“Did you ever talk to anyone about your transition from sportsman to civilian?” she asked, starting on the second shoelace.
“Anyone, like a therapist or counselor?”
Her head dipped down, fingers stilling on the laces. “Yes. It can’t have been easy for you.”
“I had counselors, therapists, the team’s sports psychologist, and some teammates queuing up to be a shoulder to cry on those first few weeks back in Auckland. Not to mention reporters and camera crews begging me for exclusive interviews. I thought none of them seemed to give a shit about how I might never be able to play rugby again, only that I’d be forced to retire from professional sport—from the All Blacks.”
Isaac wasn’t going to dredge up those days and weeks and months after the accident. The blur of hospitals, rehab, and the media witch hunt that had cornered him in Auckland until he’d sunk into the darkest depression he’d ever experienced. He’d gone from golden boy to pariah in a matter of days. Crawling out of that deep black hole to grab his family’s hand and allowing them to shelter him until he healed had been a weight lifted from his shoulders. By the time he’d returned home to Bounty Bay he was on the path to accepting he’d never play professionally again, but the fear of never playing the game he loved at all consumed him until he was a brittle shell of the man he used to be.
“Everybody wanted a piece of you,” she said. “The media probably believed that they were justified in tearing strips off you to feed the public’s insatiable curiosity.” She shuffled closer to him on the dinghy and placed her smaller hand over his.
Her fingers were warm and smooth, and they slid between his and tightened, locking their fingers together.
Nat’s gaze never wavered. “Leaving you with almost nothing to piece yourself together again.”
That Nat understood, that she got it—got him—even if she couldn’t ever forgive him…it meant a lot.
“I had my family to help Humpty Dumpty put his broken pieces back together.”
She nodded, an approving smile curving her lips. “I’m glad.”
But he wasn’t done. The man who’d once jumped off a bridge into unknown icy waters wasn’t done.
“And I had one other reason driving me to become whole again,” he said. “You.”
Nat’s frown slipped as her eyebrows drew together. “Me?”
“Whatever loss I’d suffered was nothing compared to you and Olivia. A little naively I’d hoped to find a way to look out for you both, and I couldn’t do that if I was curled up, rocking in a corner of a padded room.”
Blood thudded against his eardrums, so loudly it merged with the nearby sound of waves tumbling over the sand. “As Jackson’s friend, I needed to step up to be there for his wife and daughter, regardless of whatever shit went down in my own life.”
But they both knew that Natalie had justifiably—in her mind—cut Isaac out of their lives with surgical precision. And after a while he’d accepted her decision, become content to remain out of sight, out of mind, in the background. For her sake.
He raised their linked hands and brushed the softest of kisses across her knuckles. She started, eyes widening, and arched a little away from him—but she didn’t pull her hand from his. Instead, she stood and reversed her grip, tugging on his hand until he stood.
“We’d better go or the girls will send out a search party,” she said.
“Too serious a topic for this early in the morning?” he asked lightly.
She gave a hmm of agreement and brushed chips of blue paint off the seat of her leggings. “Tomorrow we can cover global warming, or the devastation of the rainforests.”
“Deal. Now start running,” he said. “I’ll give you a two-minute head start.”
The smile she gave him was part sass, part something he couldn’t put his finger on—acceptance? One brick of the keep Isaac out wall around her heart crumbling down?
Then she took off, her shoes kicking up little sprays of sand that the wind had blown into the road.
“Last one back is a rotten egg,” she shouted.
Chapter 9
For the rest of the week, Nat submitted gracefully—kinda—to her new morning routine. Tuesday, Isaac again showed up at 6:30 a.m., catching her still in bed after she’d hit snooze on her phone one too many times. Then coffee, ride to school, laps around the field, mostly one-sided conversation with Isaac telling her stories to keep her mind off the fact that, OMG, running and mornings should be illegal.
Wednesday, a repeat of Tuesday.
Thursday, she was actually up when Isaac rang the doorbell, but she still imperiously instructed him to be her coffee bitch before repeating Tuesday and Wednesday’s torture sessions.
