“You two need to talk,” she said.
“She refuses to see me, she won’t talk to me, and she sure as hell doesn’t want to listen.”
Did that sound like it came out of a petulant twelve-year-old boy? Isaac shoved a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers caught on a bed-hair tangle. It totally did.
Olivia dug into the pocket of her jeans and removed a keychain, one single key dangling from it as she held it out and shook it. “Got it covered. This is to the back door. Go and make her listen.”
She dropped the keychain on the counter and slid off the stool. “And I’ve already checked with Gracie to see if I can hang out with Morgan at their place for a few hours. You can drop me off on the way to see Mum, okay?”
Isaac doubted his ability to make Nat do anything she didn’t want to, but they should talk. Even though he might’ve screwed up everything good between them, Olivia was right about one thing. He owed her to at least try and make amends for his part in hurting them both.
This was pathetic. She was pathetic.
Curled up under the bedcovers like a prawn, dressed in a pair of flannel pajamas with a flying-pigs print, Nat stared at a spider crawling up the wall. Any other morning and she’d be flailing out of her bed to lunge for the insect spray and a rolled up newspaper. This morning?
Meh. Go well, little spider dude. Enjoy your reprieve, courtesy of a messed up beyond belief former arachnophobe.
Thinking of spiders made her eyes well up again. Yep, even a spider could trigger memories of the man who’d taken care of a few of them on her behalf.
Nat shuffled over to the edge of her bed, pulled yet another tissue out of a half-empty box, and honked into it with a sound like a panicked goose. She slanted a glance at her nightstand and the growing pile next to her open jewelry box, tossing the crumpled tissue at it in an effort to cover the two wedding bands she’d been staring at. She missed, and the tissue fell to the floor. Whatever. Once her ears had stopped ringing—they were so blocked up from the constant crying jags—she caught the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Olivia must be up and about.
The good thing about having a teenage daughter was Nat no longer had to be up at the crack of dawn making porridge or pancakes or eggs on toast for breakfast. The other good thing about having Olivia as her teenage daughter was Olivia had been freaking amazing these past two weeks taking care of Nat on her worst days, starting with coffee in bed.
She wriggled upright, smoothing down her bed hair from hell and debating whether putting sunglasses over her puffy eyes would fool her daughter even for a moment. This is the last day my baby will see me wallowing in the pit. Footsteps stopped outside her bedroom door. Tomorrow I’m climbing out and getting back to my ass-kicking self.
A soft tap on the door caused Nat’s scalp to prickle. Wait a minute—Olivia didn’t knock when bringing her coffee because she had both hands occupied with not spilling it. Before her dulled senses could react, the bedroom door swung open and Isaac stepped inside looking big, sexy, and scarily serious enough to put the fear of God into the spider still trundling up her wall.
She stabbed a finger sideways. “There’s a spider on my wall.”
And I couldn’t even call you over to take care of it because everything is so wrong between us now and—dammit, the floodgates opened again.
“I’ll deal with it,” Isaac said.
“Don’t kill it.”
So wrong but so right between them that Isaac didn’t question her weird opening statement, but crossed straight to the wall, cupped a hand beneath the spider, and flicked it into his palm. He cracked open a window and dropped the critter onto a shrub.
“Better?” he asked.
For the spider; not so much for her since she was effectively trapped in her suddenly-too-small bedroom. Trapped with the man she’d foolishly given her heart to before checking they were on the same page. Nat folded her arms and sent him the most imperious stare a woman could give while wearing piggy-printed pajamas.
“How did you get in? I didn’t hear the doorbell,” she said.
“Olivia gave me her key. She showed up at my place this morning—and before you panic, she’s fine and staying at Owen and Gracie’s for a while to give us time to talk. Her idea, by the way.”
Oh. He hadn’t come voluntarily. Good to know. Not that she’d been in any state to have a rational conversation with him on the previous occasion he’d come to talk to her.
“Why did Livvy come to see you?” she asked.
“She’s worried about you. I’m worried about you.”
