by Malone, Nana
Jason shoved his hands in his pockets. “Izzy, I’d give anything to see your face light up again. Yeah sure, I see some of the joyful Izzy when you look at Nick, but when’s the last time you experienced pure bliss and enjoyment for yourself, your pleasure. I only wanted—”
“Enough. God, why does everyone think they know what’s best for me. My mother, Jessica, Simon, shit, even Nick’s in on the game. And now you. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I know what I need. What I want.”
Jason tucked his head and peered at her from under thick, dark blond lashes. “Yeah okay, I understand. You’re pissed. I was presumptive. Thought I knew what would make you happy.” He turned to the sliding glass door. “I’m headed to physical therapy. I’ll leave a set of keys to the Mercedes in the garage in case you want to go anywhere. Since I’ll already be in town, I’ll pick Nick up from school.”
“Jason, I—” Thinking better of it, she softened her tone. “Thanks. I’ll be able to get some work done.”
“I want you to think about it, Izzy. What would make you happy?”
****
Jason pushed himself far beyond blood-engorged veins and sweat-soaked T-shirt. He focused his mind on the punishing workout. Pushed his body until every muscle screamed for release, then pushed them further.
He’d thought about calling Aaron before therapy, but given their last conversation, he wasn’t in the mood. Why talk it out when he could sweat it out? He’d only meant to lighten Izzy’s mood. Instead, she’d compared him to her slimy, too-close-for-comfort manager, and her mother at the same time. Not fair.
She acted like he’d dropped her off at center court for the US open, handed her a racket and told her good luck. He’d hoped to, at the very least, get her to hold the racket again. Maybe hit a couple of balls around, remember how she used to feel before she held the weight of a two ton semi, or at least the weight of a boy, on her shoulders.
He hadn’t thought she’d fight him so hard. It was only tennis. A game. The one thing they’d shared in common. The one thing able to put their tenuous relationship on some kind of even keel.
Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed. But ever since Nick had told him she hadn’t played since her father’s death, he couldn’t help himself, charging in on his white horse, or racket, practically brow beating her into playing. He couldn’t force her to play or heal.
I’m an idiot. Just because they’d gone after each other like kids on a honeymoon didn’t mean she’d given him permission to take over her life. They were different, and at different points in their lives, but every nerve in his body screamed they still mattered to each other. Or at least, she still mattered to him.
One scorching kiss in her studio did not a relationship make. No matter what feelings she’d stirred in him. She’d already been real clear she didn’t trust him. Have you given her any reason to?
She was right. Enough people in her life tried to influence her one way or another. Took advantage. Sabrina. Her father. Jason had only met him twice, but from what he remembered, the Major didn’t suffer fools and made it clear everyone was to follow his edicts or else.
The old man had been hard on her, pushed her to be perfect and over-achieve at everything. She went to college early, played tennis on a professional level, got terrific grades. The perfect athlete. The perfect friend. The suffocated daughter.
Now, like the moron he was, he’d pushed too hard. Izzy had never said no to anyone or anything. Except him. Maybe that should tell him something.
Jason pushed through the throbbing pain in his knee to complete the last set of leg lifts. Sweat dripped from his hair in hot, messy streaks down his face. He should have asked her if she’d consider playing again, instead of getting ahead of himself and assuming. She had every right to be wary of him. Hell, if he were her, with their history, he’d run far and fast.
Damn. He hadn’t even had the sense to ask her out on a proper date. Sure, he’d gone by her studio to do that, hoped to pick up where they’d left off, but strolling in with a hope and a prayer would hardly sweep anyone up in a wave of emotion.
Every other woman he knew clamored to spend time with him. Wanted to hang around at the parties. If he bought them a gift, they fawned over him. But not Izzy. Ornery, obstinate, unimpressed Izzy pushed him away and insisted on something real. He couldn’t ever take the easy route with her. She made him work.
At one point he’d loved her for it. Love. If he didn’t watch himself, he’d end up just as in love with her now as he had been then. Would that be so bad? It had been so long since he let himself care about anyone, he took a moment to re-familiarize himself. She might not believe he had feelings for her now, but no matter what it took, he’d prove it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Izzy’s singular sense of confusion warred with her annoyance and her guilt for top billing in her mind. As she ambled around the living area, unable to process her argument with Jason, the vast, empty expanse of the house added to her feeling of desolation. As usual, when faced with a challenge like Jason, she opted for self preservation. Without much effort, he managed to push the limits of her safely-constructed world and challenged her carefully-constructed walls. With a simple gesture, he exposed her fear.
It’s just a stupid racket. Then why did the sight of the pink, taped handle fill her with icy terror? I’ve handled dozens of Nick’s rackets. However, never, not once, had she considered playing.
She hated to admit it, but Jason had a point. For the first time in years, as she watched the sun spread rays over the court, watched the joy in Nick’s face, she thought seriously about playing again.
Why punish Jason because he’d noticed the need, the desire, and aimed to please? Because you don’t trust him. He was slick. He’d had enough practice with his assortment of ex-girlfriends and lovers.
