Isaac blinked down at her outburst. What the—did Nat just say ‘fell in love’? With him? Nat was in love with him? He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop the bones in his legs dissolving into bendy straws that would at any second dump him on his ass. A car trundled past the park, its tires hissing on the wet road as it slowed to make a turn at the next street. His tongue remained firmly stuck to the roof of his mouth and stayed there, even as Nat’s mouth twisted and she took a giant step backward.
“Great time for the silent treatment.” She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow. I’m going back to bed.”
Isaac watched her walk away, feeling as helpless as he had five years ago when he’d been caught in blinding headlights, his life about to change forever.
To say Nat was a zombie by the time she staggered out of her room the next morning was an understatement. All the teabags in the world couldn’t magic away her puffy, bloodshot eyes, just like all the coffee in the world would struggle to keep those eyes open after zero sleep.
And thinking about coffee led to thoughts about Isaac, and, God, how many more hits from this tsunami of grief, anger, confusion, and bone-deep betrayal could she cope with?
“Mum? Are you okay?”
Nat jumped, her teeth snapping together and clipping the edge of her tongue. Wincing, but shoving aside the urge to burst into a fresh spurt of tears, Nat poked her sunglasses farther up her nose.
“Jeez, Livvy, you scared me,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Olivia’s nose crinkled. “Well, you looked wrecked.”
“Bad hair day, huh, Auntie?” Rangi-Marie, who’d been Olivia’s roommate, grinned at her. “Happens to me all the time.”
“That plus a rock-hard mattress and the refrigerator humming all night. Nothing a good breakfast and a jumbo cup of coffee won’t sort out.” Nat thought she really should be nominated for her Oscar-winning performance.
Olivia gave her the side-eye. Yeah, Nat wasn’t really fooling anyone. She still fixed a fat, false smile on her face and did the mum thing by asking if they’d double-checked their room to make sure nothing had been left behind, and if they’d loaded their bags onto the bus that she could see in the parking lot.
“Yeah, yeah,” Olivia said. “I’m going to save a seat for Morgan.”
She took off, leaving Nat alone with Rangi-Marie.
“I saw Isaac before,” Rangi-Marie said when Olivia was out of earshot. “He looked scary pissed off.”
Pissed off? What did Isaac have to be mad about? Had he spent the whole night dissecting eight-and-a-half years of marriage, analysing every argument, every stony silence, every missed call and slightest inconsistency of Jackson’s time spent away from his family?
“That’s his default expression. Resting bitch face.” Nat caught hold of her suitcase handle and walked toward the bus, which was idling, plumes of white exhaust drifting in the chill morning air.
Rangi-Marie stuck close to her side. “Nah, not lately. And he didn’t just look like he was about to tear someone’s head off either—he looked sad.”
Sad? What did Isaac have to be sad about? She was the one betrayed and lied to by not one but two men she loved. And thanks, you good-for-nothing feelings, for springing that on her during the second worst night of her life.
“He’s probably worried about the outcome of the game today.” Nat quickened her steps toward the open baggage doors at the rear of the bus. She muscled her suitcase inside and turned back to give Rangi-Marie’s arm a reassuring rub. “It’s the coach’s job to worry, while you girls just need to have faith in yourself and go out there and kick ass. So let’s go and fuel up with breakfast.”
During breakfast at a nearby restaurant, it was like a choreographed dance between her and Isaac. She’d skilfully and without eye contact found a seat on the bus away from him. At the restaurant table, she’d inserted herself between two girls where she couldn’t see him, and after the bill was paid, she’d dithered in the restroom until Isaac boarded the bus before her and she was able to choose a seat far, far away from him.
By the time they reached St. Kilpatrick’s school grounds, Rangi-Marie and Olivia weren’t the only girls to notice the tension between her and Isaac, and the bus ride from the restaurant to the school was the quietest the girls had been since they’d left Bounty Bay. The glances Nat had sneaked in his direction confirmed Rangi-Marie’s assessment—the man looked as if he was on the cusp of completely losing his shit and going nuclear.
