by K. Ryan
"So what were the terms? You just make the payments until he dies? What happens then, huh?"
My eyes narrowed at her tone. "That contract was between me and your dad, but since I have a feeling you're not gonna drop this until you get what you want, the agreement is that after he passes, I'll sign my part of the house over to you and then you can do what you want with it."
Isabelle gaped at me like I'd just sprouted a second head. "You're just going to...give it to me? You're not going to let me pay you back?"
"No," I shook my head. "I'm not. Did you really think I would?"
She paled and sank down on the leather couch just a few feet away from her, putting some more distance between us, which only made me instinctively move closer. Her head fell into her hands and then she started murmuring so softly, I had to take a few more steps closer to the couch just to make it out.
"I had no idea he was having any money problems," she whispered. "Why wouldn't he talk to me about it? Why couldn't he have just gone to a bank? I don't understand any of this..." then her head shot up to meet me right in the eye. "He already knew he was sick then, didn't he? That's why he came to you for help."
That last part caught me off-guard. I didn't know exactly how long he'd been struggling financially, but I did know that within days of his diagnosis, he showed up at my shop looking to right some wrongs—almost a full year before telling his daughter he had cancer. Isabelle probably didn't need to know that and even if she did, I wouldn't be the one to tell her.
She also probably didn't really need to know that ever since we'd struck that deal, her dad made a point to stop by my shop a few times a month to 'catch up', as he called it, and sometimes, we even had dinner together, too. I had a feeling telling her all that would make her head explode.
"Iz," I started shakily, but she beat me to the punch.
"Don't even bother," she sighed and pushed herself off the couch. "I'm sorry for barging in here and demanding answers for something that didn't really have anything to do with you. And I appreciate what you did for him. I really do. I just wish you hadn't. I can't exactly write out one big check to you for what you've already paid, but I'll figure something out, okay?"
I appeased her for now and just nodded. I'd never take a cent from her and instead of telling her that, I dared another step closer to her just because I had no idea when I'd get the chance again.
She frowned at my movements and tilted her head a little to the side. "Are you limping?"
I glanced down at my legs and laughed a little. Sometimes, I didn't even notice the stiffness in my knee—it was just so familiar to me now I pretty much forgot it was there.
"Yeah," I grinned at her and scrubbed a hand over my head. "I, uh, got into an accident on my bike a couple years ago and pretty much landed right on my knee."
Her blue eyes widened and immediately fell to my legs again. "Were you—"
"I'm fine, Iz," I just batted a hand at her. "It could've been worse, you know? I wasn't paying attention, took a turn too fast, and skidded into the shoulder. My knee took most of the impact and I had to have surgery on it, but it's just pretty stiff now most of the time."
She nodded carefully, like she was still trying to digest all this new information.
"And, you know," I laughed again. This time it felt a little too forced even to my own ears. "I guess I'm lucky I knew a pretty decent bike shop in town that could handle all the repairs for me."
A slow smile spread across her beautiful face and my fingers itched to touch her. "Yeah, I guess that would come in handy."
I grinned right back at her, silently memorizing the way her lips curled up and the little wisps of blonde hair that kissed her shoulders.
Because I needed to stop openly staring, I gestured toward the door leading to the garage. "Do you want a tour? I've got plenty of time—"
"I should probably get going," she smiled somberly. "The hospice nurse is stopping over soon, so I should really get back before she gets there."
"Right," I nodded and shoved my hands back into my pockets to force them to behave. "Maybe some other time."
"Yeah. Maybe."
There wasn't much of a promise there, but I'd take it. Hell, I'd take anything she was willing to throw my way.
"I should let you get back to work," Isabelle whispered and when she started moving to the front door, I couldn't stop myself from reaching out to her.
The moment our hands touched, Isabelle jumped as if I'd burned her and tore her hand away. My hand dropped back down to my side, but I wasn't sorry I did it. I was just sorry my touch affected her this way.
"Iz," I exhaled and my heart twisted when her eyes finally met mine. "If you need anything, all you gotta do is ask."
She winced and just shook her head. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"Yeah, maybe not," I shrugged as I hustled over to the table and grabbed one of the shop's business cards so I could scribble on the back. When I handed it to her, she stared at the card for a little too long. Finally, she slipped it from my fingers and flipped it over to see what I'd written.
When her eyes snapped up to mine, I just lifted a shoulder. "That's my cell. And all the shop's numbers are on the front."
Since she'd without a doubt deleted my number a long time ago, I didn't feel the need to tell her I'd gotten a new number and a new phone after trashing my club-issued phone years ago. I also didn't really believe she'd actually use any of the numbers I'd given her, but that was beside the point. I just needed her to know I was still here.
She just smiled sadly. "I should go."
Swallowing back my defeat, all I could do was nod and watch her walk out the door one more time. I lifted a hand in an awkward wave and she shot me a pained smile before disappearing out the door. While I'd been holding out unfounded hope that we would cross paths while she was back in town, I had no idea it would be this soon or this excruciatingly difficult.
