Chapter 5
LUKE
I should move, or at the very least ask if she’s alright, but the adrenaline roaring through my veins renders me paralyzed. So I lie there, flat on my back on Main Street, Isla sprawled across my chest, her cheek pressed right against the badge over my heart—like she has a claim on both.
Her hair is in my hands. I don’t even remember grabbing her. It’s just there, tangled around my fingers like my body remembered the habit of reaching for her before my brain did. Memory’s cruel joke.
I’d been a step from the curb when Isla stepped out of the home décor shop across the street, clutching a brown paper bag. Her head was down, shoulders dipped—an old posture I recognize instantly.
Isla, lost in thought, is a particular thing. Her body folds inward like she’s bracing for something. Even from halfway down the block, something tugged at me.
Old instinct. Old habit. Old everything.
The crosswalk was clear with no cars in sight, but a prickling at the back of my neck urged me forward.
Then the bag handle tore. The small box in her hands hit the pavement, and she crouched to grab it at the exact moment a car whipped around the corner and barreled straight toward her.
It happened too fast for words, too slow for breath.
I shouted her name, but she stayed frozen, rooted in place, and the car kept coming.
The next moments blurred into instinct: sprinting, grabbing her around the waist, twisting midair to take the hit myself. My back hit the asphalt; she landed on me.
Now she’s staring at me, breath shallow, eyes wide.
Her lashes flick fast, rapid, and erratic, like she’s blinking in Morse code. Her cheeks flush pink. Those blue eyes flick down to my mouth, just for a fraction of a second. An old, dangerous reflex.
“What’s new, Luke?”
The words are light, but her voice is thready. It’s not humor. It’s armor. She’s always reached for a joke when she’s one breath away from falling apart.
The adrenaline that nearly ripped my heart out curdles into something sharper. Fear wearing anger like a mask.
I push up with a grunt and grab her shoulders—not gently—and set her down on the curb. She hits with a thud.
My hand stabs through my hair, frustration buzzing through every nerve, and I have to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. She’s always had a talent for short-circuiting my patience.
“Jesus, Isla. How many times do I have to save your life?”
Her eyes flare. “Are you kidding me?”
“You could’ve been hit by that car!”
“Do you think I meant for that to happen? I dropped my bag, Luke. The car came out of nowhere!”
I drag a breath into my lungs. “Are you alright?”
Her trembling fingers skate down her jeans. She tries to hide it by pretending she’s brushing dirt off, but I see it. When it comes to Isla, I’ve always noticed every little thing.
A small crowd has gathered outside the stores, curious about the commotion.
“What are you doing here?” I snap.
Her head jerks back. “You know why I’m here. My mom died!”
I close my eyes for half a second, the weight of it hitting all over again. “I mean, what are you doing in the middle of the street without looking?”
Before she can answer, footsteps slap behind me, and a hand lands on my back.
“Oh my gosh, Luke, are you okay?”
I lower my head. This is the last thing I need right now. Stacy. I turn and sidestep her touch. “I’m fine.”
“I’m fine too,” Isla calls out, lifting a hand like she’s introducing herself at a support group meeting.
Stacy circles me and faces Isla, lips tight. “You could have gotten Luke killed.”
Isla’s jaw drops. Her cheeks are still flushed, but this time it’s not from fear. “Are you for real right now?”
Oh, good. Because this is definitely what I need: them circling like feral cats.
“Stacy,” I cut in. “We’re fine. Both of us. Go back to what you were doing.”
“Are you sure you don’t need anything? You could be hurt.”
Placating her is the only way to get out of this alive. “I’m not hurt. I’ll talk to you later.”
She beams. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“We appreciate your concern,” Isla deadpans.
Stacy narrows her eyes. “I remember you, you know. Already causing problems, and you just got here. No wonder I never liked you.”
Isla balls her fists at her sides as recognition sparks in her blue eyes. “The feeling is mutual.”
That’s my cue.
I catch Isla by the elbow and steer her away from the crowd. “Let’s go talk over here, Slugger.”
Once we’re alone in the shadow of the building, she yanks out of my grasp and squares her shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be reassuring your girlfriend? She’s obviously very concerned.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “What are you talking about? You know how Stacy is.”
“I remember she’s a pain in the ass. Guess she finally got you after all.”
“There’s nothing between Stacy and me. Never has been.” My voice sharpens. “But if there were, that would be absolutely none of your business. You have no right to feel anything toward me, especially jealousy.”
Isla grinds her teeth, her jaw set tight.
“Now, let’s stay on topic.”
The radio crackles on my shoulder. “Sheriff, everything okay? Heard there was an incident.”
I press the button. “Everything’s fine. Tim, meet me on Main Street.”
I turn back to Isla. “We need to go over what happened while it’s fresh. The driver left the scene. What do you remember?”
Her arms fold tightly around her waist. “It was a black sedan.”
“It was a small SUV,” I counter automatically.
She shakes her head—each word is punctuated with conviction. “No. Definitely. A. Sedan.”
My fingers press the bridge of my nose, pushing back the frustration threatening to spill out. “I’ll speak to witnesses.” Before she can argue, I ask, “Anything else?”
“No.” Her voice is shrill with nerves. “One minute I was walking, then you were tackling me.”
