Intertwined: A Redemption Novel

by Sasha Brümmer

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  He takes a seat in front of me and runs a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you want to find out what’s going on?”

  “Because, frankly, it’s none of my goddamn business.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I told you before we left that there is more to whatever is going on between the two of you on her side than you seem to think there is. I know that you’ve said that you’ll pull away after this vacation, but I don’t see that happening. You need to do something about this sooner rather than later. I’ve told you once, and I’ll say it again: if she comes out of this wounded, then I won’t be held accountable for what my fists do to you.”

  “You’re not one to get physical, Brass. Unless it’s over your wife.”

  “Or someone who I’m particularly close to.”

  I stand up and shove his shoulder. “Can you drop this shit long enough for us to get lunch?”

  I don’t want to think about what she wants or might need from this fucked-up bullshit that we’ve been putting each other through. Jesus, I thought my hookup with Adriana was bad, but this one just hit itself out of the damn park and into a whole different level.

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “Don’t throw words at me that are meant to mean more than one thing.”

  “You choose to hear them as you need to understand them.”

  We make our way through the spa’s interior until we come to its in-house restaurant. I spot Isla immediately, even though I wasn’t purposely looking for her. I seem to be drawn to her nonetheless.

  I walk up to the table and pull out the chair beside her. Once seated, I run my hand down her thigh. It’s only when I have my hands on her that she looks over at me, acknowledging my presence.

  “Hi.”

  “Do you need a drink or hand restraints?” she snaps. She glowers at me and shoves my hand off of her thigh.

  “Neither.” I know that I’ve hit a nerve, but I refuse to let her push me away like this when I know she’s needing to speak to me.

  “Good.”

  I replace my hand on her thigh and flip open my menu with my free hand before glancing at it, deciding on the Icelandic Lunch.

  Returning my attention to her and ignoring the fact that we have an audience, I move my hand farther up her inner thigh. “Are you going to talk to me about this shit?”

  She watches me for a moment before shrugging and leaning over the table. “What are you getting, Hads?”

  Hadley looks from Isla to me and back to Isla. “I’m not sure. You?”

  She bites the corner of her lip, and it makes me want to move my body over hers and take her right here . . . show her that she can’t keep shit from me.

  “I’m thinking about getting soup and crackers. I’m not too hungry.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” Isla replies, and I’m slightly confused by the exchange, but I choose to ignore it.

  When Hadley pulls up the menu again, I turn my full attention on Isla. “I’ll drop it for now. However, I won’t deal with this fucking attitude that you’re giving me. We’re here on vacation, one that I thought you’d appreciate.”

  “I . . . uhm . . . I do appreciate it, Jensen. It’s just some personal stuff that I have going on right now. It’s nothing that you have to worry about.”

  Hadley almost chokes on her water when she takes a sip but continues to try to ignore our conversation.

  “Figure your shit out and start having a good time.”

  “Fine,” she huffs and takes a drink of her water. “I could seriously use a fucking tumbler of amber right about now.”

  “I’ll get you something,” I tell her, but as I’m about to get up, she grabs hold of my forearm and shakes her head.

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t need it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m just hungry,” she says, contradicting what she just told Hadley.

  Once we’ve ordered and our food has arrived, we’re still sitting in silence, waiting patiently for someone else to break the tension.

  “Liam?”

  “Isla.”

  “Can we just . . . I don’t know . . . put everything from the last couple of days behind us and just move on?”

  “I’m down with that if you are. It’ll be good to have my baby doll back.”

  That gets her to smile, one that I haven’t seen since I took her to the baseball game.

  After lunch, we each retire to our rooms back at the hotel, but I cannot set aside the feeling that Isla needs me to be by her side more than she’s letting on. Against my better judgment, I walk out of my room and across the hall to hers, knocking twice before I glance down at the bottle of whiskey in my hand.

  She opens the door as she’s pulling my sweater on over her head.

  “Comfortable? I have a clean one if you want it.”

  Fuck, I’m all over the place with what I want and what I need from her.

  “No, this one is fine. Thanks, though.”

  “Good. Can I come in?” She hasn’t moved aside, and I’m beginning to think that I should have just gone to the bar instead.

  “Sure,” she says as she steps aside and holds the door open. I take the few steps to her bed and take a seat.

  “Are you busy?”

  “Not entirely,” she replies, moving to her laptop and shutting it before joining me on the bed.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something, and I figured the whiskey would help with the news.”

  “Uh . . . all right. What’s going on?”

  “Us.”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah. I think that once this trip is over that we need to leave whatever is more than our friendship in Iceland.”

  I wait for her to show me any type of a response, but she doesn’t so I continue. “You know that I’m not interested in more, and before you assume that it’s because of you, you need to understand that it’s not. You know what I’ve struggled with since Chloe disappeared, and I won’t put anyone in my line of fire again. I don’t trust myself enough with somebody else to search for more in any relationship. You need to understand that.”

  “Trust me, it’s clear as glass,” she says with more bitterness in her voice than I initially expected to hear.

