Chapter 14
ISLA
Luke’s fingers slide into my hair and tighten, pulling me closer. I go without hesitation, like my body’s been waiting ten years for that exact touch and is terrified he’ll change his mind.
I missed this more than I ever let myself remember. Even now, it lights something in me that spreads fast and hot, like a fuse catching flame.
He leans in, his gaze locked on my mouth. The cabin, the trees, the sound of water against the shore—all of it drops away under the pounding of my heart.
We’re so close, his breath skims my lips. The air between us hisses with anticipation. Every cell in my body screams yes, but a sliver of fear cuts through: if we cross this line, we can’t pretend it’s just history anymore.
Maybe that’s exactly what I want.
My eyes flutter shut as I close the small distance, my lips brushing his in the faintest, tentative kiss. It’s a quiet plea for forgiveness, for another chance, for anything.
The warmth of his mouth meets mine, and a wave of feeling surges up, sharp and overwhelming. Tears prick behind my eyes. This is every late-night fantasy, every what-if, every ache I’ve been outrunning for a decade.
A broken, desperate sound leaks out of me before I can swallow it.
And still, neither of us deepens the kiss. We hover there, lips grazing lips, breath mingling, like we’re relearning each other cell by cell. It’s soft and unbearably careful.
It’s not enough.
It’s everything.
For ten years, I’ve choreographed this moment in my head. Dramatic declarations, slammed doors, frantic hands. Instead, it’s this painfully gentle press of mouths and the terrifying realization that my heart never got the memo that we were over.
Several seconds pass before Luke pulls back, just an inch. “We should get back.”
His voice is rough, like the words scraped on the way out.
I bow my head, my lips still tingling, and manage a nod.
The drive home is quiet except for the crunch of gravel and the low hum of the engine. The cabin windows glow faintly in the distance, like a safe house in some other life.
The kiss sits between us, loud as a siren neither of us will acknowledge.
Luke’s grip on the wheel is white-knuckled. His jaw ticks. Every line of his body says distance, but his eyes, when I catch them in the reflection of the windshield, say anything but.
He looks like a man trying very hard to keep both hands on the steering wheel and off me.
For once, the power doesn’t feel one-sided.
When we pull into the drive, Gabe is pacing on the front steps, phone in hand. He acknowledges us immediately. Something in his eyes sharpens, but his tone stays casual.
“Hey,” he says with a nod as we climb out. “You two had a conversation yet?”
“Yeah,” Luke replies. His voice is low but steadier now. “I owe you an apology, Gabe.”
Gabe shrugs, mouth tipping up. “It’s all good, brother. I’ve got something for you.”
We follow him inside. The smell hits me first—creamy alfredo, garlic, and warm bread. Comfort food. My empty stomach growls; my nerves are too tight to care.
Gabe lifts his phone. A string of numbers glows on the screen.
Luke leans in. “What am I looking at?”
Gabe turns to me, his expression shifting from easy to intent. “I’ve been trying to trace the number that sent you the text,” he says.
Hope flares in my chest so fast it hurts. “Did you find the person?”
“No.” He hesitates. “But this is…interesting.”
Luke’s attention locks in. “What?”
“Whoever texted you used a burner and end-to-end encryption,” Gabe says.
Luke’s eyes narrow. “In English?”
“It means we can’t trace it,” Gabe explains. “At least not with what we’ve got.”
The fragile hope in my chest collapses. I throw my hands up. “So we have nothing.”
“Not exactly,” Luke counters, already in sheriff mode. “We can rule some people out.”
“How?” I demand.
“This isn’t just some angry teenager firing off drunk texts,” Gabe says. “This person either knows how to navigate around security or has someone on the inside who does.”
Luke’s jaw flexes. His fingers curl into fists on the edge of the table. “Not to mention they’ve already got breaking and entering, arson, and kidnapping on their résumé.”
Kidnapping. Arson. Me.
Gabe’s brows knit. “Walk me through all of it again.”
I listen as Luke summarizes the lake conversation, filling in gaps I couldn’t bring myself to say, his voice staying eerily steady while my stomach lurches.
By the time he’s done, Gabe is staring at me like he’s seeing a completely different person.
“Holy shit, Isla,” he breathes. “This is…a lot.”
I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Welcome to my life.”