He said he wanted her to be happy. After all these years, he still cared about her. Never mind his past with Sabrina. Never mind their history. Never mind her pride. Maybe she needed to give him a chance. A real chance. Not the half-assed one she’d attempted before.
Unable to stand the silence in the house any longer, she pulled out her cell. Jessica answered before the end of the first ring.
“Hiya, home slice.”
Izzy shook her head. “Have you been watching BET even after I cut you off?”
“Nope. Urban dictionary. It’s the dog’s bollocks.” Izzy heard papers shuffling. “You should check it out, you know, so you can keep up with me and Nick.”
The dog’s bollocks? She rolled her eyes. “Any messages?”
“Just Simon wanting to know your whereabouts. Not to worry though, I told him you’d run off with an exceptionally handsome rich guy. He didn’t sound pleased. Your mother called too. You made the news in San Diego.”
Great, just what I need. “Anyone else? Sabrina call? Come by the house?”
“Sorry. No sign of her supreme bitchiness. The cops are done though. Jason called, said his cleaning crew would be by tomorrow. You guys playing nice over there?”
“Yep, sure. Define playing nice.”
“Damn, Izzy, what did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did anything? He’s the over-charming, slick one who thinks he can get away with murder because he’s Jason Cartwright.”
Jessica’s three-second silence seemed to stretch longer than a college overnight. “Okay, look, I didn’t butt into your life when you let the harpy come and stay with you. I don’t say anything, or rather not much, when you date guys who don’t make you happy. Nevertheless, I’ve had enough.”
Izzy tried to interrupt. “But, Jess—”
Jessica continued as if she hadn’t heard. “You need to stop living in the past with Jason. He obviously cares about your wellbeing. You people need to have it out and stop dancing around your issues. Maybe he’s not Mr. Relationship, but when was the last time you let yourself have some fun with someone. Carpe diem. Stop focusing on the past.”
Izzy ha
ted it when Jessica had a point. But then, she’d already come to the same conclusion herself. She looked over toward the light streaming in from the deck and sighed. “Jess, thanks for sticking around over there, and for kicking my ass. I appreciate everything more than you know.”
Jessica giggled. “No prob, Bob. It’s time you let someone take care of things for you for a change.”
“I’m working on it. Listen, if Sabrina calls… “
“Understood. Tell her to call you.” The second line shrilled in the background. “Iz, hottie, lawyer-guy is on the line. You want me to take a message?”
Bryce. “No, I’ll call him right now.”
After hanging up with Jessica, she immediately called Bryce. “I understand you’re looking for me.”
“Iz, where you been? I’ve been calling you at home since last night. Tried your cell, went straight to voicemail. Are you having some torrid love affair you’re afraid to tell me about?”
Why was the idea of her having a torrid love affair so amusing to everyone? “No. We had a break-in at the house yesterday afternoon—”
“Geez, Izzy. Are you guys okay? Do you need anything? Where are you now?”
“We’re fine. Nick was at school, and Jess and I were in the studio. I’ve taken Nick to stay with a friend in Malibu.”
“Where’s Sabrina?”
“The katrillion dollar question. I don’t think she came home the previous night. Haven’t seen her. The police were at the house getting some evidence earlier, but she didn’t make an appearance.”
“I’m calling with some more bad news, Iz.”
Her heart hammered two quick beats against her chest, before locking in place waiting for the news.
“Sabrina filed for sole custody of Nick yesterday.”
Even though she’d expected the news, even though she’d known it was coming, it didn’t stop the crushing weights of dread and defeat from settling on her shoulders. “That’s just perfect.”
“Do you think she had anything to do with the break-in? It’ll help your case if she did.”
After she briefed him on the details of the photos of Nick, he let out a low whistle.
“Man, that friend of yours comes with her own cargo carrier of trouble. But, this can be good news for you.”
Izzy almost dropped the phone as she considered what would happen to Sabrina if she was involved with her old dealer again. “Bryce, I’m worried about her. She’s been so adamant about being clean. I’m sure she’s using again.”
“Good, ol’ Izzy. The woman makes your life hell for several weeks, threatens to take away your pride and joy, and you’re worried about her wellbeing. That’s why I love you.”
Frustrated, Izzy reminded herself, not to grind her teeth. She didn’t need an achy jaw on top of it all. “I am who I am, Bryce.”
“Fair enough. Regardless of what else is going on, Sabrina being MIA is still a good thing. I’ve got a date scheduled with the judge next week to review the current custody arrangement. In light of the latest developments…”
“Yeah, I know.” Despite everything, Izzy couldn’t shake the worry that something wasn’t right.
By the time she hung up with Bryce, called her mother, convinced her mother she needn’t drive up from San Diego, Izzy had had enough.
She didn’t need her mother and Bryce probing about where she and Nick were staying. She didn’t need Bryce reminding her about her Sabrina problems. She didn’t need Jessica reminding her she had poor coping mechanisms.
Without thinking about it, Izzy tossed her cell phone on the couch and padded out to the deck. Without allowing herself to fear it, she picked up the racket. Without allowing herself to feel any negativity about it, she tromped down the long stairway to the tennis ball machine and flipped the switch.
