Chapter 4: Isla

When the funds land in my account despite my protests, I stare at my bank balance for several long, fantasy-inducing seconds before making a donation to a small animal welfare charity.

After all, $1500 is 'nothing' to Rob, and it'd do amazing things for them.

One day, when I've got a place of my own, I'll walk through their doors and adopt a dog. Dogs love you unconditionally. They're always there for you. Loyal. Without judgement. You'll be their first choice. No matter what happens during your own day, you know you'll be coming home to someone who's excited to see you.

I sit on the sofa in Nick's home office like I do every Saturday morning and stroke the silky belly of the greyhound roaching beside me. On his back with his legs in the air and teeth on show, it looks like he's smiling. Such misunderstood creatures. On the outside, they're fast predators chasing down prey; in reality, they're lazy couch potatoes with gentle temperaments and so much love to give.

"I'm almost done," Lizzie, Nick's fourteen-year-old sister, tells me from across the room.

"Take your time," I reply just as my temporary phone buzzes in my cardigan pocket.

I wrestle it free with my spare hand. It's several years old and covered in scratches, but I'm hoping I can get the Storm organisation to lease me a new one for business purposes. Then I can make do with this while using the latest model for social media.

'Not' Liam Dempsey: Can't beat pineapple on pizza and I won't be swayed.

Freddie nudges my arm with his wet nose when I pause stroking him. I start to reply one-handed.

Me: If I wanted something healthy, I wouldn't be ordering a pizza

'Not' Liam Dempsey: So by that logic, you're a meat only girl? No onions, peppers, sweetcorn etc?

Me: The more meat, the better

At this point, I don't care if this guy is Liam Dempsey or not. Okay, that's a lie. I want to believe he's not, but I'm not going to get sucked into another pit of naivety where he takes me for a fool then humiliates me via technology devices.

So I'll lay on the innuendo a bit, make him wonder if I'm flirting, while keeping my guard firmly up.

'Not' Liam Dempsey: I'm gonna order a Hawaiian tonight with all its fruity, juicy goodness

I sit up straighter. Dallas is playing tonight. This little shit can't be ordering a pizza if he's stuck between the pipes.

But maybe I'll hold off replying, just to test his timing.

"Okay, I'm done," Lizzie announces, sitting back in her desk chair and dropping her pencil onto her maths book.

After dislodging Freddie's head from my lap, I cross the office to check her work.

This has been our Saturday morning routine for nearly three years now. She lacks confidence with her maths and science, and I used to help her out when Nick and I dated. That became a more formal tutoring arrangement after our split, since I wouldn't be around as much and Lizzie begged me to continue helping her. Not that I needed much persuasion. I love her like a sister. Being able to geek out and use the knowledge that went to waste after school is a bonus.

My eyes fly down the page, checking her working out, ticking each question.

"Nailed it." I squeeze her shoulder. "Quick break then some chemistry?"

Her nose scrunches. "I hate chemistry."

"Nah, chemistry's fun! You're just not thinking of it in the right way."

"When are we ever gonna use it in real life, though?"

I perch on the edge of the desk, smiling as one of her fingers reaches out to trace a daisy on my skirt.

"I use chemistry all the time with my cocktails," I say. "It's all about learning how the right ingredients react to make the perfect solution."

Cheeky optimism lights up her eyes. "Maybe we should make cocktails instead."

I laugh, ruffling her hair. "Nice try, sweetie."

While Lizzie lets Freddie outside, I head to the kitchen to make us both a drink. The kitchen is so familiar it feels like my own, and I wish it was. All the worktop space. The well-stocked cupboards. Fresh ingredients. I'd have a field day here making cocktails. But now I only ever come to Nick's on Saturday mornings when Lizzie is over, and asking my ex-boyfriend if I can chill out in his kitchen is overstepping a boundary I've been trying hard to keep in place.

When I get back to the office, Lizzie already has her chemistry book open. She's a hard worker, even at fourteen. Each time I look at her, I see part of myself reflected back. That drive to be better. To achieve more. Identifying a weak subject and putting in the hours to master it. Hopefully she's able to make something of her education more than I was.

We work through chemistry for an hour, until there's a knock on the door and Nick sticks his head inside.

"Thought I heard the school bell go ten minutes ago." He winks at his little sister.

"I've just got one more block of questions to answer." Lizzie swivels her chair around to face him.

"I can help you with those, Liz."

"But you suck at chemistry."

Nick's laugh is soft, and damn if it doesn't do something to the hardened parts of my heart, watching him look at his sister with such devotion and love. When did Rob last look at me like that?

"True," he says, "but I'm ten years older than you, and that makes me ten times smarter."

"We're not so sure about that, are we, Lizzie?" I nudge her with a grin.

"Hey." Nick stands up straight and puffs his chest. "They call me Chess because I'm smart."

I snort. "They call you Chess because it's short for Winchester."