Isaac came over and sat on the edge of the bed. Giddy butterflies swooped around her stomach as his weight made the mattress dip beneath her. If she leaned a little to the right and let gravity take over, she could topple into his arms. But Isaac being worried about her wasn’t enough. Instead of falling back into the old pattern of her teenage years and the later years of her marriage, accepting what she was given and being Invisible Natalie again, this time it wasn’t nearly enough.
“I’m working through some stuff,” she said. “And some of that stuff is about Jackson, and it’ll take time before I can pack it up in a mental box and put it to one side.”
“Understandable.” He eased his legs up onto the bed and leaned against the headboard next to her, crossing his bare feet.
He wore basketball shorts, and her gaze skimmed down the bunch of muscles flexing beneath his calves and caught on his scar. It meant something different to her now. Strength of character. Sacrifice. Protectiveness.
“But what I can’t pack up in a mental box is you. I keep going back to why you lied to me once we became involved and the reason behind that lie.”
She paused, slanting him a sideways glance to see if he’d take the opportunity to fess up his motivations instead of letting her draw her own conclusions. But he remained impassive, arms relaxed at his side, bent at the elbows, fingers laced over his flat stomach. Apparently a spot on her ceiling was more interesting than her, naked under pajamas, sitting next to him.
“And all I can think of,” she said after letting that long silence stretch, “is that you set yourself up in a position where having any kind of long-term relationship with me would be impossible. That it really was just about sex between two lonely people. Because if you felt about me the way I feel about you, you’d know we had no chance building anything worthwhile based on a lie. Don’t get me wrong,” she continued quickly, expecting him to interject. “Olivia and I are in your debt for protecting us and Jackson’s family with what you took on your own shoulders.”
“You and Olivia don’t owe me anything.”
Any emotional resonance had been clipped from his tone, like he’d waved away her debt as if it were a couple of bucks of loose change. As if the backlash and vitriol he’d suffered over the years meant nothing. And so she waited again for him to correct her, to tell her that the reason he’d done what he did was because of the depth of his feelings for her.
Silence.
More silence as his gaze slid over her head to her nightstand and the pile of snotty tissues, then returned to the study of the ceiling.
Silence so silent it made the blood thudding in her ears so loud it sounded like a percussion band marching around her head. The giddy butterflies in her stomach turned into mean drunks, punching from side to side, rearranging all her internal organs into one big ball of hurt. She tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, letting the tangled curtain of her hair sweep across her cheeks. She couldn’t bear to see the expression on Isaac’s face.
“I guess we’re squared away, then,” she said. Points for her for keeping her voice even and the tears at bay. “And since sex, lonely or otherwise, is off the table, and I’ve found the best way to break a bad habit is by going cold turkey, please leave.”
Before I cave like wet cardboard and beg you to love me, you big jerk, she stopped herself from adding.
She felt r
ather than saw him climb off her bed. His footsteps padded across the room and the door gave a soft creak as he opened it.
“See you ’round,” he said.
And then he was gone.
Chapter 19
“Are you really sure this is the best thing to do?” Olivia asked.
Nat turned her face from the car windshield where she’d been staring at a parking garage pillar in Auckland’s CBD for the past three minutes. The two of them had driven down from Bounty Bay last night after Olivia finished school, to stay with Jackson’s eldest brother and his wife.
Nat studied the frown lines and shadows under her daughter’s eyes. Nat wasn’t the only one who’d lost sleep since Olivia had come home that Sunday afternoon and found Nat on her hands and knees in the bathroom, scrubbing out the shower stall.
“Time for a spring clean,” she’d said with every ounce of cheerfulness she could muster.
“Where’s Isaac?” Olivia had asked.
“He’s gone home.”
Olivia opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, seeing something on Nat’s face that gave her pause.
“I’ll go start on my room,” her daughter had said and backed out of the bathroom.
“I mean”—Olivia wriggled in the passenger seat, fiddling with the zipper tag of her puffer jacket—“Uncle Daryl and Auntie Lynn were okay with it, but Grandma looked pretty pissed off.”