“So the threats started about a month before you left town?” he asks.
“Yes.” I nod slowly, sifting through old dread. “First one told me to break up with Luke. Next two were…worse.”
Gabe’s gaze sharpens. “And you have no idea who wanted you gone or why?”
“No.” I shake my head. “At first, I thought it was just some jealous girl. But those last messages…”
I swallow, throat suddenly tight. “They didn’t just want me out of the relationship. They wanted me out of Wildhaven. One way or another.”
“You never considered telling Luke?” Gabe asks.
My fingers twist in the hem of my shirt. Of course I did. I considered it every single day.
“After the fire,” I say slowly, “whoever this is proved they were willing to burn a house down with me inside. It wasn’t a stretch to think they’d do the same to him.”
“So, you let him hate you for ten years,” Gabe says, not unkindly, just…blunt. “You let him think you ditched him for no reason.”
Beside him, Luke goes very still. His eyes darken, forest green deepening to something almost black. A muscle jumps in his cheek.
My vision blurs. I blink fast, refusing to let the tears fall. “It was the only way to keep him safe,” I manage. “Letting him hate me felt better than letting him die because he loved me.”
Silence settles over us like fog.
Gabe finally exhales. “I’m relieved this is all out in the open,” he says quietly.
“Me too,” Luke answers.
I glance at him. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t decode. It’s something torn between devastation and relief.
“Now we move forward,” he adds.
I cross the room to the whiteboard propped against a chair. The “villain board.” Names and question marks looped in my messy writing: Stacy, random jealous ex, shady gambler, and now a new column for tech-savvy psycho.
It’s ridiculous that my mother’s death and my almost-murder have been reduced to dry-erase ink and bullet points.
Ridiculous—and grounding. Chaos pretending to be order still beats chaos alone.
“If this person’s as smart and organized as they seem,” I say, clicking the marker closed, “we can probably cross Stacy off the villain board.”
Gabe’s eyebrows shoot up. “What in the hell is a villain board?”
“It’s Isla’s softer version of a murder board,” Luke says, arms crossing over his chest as he joins me. “Less gory details, more sarcasm.”
“Okay…” Gabe drags the word out. “Why was Stacy on it?”
“She’s always been one of Luke’s many admirers,” I say, flicking my hand dramatically. “Some of them are borderline obsessive.”
“It’s possible she could have help,” Gabe says. “But to what end?”
I stare at him. “To end up with Luke,” I say. “Some people think if they get rid of the ’problem,’ they magically get the person.”
Luke shakes his head. “I’ve been turning her down for ten years. Removing you from the equation doesn’t suddenly make her attractive to me.”
“You’d be surprised what obsessed people will do,” I mutter.
He points to the board. “She couldn’t have been the one driving the car. She was at the scene too fast to ditch the vehicle.”
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. Logic says he’s right. Logic doesn’t care that having a tangible villain would be easier than this invisible threat wrapping around my life like smoke.
Gabe rubs his jaw.
“She’s still capable of stirring shit up, but this?” He gestures to the board. “This is beyond office gossip. We’re talking hospital access, controlled fires, sophisticated tech. Stacy still struggles with the copier.”
Despite myself, a tiny huff of laughter escapes me. “Fair point.”
Gabe’s gaze sweeps the room. “So where does that leave us?”
I sink onto the couch with a heavy exhale. “Back at the beginning.”
“Not quite,” Luke says. “We build a list of anyone who might benefit from Isla disappearing—or from hurting someone close to the Wild family. I’ll start digging. Quietly.”
“Agreed,” Gabe says. “We keep this investigation off the books for now. No emails. No official reports. Until we know how far this reaches, we don’t know who we can trust.”
Luke nods, face hardening into the sheriff I watched from afar on Main Street. “We operate from here. Need-to-know only.”
My brief flicker of optimism tightens into a knot in my chest. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” I whisper.
“Stay here,” Gabe says gently. “We’ll work on this.”
Luke’s brow furrows. “You need one of us,” he says, “or one of my deputies with you at all times.”
The words press down on me. I left this town to stop feeling trapped. Now I’m back in a cage—only this one smells like pine and Luke’s detergent.
I open my mouth to argue, but he steps closer, voice dropping.