"Actually, it's because I'm always two moves ahead of my opponent on the ice." Nick shoots me a lop-sided smile, then turns his eyes onto Lizzie. "Because I'm smart."

"A smart ass, more like," she retorts.

"Language." He points a playful finger at her. "Or I'll tell Mom and Dad."

"Yeah, I'm so scared."

Training my gaze on Lizzie's textbook, I bite down on my lip to stop the amusement breaking free. Call it an ex-girlfriend's intuition or just a guilty conscience, but I can sense Nick's twinkling eyes burning into the side of my face.

"Something to add, Isla?" The teasing edge to his voice only draws my smile wider.

"Not at all," I say. "This is between siblings. Nothing to do with me. But, I'd love to stay and help Lizzie with this last section, if that's okay with you."

"Please, Nick?" Lizzie clasps her hands together in front of her throat.

He draws in a deep breath, before releasing it in a soft sigh. "One last section," he concedes, backing out of the room.

He always gives in to her. Every time. The love that shines through his eyes whenever he looks at her is a dead giveaway. He'd do anything for her.

Rob and I used to be like that, back in Southampton. Before everything changed.

*

"You really need to start letting me pay you for this." Nick walks me to the door, helping me into my faux-leather jacket.

"You know I won't take your money."

"You won't take my money because you know she doesn't need tutoring anymore." Nick shakes his head. "She's just attached, Isla. She wants an excuse to hang out with you."

"Maybe I want an excuse to hang out with her too." I smile and draw up the zip on my jacket. "Honestly, Nick, spending my Saturday mornings here with Lizzie and Freddie is the highlight of my week."

An awkward silence falls between us as we both notice I've left him out of that. It wasn't intentional, but it wasn't a lie either. I come here for Lizzie. Not for Nick. As far as exes go, we're friendly. More than friendly, occasionally. But I haven't crossed that line for a while. Six months to be exact. He broke my heart, and I wasn't ever going to move on if I kept sleeping with him. No matter how convenient or familiar or comforting he is.

I loved him. Still do a little bit. But I'll never forget what he did to me two years ago. The humiliation. The heartache. The brutal reminder that nothing is more important to hockey players than hockey.

"You know, uh, Lizzie...She, uh..." Nick bows his head and scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. "She keeps asking me if we're getting back together."

"Do you tell her no?"

"I mean, I try, but... C'mon, Isla. It's confusing for her—"

"She's fourteen. Not four." I soften my tone and try not to get defensive, because I really don't want to lose Lizzie but I can see where Nick is going with this. "Is it really Lizzie who's finding it confusing, or you?"

"I know where we stand," is all he says.

"Okay. Good. But just so we're clear—"

"Isla." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please. I don't need to hear you say it for the hundredth time."

Staring down at the floor, I scuff the toe of my boot across one shiny wooden board. "Maybe let's reassess at the end of the term. Lizzie," I clarify, glancing up. "If her grades are good, we can reduce the sessions or put them on hold."

Nick nods. "Okay. Let's do that."

Maybe he broke my heart two years ago, but I can't bear to see the same happen to him. I'd never want him to feel the pain I did, so while it would crush me to lose these weekly sessions with Lizzie, at least it stops me from inadvertently hurting them.

*

"Why have you got the hockey on?" Riya glances up from chopping an onion, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Thought you'd be at the arena if Saskatoon are playing?"

"Saskatoon aren't playing."

"So why are you watching it?" She leans forwards and squints at the screen. "Who's playing?"

"Dallas and LA."

"Dallas and... Oh, Isla. Please tell me you're not still hung up on that idiot goalie?"

On the TV, Dempsey has just frozen the puck and is now swigging from his bottle as the teams switch lines. I unlock my phone and tap out a message.

Me: How was the Hawaiian?

"Nope," I tell Riya. "I'm just testing something."

Barely thirty seconds later, my phone illuminates. It's an image. Of a pizza. On a coffee table with a TV in the background showing an NFL game. My detective skills only stretch as far as social media sleuthing, but this is within my remit. The Broncos are playing the Dolphins, and a quick check on Google confirms the live score matches the photo.

Of course it's entirely possible that Dempsey has enlisted help from a friend, but even I have to admit that's far-fetched. What's more likely is this asshole really did give me the wrong number as a final nail in my coffin of humiliation. But why? What would he gain from that?

Eurgh. Who cares. Goalies are a weird breed.

There's still one little issue, though. I can't find out who he is—his name, his appearance, his job—without him asking the same questions back.

And I'm not ready to share that. Not until I know I can trust him.

But at least it appears he's an American Football fan instead of a hockey one. 

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

***

If you're enjoying the story, make sure to add it to your library and follow me so you don't miss the next upload! 

Alternatively, join any of my Ream tiers where weekly uploads have already begun! New chapters are being posted every Wednesday & Saturday.