“Yeah.”
Being grilled like a sausage on a barbecue plate hadn’t been the highlight of Nat’s part in the Fisher family meeting earlier that morning. Neither was fending off their inquiries about her relationship with Isaac, and how come he wasn’t there to speak up for himself. She’d found an unexpected ally in Jackson’s father, who quietened his wife’s machine-gun-like questions with his hand, and ordered her to “zip it and let the girl finish.” The for-and-against verdict from the Fishers over Nat’s plans ended in a tiebreaker, but Nat, in the nicest way possible, had already decided that hers and Olivia’s decisions were the only ones that mattered. And regardless of how she and Isaac had left things, Nat made the decision to forgive him. That’s right—she believed forgiveness was a choice. Isaac had done what he thought was right, and maybe there hadn’t been a perfect time for him to have told her. If she got out of her head and actually put herself in his shoes, would she have found it any easier to raise such a booby-trap ridden conversation? No.
“It might not be the best thing,” Nat said, giving Olivia’s knee a gentle squeeze. “But it’s the right thing to do.”
“If you say so,” Olivia said in a singsong voice. “Glad it’s gonna be you on TV, not me.”
Nat turned back to the windshield and the view of the television studio. Sunshine glittered off the windows, harsh and as scary as hell. Nevertheless, an exclusive segment on one of New Zealand’s respected current affairs shows was what she’d agreed to. Was what she’d pull up her big-girl panties and do—regardless of the potential backlash of public opinion and the mixed support of Jackson’s family.
Or how Isaac would react once they returned home to Bounty Bay.
They climbed out of the car and headed to the elevator to take them down to the street.
“Practice would be over by now,” Olivia said conversationally as the elevator doors closed. “Do you think they noticed I wasn’t there?”
“I asked Owen to tell your coach you couldn’t make it today.”
“Isaac, Mum. Isaac. You’re not gonna start calling him ‘Coach’ now, are you?”
“Isaac, then,” Nat said.
“You could’ve texted him yourself. You’re still friends, right?”
Nat made a grumbly sound in the back of her throat which could’ve been interpreted as both an agreement and a disagreement with her daughter’s statement. Then she caught sight of Olivia’s stricken expression in the elevator’s metal doors. Crap.
“Of course we’re still friends,” Nat said, her stomach reaching street level two beats before the elevator did. “That’s why we’re here.”
Olivia looped her arm through Nat’s and they stepped out of the claustrophobic confines of the elevator into the sunshine. Deep breath after deep breath of fresh air settled her twisting stomach, but didn’t prevent her heart from careening around her chest.
“We stand up for our friends no matter what anyone else says—that’s what you told me when I was little,” Olivia said.
“The right thing to do is often the hardest thing to do,” she agreed.
Especially in Nat’s case, because even though she’d already lost the battle for Isaac’s heart, she loved him enough to risk what remained of their friendship in order to right a wrong.
He’d sacrificed enough for her and Olivia. It was time to set the record straight.
What the hell had he been thinking buying a house in Bounty Bay?
“Don’t answer that,” he muttered into the silence. “I plead insanity.”
Isaac slapped the laptop screen down so he wouldn’t have to see the bunch of emails sitting in his in-box glowering at him because he refused to deal with his shit. But if he took his pick of any of the high schools from the Far North to south of Auckland offering him a position as a rugby coach, he could avoid situations like the one about to unravel.
Isaac’s back door slammed shut and heavy footfalls tracked down the hallway toward the living room, where Isaac was sitting alone in the dark. The whole house was dark—and dark for a reason.
“I know you’re throwing a one-man pity party,” came Sam’s disembodied voice from the hallway, “but tough shit, bro, I’m gate-crashing.”
“Should never’ve given him a spare key,” Isaac muttered from the couch, and then in a louder voice said, “Fuck off, bro.”