By Friday, there really wasn’t a need for Isaac to drag her out of bed ready for training, but damn, there was something to be said about the quality of the coffee he made. And the teensy fact that she had started to enjoy spending an hour in his company every day—plus two afternoons a week at after-school training sessions. She was proud to report skill and fitness improvement in the twenty-seven girls who’d made the effort to show up for each of the sessions.
Friday evening Nat received a text from Isaac to say a mate needed a hand on Saturday morning and he’d meet her at practice. Did she need a wake-up text? When the reply, “What about a wake-up sext?” popped into her brain, Nat decided she’d better hit a cold shower and hope it’d shock some sense into her.
She’d replied with “No, I’m good thanks,” and shut her phone in her nightstand drawer and out of temptation.
Saturday morning she made a huge effort to be on time, and at quarter to eight she and Olivia hurried across the school field to the locker rooms. Owen, and Casey’s mum, Justine Tamati, appeared out of the doors with an armful of marker cones, followed by Morgan and a couple of girls carrying more. Olivia ran to help and Nat set down their kit bags. Hah. She’d finally managed to beat Isaac to practice. Chalk one up for time management—
Donna Clarke sashayed out the doors and struck a pose. She was a single mum to Sapphire, one of the borderline mean girls Nat secretly hoped would drop out. Donna wore camel-toe-inducing black-and-gold compression short-shorts and a black boob-hoisting sports bra, which—hello—was not a freaking suitable training top by itself.
“Zac, you’re such a gentleman, but I could’ve helped carry those,” she said. “Good for the core muscles, you know.” She patted her stomach.
Her can you believe I’ve had kids? sculptured stomach.
Natalie refused to glance at her own woman who has a teen and likes cookies stomach, covered by her slim-fitting but not skintight T-shirt, sports leggings, and topped with a pair of running shorts. Instead, she watched as Isaac hauled two bags of rugby balls outside, his biceps bulging into tanned mounds with the effort of manoeuvring the bags through the doors. Not that she was noticing. Donna was, though—if the do-me smile she directed at Isaac was any indication.
“No worries.” Isaac dumped the balls near the sideline, his gaze flickering around the field until it landed on Natalie, crouched by the girls’ kit bags and water bottles.
He didn’t smile, but gave her a head dip of acknowledgement. He might not have smiled, but the heat of his gaze and the little bubble of recognition mixed with chemistry zipped between them. She felt it, but she still wasn’t sure that she wanted to feel it, or if she’d ever truly be comfortable with this attraction she could no longer deny.
So she dipped her head in return, and got to work positioning marker cones with Owen and Justine.
Isaac pushed the girls—and the adults—hard during warm-up and drills. He utilized the five parents who had shown up as mini-team coaches during the drills and exercises, spreading them out over the field in three separate groups. Nat and Owen were put together with ten girls including Rangi-Marie, rotating through the training stations in fifteen-minute intervals. Justine and another dad, Mike Young, took another ten girls and, unsurprisingly, Donna paired herself with Isaac
. Considering none of the drills focused on tackling or body contact between players, the woman sure found plenty of opportunities to bump her body parts against him.
As Owen and Nat’s group finished up at one station and crossed the field ready for their final one, Rangi-Marie puffed companionably at her side.
“Man, Isaac and Sapphire’s mum should just get a room already.”
While it was somewhat reassuring Nat hadn’t been imagining things, she had to suck in a deep breath and count to three before she answered. “They’re both single adults, Rangi-Marie.”
“Yeah, but eww.” Rangi-Marie draped an arm over Nat’s shoulders.
Isaac’s little cousin was, dammit, already an inch taller than Nat. And under her initial bluster, Nat had discovered a kindhearted, driven girl this past week. Rangi-Marie had already begun the process of turning this ragtag bunch of girls into a team, her popularity and natural leadership skills meaning there was a lot less goofing off at practices that week than there were previously.
Rangi-Marie waved at the girls in Isaac and Donna’s team as they passed by, then leaned into Nat.
“She reminds me of one of those highly strung little dogs,” she whispered. “You know, the type that’ll hump your leg whenever they can.”