Taking position across the net, without any thought to Nick, Simon, Sabrina, or Jason, Izzy flexed her hand around the pink handle and swung.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Am I crazy to sneak into my own house? Jason tiptoed into the foyer, unsure if he should expect a torrent of curses. After physical therapy, he’d deliberately avoided going home, figuring they both needed ample time to decompress. Now, as he shut the door behind him, he couldn’t dissipate the tension knot in his stomach. Lucky for him, Nick provided ample distraction with his fluid stream of consciousness.
“I still can’t believe you came to pick me up in the Porsche. Did you see Steve’s face? His dad may have a Porsche, but Jason Cartwright didn’t pick him up from practice. So awesome.”
Jason couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his lips. “Glad I could help. Any time you want to have some friends out here to practice or something, let me know.”
“For realz? That’d be dope.”
“Yeah, for realz.”
Nick beamed a megawatt smile, and Jason felt an unfamiliar tug on his heart. “So you wanna play a little Madden?”
Knowing there was a right answer and a wrong answer, Jason glanced around for Izzy. Not seeing her, he figured, when in doubt, do the right thing. “Somehow, I have a feeling your mom would want homework first.”
Nick’s eyes bugged out of his head. “C’mon. Today’s Friday.”
Damn. When did he cross over into the uncool zone? “Shower, homework, dinner, and then Madden.”
Nick gave an exaggerated eye roll. “You sound like Mom. Where is she anyway?”
“She trained me well.” Looking back around, he added, “Wherever she is, hopefully, she’s not doing any damage in the kitchen.”
While Nick headed for the shower, Jason went on the search for Izzy. Six or seven people could get lost in the house and not find each other for at least half an hour.
After searching all the likely locations, he headed out to the balcony. Over the rail, he had an unobstructed view of the tennis court. In the same tank top and linen pants she’d been wearing when he left the house, hair in a ponytail and sweat drenched, Izzy slammed ball after ball over the net.
He trotted down the stairs and grabbed a spare racket as he joined her across the net. He used the racket like a broom to clear the spare balls off the court and turned off the ball machine.
Izzy scowled at him. “I wasn’t finished yet.”
“I figured you’d get more satisfaction out of putting a face to the ball.”
Arms akimbo, her scowl didn’t dissipate. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Who said anything about talking?” He moved back to the baseline. “Shut up and play.”
That was the only warning he gave her before he sent a topspin serve her way. As he knew she would, she chased it down and returned serve with a grunt-filled backhand. As he anticipated the trajectory, he took three trotting paces and sliced an overhead drop shot behind her head.
She made an attempt to chase it, but slowed as the ball bounced for the second time. “Aren’t you supposed to be injured?”
He shrugged. “Aren’t you supposed to be good?” He bit back a grin as she displayed an elegant middle finger.
“Shut up and serve.”
“Fifteen—Love.” His next serve wasn’t as fast, but Izzy’s return was quicker and more controlled. She still had it. As he ran after her forehand, he calculated the next set of logical moves.
But Izzy didn’t play by the rules. As soon as she returned his forehand, she ran up to the net. His next shot made it five inches beyond the net before she returned it clean and fast to his right side. Shit. He’d never be able to return it. He watched it fly by, knowing the pain that awaited him if he put too much pressure on his knee.
“What’s the matter, Jase? Your knee acting up?” Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of competition.
Fuck, I’m screwed.
They went on like that for the rest of the game. Izzy hit shots to his right as often as she could. Some he returned, most he didn’t.
As she wiped her face with a towel during one of their breaks, she sliced him a look. “Cut it out, Jason. I can beat you on
my own. I don’t need you giving me points.”
He took a swing of water. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Trotting into position, he prayed she stopped hitting to his right. He didn’t know how much more of it his knee could take.
Lining up her serve, she sliced it over the net. His return was clear and sure. Hers was more wobbly, but it still hit its mark. He drew on the weaknesses he remembered from her playing days and took into account she might not be in as good a shape as she was, he ran her around the court. When she hit her final shot to his right, he gritted his teeth as he watched it go by. Damn it.
She ran up to the net and motioned him over. Wiping at the sweat on his brow with his forearm, he had no choice but to obey.
“What’s going on?”
His narrowed eyes tried to focus on her face and not the way sweat molded her t-shirt to her breasts. “What do you mean?”
Her elegantly arched eyebrow traveled a path up her brow. “I can see what you’re doing. If you want to keep playing, cut that shit out.”
“I assure you, I’m not doing anything on purpose.”
“Bullshit.”
“Watch your language, sweetheart.” He grinned.
“You expect me to believe we’re tied? I’m not that dumb. Stop giving me all the shots in your right pocket. I’m sick of it. I’m not going to drop my undies for you just because you let me win.”
He ground his teeth against the vivid image in his mind. “If you think I’d give you a win to see you naked, then you underestimate me.”
“Then learn to chase down a ball or two because I’m not going to sleep with you if you let me win.”
Her voice joined the likes of his own, Aaron’s, Brian’s and Michaels. The roar of doubt and insecurity drowned all other sound from his brain. All he could hear was Michael’s voice telling him he’d never make another major tournament without the assistance of some serious drugs and a miracle.
