Molly shrugged helplessly. “Peace, Isabel. I gain peace from knowing I’ve forgiven her for leaving, and she realizes it. Maybe Brooke has stayed away all these years because she doesn’t know how she’d be greeted.”
The look I gave Molly could only be described as incredulous. “We’re making excuses for her now?”
“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not making excuses, but I won’t hide behind some arbitrary wall of anger either. I know therapy was bullshit for you, but it wasn’t for me. And sometimes, sister, you figure out a way to forgive someone because it’s what you need. Not because you’re letting them off the hook.”
With every word she said, I felt this overwhelming urge to flee. I wanted to slap my hands over my ears and stop listening. It was the same sensation I felt before Aiden said he bought the gym, except much, much worse.
This thing Molly had done was, at the very minimum, like yanking open the worst scar I could think of and watching someone pour saline into the torn flesh. And what that felt like … well … it brought out the very worst version of myself. I hated this side of me. This hot-wired, reactionary person who couldn’t control what she said or did.
I’d worked really hard not to be her. To let that instinct take me over. And everything in my life seemed to be instinct-driven lately, the wheel spinning wildly in a way that I couldn’t stop, couldn’t get a hold of.
I swooped down and picked up the bands we’d used, then tucked the medicine ball under my arm. “I think we should end here.”
“Isabel, come on, don’t be like this.”
I stopped, spearing her with a look. “How long have you had to process the idea of this?”
Molly swallowed before she answered. “Three weeks.”
“Great.” I nodded. “Sounds about right for me too. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to put this stuff away.”
When I returned from putting the equipment away, my playlist hit the end, and Molly was in the front area, slowly packing her bag. From where I stood, I couldn’t tell if she was crying or not, but I was too upset to stop and ask.
Which was a big deal because anything that made my sisters cry made me want to punch things repeatedly.
And now, it just made me want to run.
Because at the moment, the only thing making my sister cry was me.
Well, me and our mother.
Fucking Brooke and the damage she’d caused with her selfishness.
Molly paused before she left the gym and gave me a long look. Thankfully, her eyes were dry.
“I love you, Isabel. And I hope eventually, you’ll understand why I’m doing this.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth and nodded. “I love you too.”
She exhaled in relief when I said it, but her face was sad as she walked out.
The building pulsed with silence as soon as she walked out, and I inhaled unsteadily. Moving slow, I packed up my bag and turned off the lights in my office. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I almost looked up at the ceiling because I could’ve sworn that brick by brick, unimaginable weight was falling on top of me. My hands started shaking, and I curled my fists tight to make them stop.
I needed this tension … this feeling … out of my body.
First work.
Now my sister, my family.
Both had me rocked with no place to grab onto. Or that was what it felt like.
And the truth, which I also hated, was that I didn’t have anyone who could shoulder it the way I needed them to. To take the brunt of the pressure building and building, no outlet, no valve to release. They all had someone. They all had that person who’d know exactly what they needed at the moment they were most out of control.
My hands shook, and I imagined that metal box splitting angrily at the seams, paint peeling, edges crumpling from what was being held inside.
And what I needed, in the face of all this blistering emotion, was someone to roll with whatever came out of my mouth with no judgment and without trying to soften the blows or tell me I was overreacting, that I was too much for feeling this way.
Striding over to the iPad on the wall, I cued up one of my angry rock playlists and turned the volume up. A moment later, my hands were wrapped and shoved into my favorite black and purple gloves.
If there was no one to be that for me, I’d be that for myself.
I let out a deep breath in front of my favorite bag, stretched my arms out a few times, and started to move.
AIDEN
It was a mistake to go back to the gym when I saw the lights on and realized her car was the only one in the parking lot. I’d recognize it later, the ramifications full and clear once all was said and done.
But at the moment, I wasn’t thinking about that. Even if I hadn’t left my wallet on my desk, the sight of her lone car, the bright lights, and the dark sky around the building probably would’ve made me stop.
Because it was only a matter of time before I recognized something important when it came to Isabel.
Curiosity and attraction were two entirely different things. Interest was so mundane because so many things held my interest.
Football held my interest, which was how I knew who she was, who her family was.
Working out held my interest because it kept me feeling strong and healthy and sane.
When I had the time, reading held my interest if the story was good.
Those were all easy and peaceful things that kept my attention and reduced my stress.
But if I thought my manager would fall neatly into that category once I figured her out, I was kidding myself.
That became apparent when I approached the front door, and with a grimace and a flare of anger, I found it unlocked. Interest never exploded into a bright ball of fiery emotion, something unnameable, at the realization she was inside with the music blaring while the door was wide-fucking-open for anyone to walk in.
Attraction did that. But I wasn’t ready to name it. Not until later.
The music was hard and angry—sort of like the rippling waves of emotion I was trying to keep in check—with guitars and drums and screaming rock, so I knew Isabel wouldn’t be able to hear the ding of the bell over the pulsing from the stereo system.
Even then, I could’ve turned around, locked the door behind me with my key, and left her to work out in peace. Once I knew that my state of mind was hardly polite, hardly civilized.
But I didn’t do that either.
“What the hell is she thinking?” I muttered.
When she avoided me, I let her be.
When I caught her dumping out the cup of coffee I bought her, I didn’t push.
When she continued, over and over, to do things that seemed completely at odds with what Amy had told me, I didn’t engage in the way I wanted to.
When I caught myself watching her, studying her, fighting the urge to pick her apart until I understood all these things that I didn’t seem to understand, I’d let her be.
But as I rounded the corner and she came into view, I knew I should have left. Something inside me screamed to turn and go. Leave her be now when it matters.
Because the first thing that came into my head when I noticed the graceful strength in her body, with hair unkempt, limbs and back coated with the sheen of unbelievable effort was,
I could watch her do this all night.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.