Owen met them in the parking lot, his smile of greeting slipping once he, too, sensed the discord among the group.
“Mate?” he asked Isaac, a thousand questions in that one word.
Isaac just shook his head and set to directing the girls with their kit bags to the locker rooms.
What should’ve been two hours of pride and excitement over the girls’ achievements of making the semifinals, Nat spent on autopilot. The most important game of the season for Olivia and her team passed by in a blur. She stood on the sidelines and cheered when she was supposed to cheer, and groaned when she was supposed to groan, but she was so tuned inward to the endless loop of memories and recriminations buzzing in her brain she couldn’t have said who scored a try, or who the ref called out on a penalty, or even which team was winning with two minutes left in the game.
Then the referee’s whistle blast cut through the air. It was over.
Nat didn’t need to look at the scoreboard to see Bounty Bay had lost; it was written in the slumped posture and grim faces of each of the girls as they shook hands with the other team. And Isaac, whose broad back was ramrod straight, his profile set in cold stone as he congratulated the other team’s coach.
She wanted to run onto the field and wrap her arms around Olivia, but it felt as if she were a satellite looking down at herself and her daughter from the depth of deep, dark space. The girls lost—Olivia lost. And more than just the game; Olivia had lost the dad she’d idolized, the dad who’d turned out to have feet of clay. How in God’s name did you explain to a thirteen-year-old the complexities of adult relationships? And should she even tell Olivia the truth?
Someone touched her arm and she looked up from where she’d been studying a squished patch of grass for the last…? She didn’t know how long she’d been fascinated with the ground. Owen stood beside her, his brow set in deep furrows.
“Hey,” she said.
She should probably say something else, something like “exciting game, huh?” to keep up the charade that everything was A-OK and she was coping just fine while her world crumbled. While she would never win that Oscar, she’d years of experience putting on her game face when necessary. It was a skill she’d learned quickly at her very first foster home. Kids who smiled even when life continued to dump trailer loads of lemons on their heads managed to fly beneath the radar. Those who blended in, the way she’d forced herself to accept her lot in life, survived the system. And Nat was nothing if not a survivor.
“Nat, what’s going on?” he asked. “Are you sick?”
Yeah, sick to her stomach and not above using the oldest excuse in the book to get a guy to back off.
“Period cramps. Really bad ones.” She scrunched up her face and pressed a hand to her lower stomach.
“Uh-huh.”
Owen didn’t sound convinced. Probably because, as a doctor, womanly problems were dealt with on a daily basis and no more likely to scare him off than a head cold.
“Morgan told me she wants to ride home on the bus with the other girls after all,” he said gently. “You’re welcome to catch a ride back with me if you like.”
“I should stay with the girls, make sure they’re okay.” Although nothing sounded as good as getting away from Isaac.
“They’re fine. Disappointed, of course, but fine. Look.”
Nat glanced up to see Morgan and Olivia walking toward them, talking animatedly. Olivia’s face scrunched up once she reached Nat and Owen.
“Well, that sucked,” Morgan said.
Olivia draped an arm over Nat’s shoulders. “They only beat us by three points, though. Right, Mum?”
“Right.” Though Nat had no clue about the final score, she managed a smile. “Pretty damn good for your first big match.”
“Failure is the birthplace of character, and pain is necessary for growth,” Morgan said. “That’s what Coach says.”
Someone would have to winch Nat’s sealed mouth open to get her to comment on anything ‘Coach’ said. She slipped her arm around Olivia’s waist and gave her a quick one-armed hug. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to ride back with Owen. It’s that time of the month and I don’t want to be stuck on the bus for hours.”
“Muuuum!” Livvy clapped a palm over her eyes. “TMI. Whatever. I’ll see you at home.” She and Morgan rolled their eyes at each other, then jogged back to join the other girls.