  “I need you to know that I didn’t go into this with a goal to hurt you. I enjoy being around you, Isla, and you should know that, but I can’t do anything more than that. Not now—or ever, if I’m being frank.” As the last of the words vacate my mouth, I can taste the residual bitterness that the lie holds.

  She nods and turns her head to look out the window instead of at me while she formulates her response. “I think that you need to give me some time and space right now.”

  I stay seated and reach for her hand. “Isla.”

  “Don’t,” she snaps and pulls her hand away from mine.

  “This is nothing new. I’ve always said—”

  “Liam,” she interrupts me, “if you don’t leave, then I will.”

  “Don’t give me shit. Just talk to me.”

  She turns to face me with tears in her eyes, but instead of saying a word, she gets up and walks out of the room, and before I know it, the door closes, and I’m left sitting on her bed alone.

  An odd ache creeps into my chest, and there’s suddenly a gravity there that wasn’t present before.

  I lie back and decide to wait her out. She’ll be back in here sooner or later, and I’ll get a better chance to fully explain myself then. I open the bottle of whiskey and take a long drink, welcoming the powerful burn down the back of my throat. It seems to ignite my body as well as my mind as I replay our little conversation.

  The next time I open my eyes, they burn in the darkness of the room. I pull my phone out of my pocket and take note of the two missed calls, both of them from Hadley. I toss it to the side and sit up. The alcohol in my system c
omes back with a vengeance to remind me just how much I drank. I don’t recall passing out, but I’ve clearly had my fair share. The room spins as I squint, trying to remember where I am.

  Ah. Isla’s room.

  I stand up on unsteady legs and make my way to her bathroom. I’m almost surprised when I don’t see her shit all over the vanity like she has it in her loft.

  After relieving myself and walking back into the bedroom, I turn on the lights and am thrown when I don’t see anything of hers in the confines of these four walls. Even my bottle of whiskey is gone.

  I pick up my phone from the bed once it goes off, alerting me to a text message from Brass: Be glad that we’re not in the same room right now.

  I text back: What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

  I wait for his reply as I do a once-over of her room for my bottle, but come up empty-handed. As I leave and stumble across the hallway to my room, his reply comes: That you just fucked up one of the best things that could have happened to you.

  And what exactly would that be? I manage to type out and send.

  Isla.

  I toss my phone across the room. It hits the far wall before dropping to the floor. I don’t need to hear this bullshit. It may take a bottle of whiskey to make me see what I’ve actually done, but there’s no going back. Not only have I pushed Isla’s feelings aside without a care, but I’ve also ruined an almost decade-old friendship because of my dick.

  Regretfully, I walk over to my phone and pick it up, ignoring the now-cracked screen and typing out a message back to Wade: Where is she?

  Two hours into the flight I put her on back to Chicago.

  It takes me a minute or two to realize what he’s saying, and when I do, the weight of what I’ve done hits home, and I know that none of this will get back to where it was.

  Why does it feel like I just broke up with my best friend? We weren’t together. I never intended to stay or have this aching feeling to chase her, but here I am, suffering in my own indecision.

  I push these drunken sentiments aside and decide to let it go right here in my room. I won’t regret ending something that I know I’d be no good at, something that I wouldn’t be comfortable with.

  I don’t reply to Wade. I decide to leave my phone in my room as I go in search of another bottle and the hot springs.

  I didn’t find a bottle, and now I’m chest deep in the warm waters as I glance up at the night sky, which is littered with hundreds and thousands of stars.

  I remind myself that the worst is over and that I am now able to move forward with my plans in life. I need to concentrate on the women who need me, the ones that are in trafficking situations. The ones who are actually suffering and being taken advantage of while other men watch. It’s degrading and dehumanizing, and if I can put a stop to it in my own city, then I will, but first I need to head to Mexico with my team.

  I decide at this moment that I’ll email them with my answer once I’m sober enough to work my phone correctly. I turn my attention to the voice calling my name and groan when I see the look of horror on Hadley’s face.

  “You’re a fucking asshole.”

  “That’s nothing that I haven’t heard before . . .”

  “I’m serious, Liam,” she calls out from the deck that she’s standing on. “You’ve messed this up more than you care to know.”

  “Why are you trying to tell me about it if you know that I don’t give a shit?”

  As the words leave my mouth, I can taste the lie that comes with them, but I don’t let on.

  I don’t get a response from her, and I turn back to the direction where her voice was coming from, only to watch her walk back to the hotel and back to Wade.

  I lie back in the water and attempt to replay the words that I said to Isla, but my drunken mind is now hazy, and the only thing that I’m mildly interested in is my bed.

  I’m woken by continuous knocking on my door, and I’m about to rip someone’s fucking arm off. Jesus. I need to get my head on right and spend more of my free time back in the gym, laying my fists on the punching bag instead of resorting to the verbal outlet that I’ve been using lately.

  I get up, my sweatpants hanging low on my hips, as I make my way over to the door. I pull it open without bothering to see who the fuck had the nerve to wake me up.