I wasn't sitting here waxing poetic about second chances at love, how my world revolved around her, or any of that sappy shit, but I also wasn't going to pretend that less than 10 minutes in her presence was only a painful reminder of how much I still loved her. Of how much I would always love her.
That last thought trailed after me as I walked into the shop to retreat into my back office where I could shut everything out, including the prying, curious eyes watching my every move like a hawk.
. . .
My chair creaked and groaned underneath me as I rocked back into the carpet, trying and failing to focus on the spreadsheets on my computer screen. Isabelle had been gone for at least 10 minutes now and I still hadn't recovered from the shock of seeing her. It was like a ghost had suddenly materialized right before my eyes, one who'd only haunted my dreams and my nightmares before today.
My eyes squeezed shut as the memory of my last dream about her washed over me. Just the night before, I'd tossed and turned in my apartment right above the shop before finally falling into a restless sleep. Surrounded by nothing but penetrating darkness, Isabelle's tear-stained face called out to me, reaching for me while some unseen force pulled her just out of my reach. No matter what I did, how fast I ran, or how loud I screamed for her, I just couldn't get to her before the darkness tore her away.
And just like every morning after I dreamt of her, I woke up with a panicked start, frantically searching the room for her. Nothing had been able to shake that feeling of desperate helplessness and I'd carried it with me for the rest of the day, feeling off-balance and nearly out of my mind. But the second Isabelle appeared in the office, it was like everything else just fell away. Just being within reaching distance of her again snapped a few of the missing pieces right back into place.
Part of me wished it hadn't been so instantaneous because what the hell was I supposed to do when she just left town again?
It was just easier to go about my day knowing she was in New York, living the life I'd always wanted her to have, and completely out of reach. Cl
ose proximity was a real bitch.
My fingers twitched on the armrests, itching for a cigarette, but I needed to do something productive. So I cued up a Google search on my computer, bypassing the real work I should've been doing instead, and like the stupid masochist I was, pulled up the website for the gallery that showcased Isabelle's work.
The Warehouse was the same gallery she'd interned at and like the smart, business-minded people they were, the powers-that-be there had wisely decided to forge a long-term professional relationship with her. I scanned on older blog post from a few weeks ago, one I'd already read more than once, that detailed the cancellation of an upcoming show due to 'family issues' and that Isabelle was taking a leave of absence indefinitely.
Her dad definitely hadn't been happy about that development, but like I'd told him, there was no point in reasoning with her. Isabelle was coming back to Claremont come hell or high water.
My eyes fell on the picture accompanying the post that highlighted Isabelle at her most recent gallery showing. Dressed in a black knee-length dress that hugged her lean curves, she laughed at something an admiring guest had just told her and the happiness and triumph in her glittering blue eyes was unmistakable, even in a picture.
I'd never get to bask in my happiness at her success or stand proudly next to her while guest after guest complimented her work. Instead, I was stuck creeping on her from behind my computer. And as I rubbed my eyes in disgust, it was just as well that a knock on the door interrupted this little pity party.
Before I had a chance to do or say anything, Saul poked his head in with a big smile on his face.
"So."
That was all I got as he stepped inside my office and leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The shit-eating grin on his face didn't budge and that pissed me off.
"So what?" I shot back testily.
His eyebrows waggled a little from side to side. "Interesting day, huh?"
I shot him a mirthless glance. "Sure. Whatever you say."
"Well," he shrugged. "It's not everyday a girl like that shows up around here. Especially, you know, considering she's the one who got away."
My jaw clenched and I promptly swiveled around in my chair so I didn't have to look at him anymore. There was no one I trusted or respected more than the man standing in this room, but right now, I kinda hated him too because I knew he was about to hand me a truth I wasn't quite ready to hear.
"I take it she found out about that little arrangement you made with her dad?"
"Yep."
"And she was pissed as shit just like you thought she'd be."
"Yep."
"So what happens now?"
I scrubbed a hand over my eyes and sighed exasperatedly. "I don't know, Saul."
"Well, instead of sitting here with your dick in your hand, you should probably figure it out, don't you think?"
The no-nonsense attitude was something he'd brought with him all the way out of prison and the only time I wished he wasn't so spot-on was whenever we talked about Isabelle, which wasn't often.
"She's not gonna be in town forever."
"I know that, Saul," I bit out through clenched teeth.
"Alright," he just shrugged again and pushed off the wall as he waved a hand in the air. "I'll leave you alone in here to sulk if that's what you really want, but I gotta tell you, she's exactly the way you described her. I can see why you—"
"You talked to her for what? Two minutes?" I cut in and cocked an eyebrow at him.
"I don't know. I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character. Ah, but you already knew that."
Yeah. I did know that, which was part of why I'd trust him with my life if push ever came to shove. That intuition had a lot to do with why he'd recognized a kindred spirit in me and taken me under his wing in the library. The least I'd been able to do to repay his friendship and his guidance was offer the man a job when he'd gotten out of prison six months after me.