Owen handed his car keys to Nat. “Why don’t you go sit in my car? I’ll grab your suitcase and let Isaac know about the change of plans.” He raised an eyebrow at her, as if waiting for a reaction.
“Thanks.”
“We gonna talk about it on the way back to Bounty Bay?”
She knew exactly what ‘it’ he was referring to, but she angled her chin. “Really, Owen? You want the rundown on my preferred brand of tampons?”
He shot her a sympathetic grin. “Carpool Karaoke it is.”
Nat hurried across the parking lot to Owen’s car and climbed inside. Anything was preferable to weeping over what might’ve been and what now could never be.
Chapter 18
Isaac Ngata woke alone in his bed, as he did every morning since he’d screwed up things with Nat, and stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t want to adult today,” he told the empty room.
The room said nothing, keeping its cards close to its chest, refusing to engage. Much like Natalie for the past three weeks.
He shifted restlessly under the covers, every muscle in his body a dull ache. He’d pushed himself too hard at yesterday’s Saturday practice, running all the drills with the girls, then heading to his home gym to punish himself with weights. Although a sullen, wounded-eyed Olivia had arrived with Morgan yesterday, Nat had been a no-show, and Olivia took off the moment practice was over. Before he’d had time to ask her in private how her mum was doing.
Because after unreturned texts and phone calls, and on one memorable occasion nearly getting his nuts frozen off by Vee’s icy glare while she barred the entry to Nat’s place, he’d no fucking idea. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess she wasn’t doing well.
“Give her some space. She’ll come around,” was the general consensus of Owen and Sam.
So he’d given her space, sitting on his hands for the past week since his last abortive attempt to talk to Nat, feeling so goddamn helpless he was a walking time bomb. He was at the mercy of his emotions that kept sucking him down like a whirlpool, spitting him up for a moment to catch his breath, then pulling him under again. It was alien to him, this barbaric need for Nat. This urgency pounding with every beat of his heart to hold her, to reassure her, to somehow transfer every drop of her pain onto his shoulders so he could bear it for her.
Was that love?
Hell if he knew.
Isaac rolled over and pressed his nose to the pillow whose slip he refused to launder because it still smelled like Nat.
Ding-dong.
He groaned at the cheery sound of his doorbell. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
With his luck it’d be his mother prepared for a heart-to-heart kōrero, one where she’d do all the talking and he’d pretend to listen while drinking endless cups of coffee. Or his brother or Owen, showing their solidarity for him by doing the only thing guys knew how to do when their mates were hurting—just show up, shut up, and be there.
Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong.
Isaac huffed out a sigh and hauled ass out of bed. He dragged on a pair of basketball shorts and headed out of his bedroom. On his porch, a solitary person stood in front of the door. This time he didn’t mistake the figure for a Girl Guide selling cookies.
He padded down the hallway, pulse racing faster every step, and opened the door. Olivia stared up at him with her father’s eyes, accusing and red-rimmed. She wore her rugby windbreaker, the hood pulled tight over her face, her jeans soaked from the rain driving down behind her. He cracked the door open wider, surreptitiously glancing over Olivia’s shoulder just in case Nat hovered somewhere behind. Nope, his driveway and the street outside were empty.
“You walked here?” he asked.
She nodded with a shiver, and droplets of rainwater dripped off her chin.
“Where’s your mum?”
Her eyes narrowed to tapered slits. “In bed.”
Bloody hell. “You’d better come in.”
She gave him the stinkeye, but squelched past him, heading for his kitchen. He followed, watching her peel off her soaked jacket and climb up onto one of his breakfast barstools. What was the correct protocol when confronted by the wet, pissed off teenage daughter of the woman whose heart you’d broken?
He gave Olivia a wide berth and headed to the pantry, retrieving a little-used packet of drinking chocolate. “Hot chocolate?”
She nodded again and he flicked on the kettle. Turning back to her, he lifted a questioning eyebrow. “If we’re gonna converse in gestures or interpretive dance, this will be one hell of a trying conversation for this time of the morning.”
