Chapter 16
ISLA
A shadow shifts in the corner of the living room. I freeze, squinting into the darkness.
“Oh my God.”
My body spins toward the door, fight-or-flight hitting straight into flight, until a lamp clicks on.
Luke sits in the armchair, one ankle resting casually over his knee like he’s been there for hours. His mouth curves at one corner.
“Sorry if I scared you.”
I press a hand to my chest, feeling every wild thud beneath my palm. “What were you doing out here in the dark?”
“Just thinking.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Have you heard from Gabe?”
He shakes his head once. “He texted. Running late.”
I exhale, my shoulders sinking. “I just wanted a glass of water.”
“I’ll get it.”
He rises from the chair in one slow, fluid movement and walks past me. His arm brushes mine—light, accidental, electrifying. Something low in my stomach flips.
“I can get water myself,” I mutter, mostly because admitting I like him taking care of me feels like stepping off a cliff.
He fills a glass and turns, handing it to me. His gaze snags mine and holds, steady and too aware.
“I know,” he says softly. “Just making sure you’re taken care of.”
I take the glass, our fingers brushing. For a heartbeat, I forget why I came out here at all.
“Thanks.”
The silence stretches between us—awkward, humming, heavy with things neither of us wants to touch.
“I’m gonna go back to bed,” I blurt.
He nods once. “Goodnight, Isla.”
“Night.”
I escape to the guest room and shut the door harder than necessary.
After twenty minutes of wrestling with my pillow, I sit up and punch it into a lumpy cloud. Everything is wrong. The cotton case scratches my cheek. The blanket is too hot and too cold.
My thoughts circle. My mother, Doc’s call, Luke, the last forty-eight hours.
Grief slams into me like waves pounding a cliff. I’m that cliff, and I’m battered, alone, eroding one storm at a time.
Can grown adults even be orphans? Because that’s what I am.
Beyond Erin, the only person who truly understands me is the grumpy sheriff on the other side of the wall.
Before I can reconsider, I swing my legs out of bed and pad across the room. My hand shakes as I rest it on the cool metal door handle to Luke’s room.
I turn the knob.
“Luke?” I whisper into the dim room. “Are you asleep?”
“Are you okay?” he responds instantly.
“Yes,” I lie, my voice thick. “I just…was hoping we could talk.”
“What’s going on?”
“I miss my mom.” A sob breaks free with the words, raw and strangled. Luke is out of bed in a breath, catching my hand and tugging me gently toward him.
He pulls me against his chest, arms wrapping around me, anchoring me. His heartbeat pounds steadily under my cheek.
“I don’t have the right to miss her,” I choke. “I cut her out of my life.”
His arm tightens around me, lips brushing my forehead in the softest ghost of a kiss. “Of course you do. She was your mother.”
“Our relationship was a disaster,” I whisper, the words scraping out of me. “She blamed me for destroying things with my dad. He vanished the second she told him she was pregnant, and she never, ever let me forget it.”
He exhales slowly. “I know.”
Of course, he knows. He knows everything.
“And when I left…God, it was a relief not being around her anymore. The drinking. The neglect. All of it.” My voice trembles. “So I didn’t reach out. Not really. Even when she finally started trying.”
I swallow hard, blinking back the burn in my eyes. “I just hope—” My breath fractures. “I hope she knew I loved her.”
“She did.” His reply is immediate, firm, almost fierce. “You couldn’t tell her the real reason you left. That choice was taken from you.”
Anger and grief surge together, twisting sharply in my chest. “I hate whoever did this. To me. To her. To all of us.”
“I do, too.”
I swallow hard. “Do you think it’s the same person who killed her?”
“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But we’re going to find out.”
My throat tightens. “Did you…see her?”
He inhales deeply, ribs lifting under my cheek. “Yeah.”
“At the scene?”
“I was there.”
“Was she…” My voice breaks. The word bad won’t come out.
His thumb brushes my knuckles, loosening my desperate grip on his shirt.
“Her face was calm,” he murmurs. “Like she’d fallen asleep watching one of those old movies she loved.”
The image both devastates and steadies me. If someone stole her last breath, at least they didn’t steal her peace.
I collapse into him again, sobbing until my whole body aches.
His arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against him. Hard edges and heat wrap around my softer ones, comforting in a way that stirs something deeper, older, needier.
He presses the lightest kiss to my temple. I turn my head toward him without thinking.
Moonlight spills in through the window, painting his face in soft silver. His gaze drops to my mouth—slow, deliberate, reverent.
His hand cups my cheek, calloused thumb stroking along my cheekbone, sending a shiver rippling down my spine.
He leans in. I meet him halfway.
The first brush of his lips is soft—testing, hesitant, like touching a wound to see if it still hurts.
It does.
It also heals.
His lips linger on mine, warm and unhurried. When I part them for him, the kiss deepens, still slow, still careful. A question instead of a demand.