“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“Getting hit by a car would’ve hurt more.”
The faintest smirk tries to tug at my mouth. Damn her.
“I can’t believe someone just blew through that stop sign,” I mutter.
Her posture shifts, barely, but enough. Her face pales. Goosebumps rise along her arms.
“What?”
“Nothing. I got a chill.”
“If you know something—”
“I don’t!” Her response is too quick and too defensive. “I’d like to leave now.”
I study her closely, noting the slight rocking of her body, a subtle rhythm of anxiety. She’s scared.
“You’ve had a terrifying experience,” I say carefully. “Let me walk you back.”
“I can walk by myself.”
“Isla, I’m the sheriff. I’m telling you—”
“And I’m a private citizen who doesn’t need your help.” Her chin lifts stubbornly.
I take a step back, hands raised. “I can’t believe you’re doing this again.”
Her eyes blaze. “Doing what?”
“Running.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Just like you did back then.”
The words taste like ash the second they’re out, but I don’t take them back.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“At least you’re consistent,” I snap. “Sticking with what you know.”
We talk like people trying to cauterize a wound—quick, sharp, burning each other because stopping hurts worse.
She exhales a furious huff, spins on her heel, and storms off.
I follow her around the corner to the intersection just as Tim’s cruiser pulls up.
“You can’t avoid me this time, Isla,” I tell her. “I’m the sheriff. I have a job to do.”
She throws her arms wide. “What do you want from me, Luke?”
There’s a beat. A fissure. I almost say everything. Instead, I swallow it down. “Your phone number.”
Her nostrils flare. “I’m staying at the inn.”
“That’s not good enough. I need a way to reach you if anything comes up, Isla.”
I shove my notepad in her direction. She glares at me, but scribbles it down.
“Anything else, Sheriff?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“I’m sure you will.” She spins away, grabs her box from the pavement, and limps toward the inn, back straight even though she’s covered in dirt. She doesn’t look back. Not until she thinks I’m not watching.
Tim joins me, eyebrows high. “What was that about?”
I watch Isla disappear between buildings, her fury trailing behind her like smoke.
Love doesn’t always come back soft. Sometimes it returns like a bruise you forgot you had—tender when touched, furious when ignored. And Isla Tanner has always been the one I never stopped poking at, even when I knew better.
“That,” I mutter, “is my past coming back to haunt me.”
Tim doesn’t say anything immediately, but a knowing smirk plays on his lips. “What exactly happened?”
“A car ran the stop sign and nearly hit her.” The air still resonates with the smell of burned rubber. “Driver took off.”
“Probably some kid not paying attention. Realized they’d be in trouble and panicked.”
“You might be right.” I stare at the spot on the ground where Isla lay on top of me only minutes ago. “But I need you to canvas the area. See if anyone caught sight of the car.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies, as he starts off toward his squad car.
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, and I retrieve it as my mom’s number flashes on the screen. News travels faster than light in this town.
I don’t bother with pleasantries. I know why she’s calling. “I’m fine, Mom.”
Her voice is higher than usual. “Someone said there was an accident, and you were involved.”
“There was almost an accident. Someone blew through a stop sign, but both Isla and I are okay.”
“Isla was there?”
“She was.”
“Well, I hope you find the driver and lock him up!”
I can’t help but chuckle, imagining her indignation. “I’ll do my best, Mom.”
Her tone softens. “I will check in with you later.”
As I hang up, I stare at the phone, wondering how long it will take for my father to hear about this and use it as more fuel in his ongoing critique of my life choices.
I squint at the street where the car had approached. The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pavement, making it difficult to distinguish real shapes from illusory ones.
As I reach the curb, nothing appears out of the ordinary. A few rogue pine needles lie scattered across the asphalt, mingling with small rocks and bits of litter caught in the crevices of the road. But then, something catches my eye.
In the spot where a car might briefly pause to make a turn, a solitary ruby red rock lies abandoned, shimmering brilliantly under the midday sun’s rays.
I pull a disposable glove from my back pocket, the latex snapping crisply against my wrist as I pick up the object. Its surface is smooth between my fingers.
It’s probably nothing, but I bag it anyway.
With nothing else in the area standing out, I return to the crosswalk, my eyes scanning the road for any fragment of evidence that might have been overlooked, such as jagged skid marks etched into the asphalt.
Tim approaches, his footsteps crunching on the gravel.
“Did anyone see anything?”
He shakes his head. “No. Everyone was caught up in their own world. They only rushed out when they heard the noise.”
A tight breath hisses through my teeth.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” he asks, nodding towards my hand.
“Likely nothing,” I reply with a shrug. “What do you make of these skid marks?”
“Pretty typical for a car that’s turning too fast.”
“But look at this.” I point to the outer edge where the rubber has left a darker, more pronounced mark.
Tim studies the marks before glancing back at me with a puzzled expression.
“Don’t you think it’s strange?”
His brows furrow. “What?”
“Look here.” I trace my finger along the darker section. “This mark suggests the car might have accelerated as it entered the intersection.”
“Accelerated?”
I crouch down, resting my elbows on my knees and interlocking my fingers. “It’s possibly nothing. But if the car was accelerating right here…”
The thought I refuse to say aloud curls like smoke in the back of my mind.
It may have been trying to hit Isla on purpose.