I love you so goddamn much, Coach.” His voice is wrecked. “So, keep this key. And no matter what you’re thinking about, whether you decide to stay or if you decide to go, you’ll know I want you here. I will always want you here.”
I hold the key in my palm; its weight heavier than it should be. I know he desperately wants me to tell him I’m staying, but I can’t give him that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“I’m so sorry, Killian.”
For what? I’m not sure.
For loving him?
For hurting him?
For agreeing to our initial arrangement in the first place.
Something shifts in his expression, a subtle hardening, a wall going up. He nods once, then stands, putting distance between us.
“It’s okay. Take all the time you need,” he says, his voice carefully neutral now. “But Isla?” He pauses, his jaw working. “If you leave…I won’t…I won’t chase you.” He blinks quickly and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “I just…I can’t.”
He can’t.
Killian’s words are heavy and final. He turns away from me, his shoulders rigid beneath the damp skin I’ve traced so many times with my fingertips.
“Killian,” I beg, my voice breaking on his name. “Please don’t—”
“Don’t what?” He doesn’t turn around as he grabs clothes from his dresser, his voice carefully controlled despite the tremor I can hear beneath the surface. “Don’t set a boundary? Don’t protect myself from being destroyed when you walk out that door?”
The key burns in my palm, its edges digging into my skin. I should set it down. I should give it back. But my fingers refuse to unclench, holding onto this tiny piece of him like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored to this moment.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say, though the words taste like ash in my mouth.
He laughs, a sound so devoid of humor it guts me. “Yeah, well, you’re doing a pretty good job of it anyway.” He pulls on his boxers and a pair of shorts, grabs a T-shirt and a clean pair of socks. “I’ve got to get to the field.”
And with that he walks out of the room. And when his front door closes with a soft click, it somehow sounds more final than any slam ever could.
Though the clock on the nightstand tells me it’s only been seven minutes, I sit on the edge of the bed for what feels like hours sobbing.
Seven minutes since Killian walked out. Seven minutes since I watched the man I love close himself off from me because I was too much of a coward to say the words that would keep him here.
The key digs into my palm, its edges sharp enough to leave marks. I open my hand and stare at it, this tiny, ridiculous thing that somehow holds the weight of everything I’m about to lose. The baseball charm catches the light, winking at me like it knows something I don’t.
I press my hand to my sternum again, feeling the erratic hammering of my heart beneath my palm. It’s still there. Still beating.
Still mine.
For now.
The apartment feels different without Killian in it. Quieter, emptier, the silence pressing in from all sides. I can still smell him on the sheets, on the pillow, on the air itself. His presence lingers in every corner of this space, a ghost I can’t outrun no matter how fast I go.
I should get up. I should pack. I should call the airline and confirm my assignment details.
I should do all the practical, sensible things that need to be done when you’re about to upend your entire life.
Instead, I curl into a ball on Killian’s side of the bed, pressing my face into his pillow.
His scent envelops me and I breathe it in like it’s oxygen.
Like I’m drowning and this is the only thing keeping me alive.
The tears come again, hot and relentless, soaking into the pillowcase and I let them fall.
I cry for everything I’m losing.
And for everything I’m too afraid to keep.