  Hadley has both of her hands on her hips, and her eyes are boring into mine with an intensity that I’ve never before seen come from her.

  “What do you want?”

  “Obviously more for you out of your pathetic, drunken life than what you seem to want.”

  “Was that supposed to hurt?”

  “Yes,” she huffs and pushes my door open, striding past me and taking a seat on the loveseat in the room. “What happened?”

  “With what?” I ask as I start the coffee machine up, placing a cup in the top and waiting for the hot liquid to pour out into the mug below.

  “I know you’re not stupid, Liam, so the only other reason why you’d be acting this way is if your decision has affected you more than you want to let on.”

  “If you say so. Why are you here, Hads?”

  “Someone needed to kick your ass into gear, and trust me, you don’t want that to be Wade right now. I’ve had to subdue him with sex more than once since Isla came to him about leaving.”

  “And? Should I give a shit? I’d prefer for it not to be anyone.”

  “She deserves better than you. You know that, right?”

  “Why do you think I put an end to something that would have hit a wall and crashed regardless?”

  “You may not understand, but she needs you now more than I think you will ever realize, and you just let her down in the worst way possible.”

  “Listen here, Hadley. I’ve told her from the beginning of us fucking around that I didn’t and wouldn’t want more. I had to end shit with Adriana for the same reason, and she knew where I stood and still stand. I don’t trust myself with the responsibility of caring for someone or having someone need me again like Chloe once did, because I’ll disappoint and ruin shit.”

  “Oh really? Well, if it’s not apparent to you, I’ll be the first to tell you that you just did that with Isla.”

  “And? It’s better to rip off the Band-Aid while she can still heal, rather than when shit gets too deep, and there’s no going back.”

  “Liam, trust me when I say that there is no going back from this point. You’ve royally fucked up, and she won’t be able to heal from you.”

  I run my fingers through my hair before standing and walking to the door, opening it up for her to leave.

  “Seriously?” she asks with mock disappointment marring her features.

  “Seriously. I don’t need heat from you about this shit.”

  She stands up and strides past me and down the hall before I shut the door and head into the bathroom to shower—to rid myself of the ill and misconstrued feelings I’m harboring about myself at this moment.

  I’m the definition of emotional chaos, and I’ve never been this torn up over anything in my life before. Not when I was locked away. Not when I found out the truth about my mother. Not when I figured out what’s missing from my life.

  This, though, is slowly drying me up from the inside out. It’s taken me by what little balls I thought I had and tossed me around a time or two.

  I’ve been home for just over a week now, and I’ve had Jacobs hand deliver Liam’s crap to Wade’s penthouse. I’m sure that Wade instructed him to make sure that I have everything that I could possibly want or need while I’m technically home alone.

  As the sun rises, I decided that a run might help distract me enough to get away from the horrible thought processes going on in my head, so I get changed into my running gear and head out the door.

  I’ve barely made it three miles when I realize just how much of a dumb idea this was. Every thought that I wanted to rid myself of seems to come to the surface now that I have nothing else to do but think as my feet hit th
e boardwalk beneath them.

  I force my legs to dig harder as I run along the lake’s shore, but when I see a mother run past me while pushing a stroller, I almost fall over my own two feet and crumple. I move to the side of the trail and bend over, resting each hand on my knees in an attempt to catch my breath. This is what modern-day torture must feel like. Fuck the cat-o-nine tails; this shit is digging in deeper than a multi-tailed whip ever could.

  I’m pregnant, and I’m alone. It’s a classic tale, really.

  Once I’ve calmed my body down enough from the run, I stretch my limbs out to ensure that I don’t end up with a cramp.

  I check my watch and decide to take a leisurely walk back to my loft instead of running it. It will buy me some time between now and my OB/GYN appointment that I decided to move up since I left Iceland earlier than expected. I was lucky enough to get into their only opening this week.

  I’m a nervous wreck, and I’m not sure what to expect when it comes to the appointment. I have no doubt that she’ll need to prod me with something or other, but I’d just rather not do it. Especially unaccompanied.

  After a quick shower, I get dressed into my usual dark jeans and gray silk tank with a comfortable light sweater. I grab the keys from the little bowl beside the door and head down to my Porsche. Once I’m seated and buckled in, I lean my forehead on the steering wheel and take a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves.

  Holy shit on sticks. I have no idea whatsoever what I’m doing.

  I’m petrified. Beyond petrified, I feel like I’m solely living in fear, and I cannot see past its boundaries. I’m completely lost, but here I am, having to woman up and take those next steps in my life.

  After a couple of minutes, I straighten up and drive the twenty minutes that it takes to get to the doctor’s office and park my car.

  I should text Liam at the very least. He needs to know what I’m doing because this doesn’t just involve me anymore.

  I’m unsure how he will react, though, or if he’d even like to be here with me. So, with a heavy sigh, I decide against it and make my way into the doctor’s offices for my appointment—the very one that will ultimately tell me what the remainder of my life will be like. I keep my fingers crossed as the appointment proceeds, praying that it’s that damn blue water that made those little crosses appear. It has to be.