The living room lights came on overhead, sending an explosion of knives through his eyeballs. It also sent a snapshot of the current state of his living room into his brain. Stained mugs, unwashed glasses, and empty takeout containers were stacked on his coffee table. A flotsam of junk mail was spread across the living room armchairs, some of which had slid to the carpet—which had a scattering of potato chip crumbs and a new stain from where he’d spilled a glass of red wine two nights ago.
“Mate,” Sam said from somewhere near the living room entrance. “What in the actual hell?”
Isaac kept his eyes squeezed shut, his arms folded across his chest, feet propped up on the only remaining clear area of his coffee table. Maybe if he ignored his pain-in-the-ass brother he’d get the hint and leave.
Rustling sounds of paper falling to the floor were followed by the couch dipping under him as Sam sat with an exaggerated “ahhh.” As if he’d been the one putting in twelve-hour days at the office.
“So,” Sam said. “Natalie, eh?”
“Thought I told you to fuck off?” Isaac kept his eyes shut, even though, nope, Sam wasn’t going anywhere.
“You want me to send Mum a photo of your living room?”
“If you think you can do it in the three seconds before I beat you to a pulp and throw you out on your ass.”
Sam snorted. “The state you’re in, a newborn kitten has better odds of taking me down.”
Isaac opened his eyes and sent Sam a bring it, asshole stare. His brother merely raised an eyebrow, his arm stretched in a relaxed pose along the back of the couch.
“Haven’t seen you like this since Jackson died,” Sam said. “I’m worried about you, man. We all are. Don’t go slipping down into that pit again.”
The snide shut-down Isaac was about to utter melted on his tongue at the genuine fear in his brother’s tone. He dragged a palm down his face and blew out a long breath. “I’m not. I’ve got this.”
“Evidenced by the bloody pigsty you’re living in,” Sam said.
“You got a problem with it, feel free to stick on an apron and get busy.”
“You’re stonewalling.” Sam drummed his fingers on the couch back, his eyes narrowed into speculative slits. “Want my uns
olicited opinion of why you screwed things up with Nat?”
“Hell no. But I bet you’re gonna give it to me anyway.”
“Fucking-A.”
Sam propped his bent leg on the couch and leaned forward, pinning Isaac with his intense I’ve got this shit figured out stare. It was the same expression Sam got when he started work on a new kauri stump project. He’d walk around the shapeless lump of wood, studying and muttering and measuring up shit only he could understand for days before he even touched the damn thing with his tools. While Isaac was the doer, relying on training, adrenaline, and instinct to navigate his life much the way he did on the sports field, Sam was the thinker, considering, searching that rough stump of wood for the beauty within. He sucked at seeing shit in his own life, but he was pretty damn insightful when it came to other people.
“Lay it on me, then,” Isaac said.
“You’re in love with Natalie.”
Isaac gave him the side-eye. “We’re gonna talk about feelings, are we?”
“Well, you sucked at talking about your precious manly feelings with Nat, so yeah, we’re gonna talk feelings.”
Like the feelings he’d had when he’d spotted the two wedding bands in a jewelry box surrounded by evidence of Nat’s grief. Feelings that had kept his mouth shut as effectively as lining his lips with superglue.
“You’re in love with her, yes or no?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Isaac said. So damn bad that he hurt everywhere, all the time.
“There, was that so hard?”
Younger brothers, the ultimate endorsement for a single-child family. “Shut up.”
“And you’ve been in love with Nat for years. In fact”—Sam’s gaze slitted again—“you were in love with her while she was still married to Jackson and it’s eating away at you like bloody cancer.”
A face-first dive into concrete would hurt less than facing up to that statement. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut again. “No.”
“Bullshit.” Sam was relentless. “You were in love with your best mate’s wife and you’ve shouldered that guilt for years. That’s why you lied to everyone except your family about that night. That’s why you allowed the media to shred your reputation—not just out of duty to your friendship with Jackson or protectiveness of her as his wife, but because you loved Nat and wanted to spare her any pain that you could.”
Mend Your Heart (Bounty Bay Book 4) Page 23