Nat snorted, resisting the urge to turn around and stare after Isaac and Donna, who’d been boob-brushing her coaching partner’s arm all across the field. “That’s one description you shouldn’t share because maybe Isaac likes her.”
And look how low she’d sunk, stooping to glean information from Isaac’s cousin.
Rangi-Marie grinned at her. “Nah. Even though I saw her slip him her business card when she first arrived, I don’t think he’ll call her. She’s not his type.”
A shot glass of lava exploded into Nat’s gut. Donna had given Isaac her number? Had he kept it—and would he call her? “Women who look like that are every guy’s type.”
Nat tried, and possibly failed, to keep her tone lighthearted. As if she didn’t care Donna was gunning for the man who’d kissed Nat last Saturday. Get a grip, she ordered herself. Isaac hadn’t mentioned that kiss, so obviously it was a one-off, embarrassing mistake for both of them. She had no reason for the lava burning in her stomach, no right to be even a little bit possessive over a man who was a single, unattached adult.
Nat cleared her throat as they approached the final grid of marker cones. “She’s very pretty, is what I meant to say.”
Rangi gave her a speculative stare as she dropped her arm from around Nat’s shoulders. “Being pretty isn’t the only thing guys go for.”
The fire in Natalie’s gut tempered down and she squeezed Rangi’s arm. “You’re right. Any man who only sees the superficial and not the strength, intelligence, and heart and soul of a woman isn’t worth your time.”
Rangi-Marie looked at her a moment longer. “I’m real sorry about your husband,” she said softly. “He must’ve seen all those things in you.”
“Thank you,” Nat said.
Rangi-Marie ran forward, scooped up a rugby ball, and tossed it in a basic pass to Nat—who caught it. Yay, her.
The girl gave her another wide and affection-inducing Ngata family grin. “You’re pretty and you can catch a ball. Unlike some.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Nat bent to pick up another ball and strode over to the corner of the marked-out area, her heart a relentless kickboxer pummeling her chest.
She’d lost the man who’d seen more than the superficial. Lost her chance to live out her own happily ever after. And to expect a second shot at it was like waiting for unicorn dust to rain from a clear blue sky.
Call her petty, but when it came to the final thirty-minute game of touch rugby before practice finished, Nat took great satisfaction in Donna’s ball fumbling. And if Nat threw one of those passes to her just a little too hard while they thundered down the field on the way to scoring a try and Donna flubbed it again? It was worth it, especially as Olivia, on the opposing team, swooped in and gained possession of the ball.
Win some, lose some.
And damn, but the little green monster clawing inside her gut was mollified when, core muscles aside, Donna slipped and fell on her ass in the mud. Until Isaac rushed over to help her up. The woman pointed to her left foot and Isaac crouched, gently running his fingers over her ankle to check for tenderness while Donna dug her fingers into the slab of muscle spanning Isaac’s shoulder. Apparently for balance.
Isaac stood, but Donna didn’t unhook her fingers from his shoulder. Nat was close enough to see her puppy-eyed stare up at him and her request for him to ‘help’ her to one of the benches outside the locker room. Then, after an attempt to put weight on her ankle, the smirk on her face as Isaac swept her up in his arms and carried her.
After Donna was settled with a cooler propping up her injured ankle, Isaac gathered the girls in a circle. Fifteen of the girls were named, among them Olivia as halfback, her friend Morgan as a winger, and Rangi-Marie hooker and team captain, which caused whoops and hollering to erupt among the girls.
But focusing on Isaac’s words soon became harder than focusing on the memory of Donna pressed snugly into his chest with his hands cupping her thighs. Hell. She really was jealous. Feral, bona fide wanting-to-kick-ass-and-take-names jealous. It was a flashing neon sign she’d become invested in Isaac. Maybe only a little invested, but enough that her emotions felt like a cluster of fireworks waiting for a lit match.
Justine insisted on driving Donna and Sapphire back to their house after practice, once all the gear was packed away. While Mike and Owen chatted by the goalpost, Nat offered to check on the girls’ progress getting changed. She poked her head around the locker room door, and spotting Livvy in mid conversation with a small group of girls she normally didn’t interact with, Nat decided to let them be for a little longer. She backed out and gently closed the door. The boys’ locker room door opening across the hallway caused her to freeze on the spot.