His other arm curls around my waist, pulling me closer. My fingers slide into his hair, remembering the shape, relearning the texture.
We kiss like we’re rediscovering something we used to do without thinking—gentle, deliberate, almost reverent.
When I break away to breathe, he rests his forehead against mine, both of us trembling.
“Isla,” he whispers, and somehow my name in his voice breaks me open more than the kiss.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper back.
He closes his eyes like the words hit hard.
Desire hums between us, ready to pull us over the edge.
But he steadies it, steadying me, his hand warm and firm on my back.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs.
And I do, wrapped in his arms, safe for the first time in years.
Morning light filters in gently when I wake. I stretch like a starfish, then freeze.
I’m in Luke’s bed. His sheets wrap around my body. But he’s not here.
The memories return: his heartbeat, his voice, his arms wrapped around me as the world fell apart.
It wasn’t a dream.
Deep voices murmur from the kitchen. I slip into the guest room and throw on something other than pajamas before dragging a brush through my hair.
I pad into the room. Gabe leans against the wall, arms crossed. Luke sits at the counter, stirring a mug of coffee.
Without a shirt.
I stop dead.
The Luke I left behind was lean, athletic, smooth-chested. This Luke is broader, stronger, dusted with dark hair, carved with definition that wasn’t there ten years ago.
My gaze drags over him before I can stop myself.
Gabe catches me instantly, a devilish smirk spreading across his face.
“See something you like, Isla?”
I glare daggers at him. “What? No. I was just…looking for coffee.”
“You won’t find it in Luke’s chest hair,” Gabe teases.
“Oh my God, shut up.” My cheeks flame as I push past him and grab a sunflower mug.
“I had to take my shirt off,” Luke says casually, “because someone drooled on it last night.”
My head snaps up. “I did not.”
He shrugs. “Except you did.”
I slap a hand over my face. “You’re ridiculous.”
He hides a smile behind his mug.
“Did you meet your contact?” I ask Gabe.
He sobers. “Yeah. We should hear something by tonight or tomorrow morning.”
Luke leans forward, elbows on the counter, muscles shifting in ways that force me to stare into my coffee instead. “What exactly will they be looking for?”
“They’ll run the usual toxicology reports,” Gabe explains, “but they’ll also check for substances that other labs might overlook.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like medications someone might normally take but in higher doses, especially anything that could slow down the heart.” Gabe’s voice is apologetic.
The weight in my chest grows until I break away and curl onto the couch. Luke joins me, his hand settling over mine, warm and steady.
“We’ll find answers, Isla. I promise.”
“I know you will,” I whisper. Because he always does.
I clear my throat, shifting the subject. “So, who’s taking me to meet the realtor today?”
Luke glances down at the digital watch wrapped around his wrist. It’s one of those high-tech models with a sleek touchscreen that not only tracks his heart rate but also manages a bunch of functions that, to me, feel like something out of a sci-fi movie.
“It’s after eight,” Gabe replies.
“I need to go,” Luke says, his tone urgent. “Tim is covering for me, but there’s a mountain of paperwork waiting for me to tackle, and I want to have a quick chat with Doc to make sure he hasn’t gotten wind of anything suspicious.”
“Good call,” Gabe replies, nodding. “Gauge the situation and see if we need to switch to defense mode.”
“And you’ll stay with Isla the entire time?”
He shrugs with a casual air. “Unless I decide to make a pit stop at The Cherry Pie Club.”
“Do not take Isla to that place,” Luke warns, his voice firm as I picture the rundown strip club with its flickering neon sign. “You need antibiotics just to step foot inside that dive.”
“But their lunch buffet is top-tier,” Gabe quips. “She could perform on amateur night, maybe even make a few bucks.”
Luke’s expression hardens into a stern glare as my giggles escalate into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. The sound lightens my mood, and the tight knot in my stomach loosens ever so slightly.
After Luke leaves, Gabe and I head out toward town.
At first, the drive is quiet, familiar streets sliding past my window. But beneath the stillness, something prickles at the back of my mind—a tug I don’t like.
Gabe says something teasing, and I try to answer, but unease clamps around my ribs. I scan the streets. Nothing looks wrong…
Then—
A siren slices through the morning.
An ambulance bursts around the corner, a patrol car tight behind it, both speeding in the direction of the sheriff’s station. The same direction Luke went. Red and blue lights strobe over the truck, turning everything frantic.
My stomach drops. Heat flashes under my skin. Maybe it’s paranoia, but the connection is instant and brutal: Luke. Something could have happened to him.
Gabe must have had the same thought. He stiffens, jerks the wheel, and executes a hard U-turn to fall in behind them.
Unease detonates into full-blown panic. With everything happening in Wildhaven, my mind leaps straight to the worst possibilities—all of them ending with Luke hurt, or worse.
I grip my knees, heart hammering, breath shallow.
A whispered prayer slips out before I can stop it. Please don’t let it be Luke. Please don’t let it be him. Not now.