“You're being here is going to force this person’s hand,” he says. “We can’t control that. What we can control is how exposed you are. Isla, please. Just do this. For me.”
The last two words tug at all the places I’ve tried to cauterize.
“Okay,” I say finally. “For now. But at some point, I have to go back to my life.”
Whatever that even looks like anymore.
“Now that that’s settled,” Gabe says, clapping his hands together, “can we eat? It smells incredible in here.”
“Luke made pasta,” I say.
“Did he now?” Gabe grins.
“Yes,” Luke answers. “And I made enough for two. You can grab a burger at the diner.”
Gabe blinks. “Cold, man.”
For a second, guilt pricks at me. Then I think about the kiss by the lake, the way Luke’s hands cradled my face like it was something worth protecting, and I’m selfish enough to stay quiet.
Luke’s phone chimes. He glances at it and grimaces. “Shit. I’m having dinner with my family tonight. Completely forgot.”
“At eight-thirty at night?” Gabe asks.
“My father thinks it’s fancier if it starts later,” Luke says dryly.
Gabe rolls his gaze. “That tracks.”
Luke turns to him. “Can you stay with Isla for a while?”
“Sure. But didn’t you just have a family dinner?”
“This one’s for my dad’s birthday.” Luke scrubs a hand over his face. “He’ll consider it a personal attack if I’m late.”
“Make sure you don’t forget the salad,” Gabe teases.
“No need,” Luke mutters. “It’s at my parents’ mausoleum. Catered. Over the top. There won’t be a single dish there I recognize as actual food.”
“That sounds nice,” I say softly. “Not the mausoleum part. Just…everyone together.”
I grew up watching other people’s families through glass—noisy dinners, overlapping conversations, arguments that ended in hugs instead of silence. Luke’s house was the only time I ever got to press my hand against that glass.
“You’ve met my family,” he says. “It’ll be a shit-show.”
A small laugh escapes me. “Tell Eden and Savannah I said hi.”
Gabe flashes a grin. “Tell Sav I said hi, too.”
Luke points at him. “Stay away from my sister.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Gabe shoots back.
Luke’s expression softens when he looks at me. “I’ll tell them,” he says. “You going to be okay?”
“Sure,” I lie. “I’ll eat with Gabe.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day,” Gabe says, already reaching for a fork.
“Talk soon,” Luke says, hesitating for the briefest second before heading for the door.
The cabin feels bigger the second it closes behind him. Emptier, too.
The pasta is good—perfectly al dente, rich sauce, garlic just right—but without Luke here, it tastes like fuel. Something to keep me from screaming.
“Back when you lived here,” Gabe says between bites, “was there anyone you had a big falling out with? Someone who might hold a grudge?”
The question is casual. It lands like a stone.
“My whole life here was one long falling out,” I say. “With my mom. With this town. With myself.”
He lifts a brow, waiting.
“I wasn’t exactly social,” I add. “I was awkward. Obsessed with history. I worked. I went to school. I hung out with Luke. That was it.”
“What about your mom?” he pushes gently.
“We barely talked by then.” I exhale. “She was spending a lot of time at the casino.”
Gabe nods. “Heavy pours and easy gambling.”
“Exactly. And looking for her next husband. We passed like ships in the night.”
“She could’ve owed someone money,” he says, pacing now, energy vibrating under his skin. “But that doesn’t feel like the whole picture.”
He stops, eyes narrowing. “This has to do with Luke, too.”
I shrug helplessly. “Everyone liked him. Sure, there was regular high school jealousy, but nothing…like this. You were there. You saw.”
“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Maybe Luke can shake more out of the SUV lead.”
“It was a sedan,” I correct automatically.
His mouth tilts. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Ugh. You two are insufferable.” I snag a throw pillow and launch it at his head.
He catches it easily, laughing.
The sound dies as his phone rings on the table.
He glances at the screen and answers. “You sick of the family already?” he asks, light.
His expression shifts as he listens—humor gone, posture tightening. His gaze drops to the floor. Something cold unfurls in my stomach.
I inch forward on the couch, fingers digging into my knees.
“Okay,” he says finally, and hangs up.
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Gabe?”
He looks up slowly, eyes heavier than they were a minute ago. “Luke’s on his way home,” he says. “The autopsy of your mom came back.”
He swallows.
“It’s not good news.”