Isaac stood in the doorway, his hair in towel-dried spikes, wearing faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders and other stupidly sexy muscles whose names she couldn’t remember, because, dammit, the just-out-of-the-shower yummy smell of him reached her nose and she couldn’t think, couldn’t stop herself from—
Nat marched over and gave his chest a two-palmed shove. She had enough momentum to knock him back a step, and too much momentum to dig in her heels when Isaac spanned his big hands either side of her waist and lifted her off her feet and into the locker room.
She gave an undignified squeak and swatted at his hands until he released her. The door swung shut behind him, and he blocked her exit. Not that she planned to leave just yet. She wasn’t a teenage girl mortified to be in the boys’ locker room, and she wasn’t intimidated by the width of his shoulders and how he made the rows of lockers stacked three high either side of the door look leprechaun sized. Not until she’d spoken her mind. Invisible Natalie wasn’t invisible anymore.
“You want to talk?” he asked. “Or is this about to be a physical attack on the coach’s person?”
His mouth twitched on the word physical as if he was about to smile—which, trust her, would’ve been a really bad call. Physical they wouldn’t get, though parts of her perked up at the puzzle of how to erase the smug gleam from Isaac’s dark eyes. Karate chop to the diaphragm? She didn’t know karate and besides, she’d probably only bust up her hand on all those aforementioned muscles. Knee to the nuts? Oh, so tempting. But perhaps a little overkill. Scale him like a tree and kiss him until he begged for mercy? That was a bad direction to let her thoughts roam in. Keeping emotions from showing on her face wasn’t one of her talents, and Isaac was perceptive enough to notice.
She stalked away from him and leaned against the row of lockers, facing forward, feigning great interest in the mirrors above the two hand-washing sinks against the opposite wall. Now she could school her features into righteously annoyed instead of mo
re turned-on than irritated.
“What’s up, Nat?”
He moved, coming to lean against the lockers next to her and also facing forward so their gazes connected in the reflection. The mirror showed Nat’s mouth squeezed into a cat’s bum pucker, trapping inside all the spiteful, juvenile thoughts she’d been thinking.
What was with the Officer and a Gentleman lift? Will you take Donna up on her offer? Do you like her? Did kissing me mean anything or am I reading way too much into it because I’m so out of touch with kissing men?
She’d barged in there like a crazy woman on a mission so she had to say something. Something that wouldn’t expose the green-eyed monster in her brain making her dance like a puppet on a string. Or how she couldn’t stop wondering what it’d feel like if Isaac went all Officer and a Gentleman on her. She had to utter something neutral, noninflammatory and completely away from the topic of—
“Why did you kiss me?” Classic brain-edit-fail and her mouth hadn’t finished yet. “Was it an accident?”
Reflected Isaac’s brow crinkled. “It’s possible to kiss someone by accident?”
Yes. No. Possibly. “If our lips just happened to be in the same place at the same time.”
“That’s one explanation. Another is we wanted to.” Reflected Isaac rolled his shoulder sideways so he faced her. “And we still want to kiss each other. That isn’t accidental.”
The coolness from the metal lockers at her back did nothing to chill the warm little tremble that rippled down her spine. Isaac wanted to kiss her. But…
“Donna Clarke seemed pretty interested in swapping spit with you this morning.”
Oh my freaking God, did I really just say that? She caught a wolfish flash of Isaac’s white teeth before she face-palmed herself, keeping her eyes squeezed shut because she was doing a bang-up job of piling on the humiliation. “Not that I care in the slightest.”
Hello, Ms. Teen-Queen of Dramatic Clichés.
Flexing metal creaked and the fine hairs on her forearms lifted, reaching toward the warmth radiating in front of her. Cracking open an eye, she peeped through her fingers. A wall of white cotton blocked her view of the mirrors. The hard contours beneath that white cotton triggered a need so deep inside her that her hand fluttered down from her face and pressed against the center of it. As if his rapid heartbeat thudding through her palm would quell that need.
Mend Your Heart (Bounty Bay Book 4) Page 11