That earned him another stinkeye.
“Mum didn’t get out of bed yesterday,” she said. “And there are no tissues left in the house—guess why?”
“I have a feeling you’re here to tell me.” Isaac collected two mugs and spooned instant coffee into one. Instant was kept for his plebeian father and Uncle Manu who wouldn’t know good coffee if it bit them on their asses, but today he needed a caffeine fix, well, instantly.
Olivia folded her arms and leaned them on the countertop. Her lower lip wobbled for a moment, then firmed into a pale line. “Because she hasn’t stopped crying since she found out about Dad and that woman.”
His molars clicked together while his gut swooped in a sickening arch toward his knees. “Your mum told you?”
Stinkeye number three. He’d lose count soon as one blended into the next.
“Of course she told me. I’m not a little kid, and me and Mum tell each other the truth. At least, we used to before you and her…” Olivia’s mouth puckered into a grimace and her eyes grew suspiciously shiny. “Anyway, everything sucks now.”
“Yeah,” he said, irrationally thankful when the kettle came to the boil because he had no freaking idea what to say.
He finished making the drinks, set the hot chocolate in front of her, and leaned against the counter, racking his brains for some nugget of wisdom, something profound to share with Olivia that would make everything better. Three sips of vile instant coffee and many molasses-slow seconds later—nope, he had nothing.
“How could he do that to her?” Olivia said softly. “Didn’t he love her anymore?”
The question that had plagued Isaac for years. If you were in love with a woman as incredible as Natalie, how could you possibly have room in your head or your heart for anyone else?
He met Olivia’s gaze. “I don’t know what your dad was thinking or feeling that night. But I do know he wore the woven friendship bracelet you made him under his wrist tape so you’d be with him the whole time during the match. And that one of the first things he said to me when we hit the locker rooms after that final game was that he couldn’t wait to call you in the morning to tell you we’d won.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Oliva’s mouth. “I remember he said he’d wear the bracelet before he left. I was so proud.”
“He was proud of you. He loved you more than anyone else in the world.”
“And Mum?” she asked. “Did he love my mum?”
&nbs
p; “That’s not my call,” Isaac said, “and it’s not my right to comment on your parents’ relationship. As you said, you’re not a little kid, so you’re old enough to understand that parents make mistakes and do dumb things, too.”
“I’m so mad at him.” Olivia’s lip wobbled again. “But I miss him as well.”
“Me, too.”
Though he felt like his guts were being torn apart in two different directions, he missed Jackson. Even after all these years his absence was like a muted toothache that would flare up at unexpected intervals. But a selfish part of him was grateful that he’d had this chance to be with Nat—even though he’d blown it, and even though he knew Nat never would’ve acted on their attraction if Jackson had been alive.
“Isaac?”
He hadn’t realized he’d sunk deep into thought until Olivia’s voice dragged him into the present. He glanced up. She had a milky, chocolaty moustache along her top lip, making her suddenly appear years younger, the gap-toothed kid that Jackson carried a photo of in his wallet.
“Yeah?”
“Do you love my mum?” she asked.
His heart stopped on a dime, threatening to burst out of his chest and head for the hills behind his father’s farm. Fingers tightening on the coffee mug, he lowered it to the counter before he crushed it to white powder.
“And don’t tell me it’s none of my business or it’s complicated. Tell me the truth. You owe me that,” she added.
Guess he did. Not that it made any difference to the way things were, the way things had to be between him and Nat now. “I do love your mum,” he said. “And I hate knowing she’s hurting so much.”
“She’s not just upset about Dad. That’s why I’m here. I guess I was a jerk when I found out about you guys and realized why she’d been so happy. I think she loves you, too.”
Isaac cleared his throat with a noncommittal grunt, shoving down the little bubble of warmth Olivia’s words caused to rise in his chest.
Mend Your Heart (Bounty Bay Book 4) Page 22