"And your girl's just as hung up on you as you are on her," he went on matter-of-factly. "Just figured I'd point that out and earn my paycheck around here."
I shook my head at him. "She's not my girl, Saul."
Not anymore at least.
"Sure, boss," he called over his shoulder. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Just as he got to the door, he abruptly spun around to face me again. "Hey, you know what Shakespeare said about fate? He said it's not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves. You remember that shit. It's good advice."
I narrowed my eyes at him right before chucking the closest thing I could find at him, which just happened to be a pen. Fucking Shakespeare.
Saul easily ducked out of the way with a laugh and smirked at me. "Ah. I hit a nerve. Figures. Oh, and before I forget to tell you, Lucas made a fool out of himself hitting on your girl before. Just figured you'd wanna know."
Something ugly and dark clouded my judgment and I shot up from my chair, stalked to the door and threw it open. It just took a quick scan of the garage to find my target and when I did, all the blood drained from his face and he started shaking his head furiously as Saul chuckled behind me.
"Hey, Lucas!" I barked across the garage.
He gulped and winced. "Yeah, boss?"
I grinned back at him maliciously. "Bitch duty for a month."
Lucas's eyes popped out of his head as a round of snickers echoed around the garage. "Wha—"
"Don't even start," I cut in sharply and jabbed a finger at him. "If that's the way you talk to all the female customers who come in here, you and I need to have a serious conversation."
Lucas shook his head furiously, but it was too late.
Another round of cheers and jeers passed around the garage as Lucas ran a hand over his face and swore under his breath while Jared, one of my mechanics, gleefully tossed him a broom.
With that business taken care of, I shut the door behind me again and sank down heavily back into my chair. I didn't even bother messing around on my computer anymore—I wasn't getting any work done for awhile.
Now, as I sat here in silence, I still had to shake my head in disbelief that I was even sitting here like this in the first place. It was sort of a miracle. No. It really was a miracle. And while everything professionally was going my way, personally, I was still in pieces. I'd accomplished almost everything I'd set out to do, but it wasn't enough.
Because the truth was, nothing felt right without Isabelle here next to me. Nothing felt complete. Nothing felt like it even really mattered. Even the triumphs and successes I'd achieved along the way felt deflated without being able to share it with her.
I knew, with clear certainty, that what I needed in my life was her. Seeing her again today just reinforced what I'd always known. I needed her support. I needed her guidance. I needed her love. I needed her to be my wife.
None of that was going to happen and no amount of wishful thinking would ever change it. I'd seized my own destiny long ago, shedding the chains that held me back and building something real for myself with my own two hands, but maybe it was for the best if I just accept that fate would never really be on my side. The stars, it seemed, still held a little of that control when it came to Isabelle.
Since nothing else was getting done, I unlocked the bottom drawer on my desk, pulled out my notebook, and flipped it open. I skimmed through the last entry I'd made the night before where I'd related the details of the new addition I was planning for the shop. I'd long switched to just keeping everything in a notebook since I never actually sent them, but it was a habit I'd never been able to shake. And I was okay with that.
So I put my pen to the paper and scribbled out the way I started all my entries:
Hey, Iz...
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Familiar Territory
Isabelle
I gave my dad a full hour after the nurse left before I descended, which given the circumstances, was pretty damn patient. The nurse did her thing, check
ing all his vitals, and reminding me to pick up his prescriptions today and then she left.
Just another day in the Martin household.
When he finally settled down on the couch and flipped on the History channel, I knew it was time to strike. I swooped down, grabbed the remote out of his hand, and turned the TV off before he had a chance to even get a word out.
"Dad, we need to talk."
He shot me an exasperated, tired glance like he already knew how this was going to go down and sighed. "Alright, Isabelle."
"I found that contract you signed with Caleb."
He didn't even have the decency to look surprised. "Okay."
I blew out a deep breath, gritting my teeth in frustration. "You need to tell me what's going on and you need to tell me now."
My dad just lifted a shoulder. "Where would you like me to start?"
"How about at the beginning? You know when you got your diagnosis almost a whole year before you even bothered to tell me?"
"Well," he exhaled loudly. "I know you're upset and I understand that. I just didn't want to burden you with any more of my problems."
My heart twisted violently in my chest. "Dad, I—"
"No," he shook his head. "Just listen, okay? I waited to tell you because my doctor still wasn't sure if I could get on the transplant list. I didn't want you to get your hopes up and I didn't want you to be more upset than you had to be. I was just trying to spare you more pain, Isabelle, that was all."
I couldn't necessarily argue that if he'd told me earlier, we could've found out if I was a donor match sooner. It hadn't mattered because I wasn't a match. That alone was a shock—I'd completely expected to give my dad part of my liver because I just couldn't fathom any other alternative.
"It doesn't matter anyway," my dad had told me when he'd finally been honest about his failing health. "I did this to myself. I'd never risk your health to pay for my mistakes."