Carter whispers, “He’s just jealous.”
“Definitely jealous,” I agree.
Though, considering it’s likely a professional golfer giving Carter shit, he could probably get his own sauna pretty easily if he wanted one.
“So…why did you call me?” Carter asks, as if just remembering we aren’t the type of friends who chat on the phone every day.
I walk out to the backyard and sit on the bench by the fireplace. Even though it’s getting late, the sun is just setting. “I need Izzy’s number.”
“No can do,” Carter replies. “Do you know how much trouble I got into with Kelsey for telling you where she lives last week and then giving you my spot in the golf tournament? Let’s just say I had some very blue balls as a result of being a good friend.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say. “You’re a real hero.”
To his credit, Carter woke up to find me on his couch, in my clothes from the day before, desperately trying to write more of the song I’d started on the bar napkin. I’d been up with the sun, despite the massive amounts of alcohol I’d consumed, and when Carter stumbled upon me, I was two hours in with nothing to show for it.
I was desperate.
And desperate Jaxon is very persistent.
And pre-caffeinated Carter isn’t nearly as on top of things as his post-coffee counterpart.
“Well, if that’s all,” Carter starts.
“What if I give you a number? Could you confirm if it is or is not hers?” I ask.
Carter considers it for longer than I feel is absolutely necessary, and I’m starting to think he fell asleep when he finally lets out a long sigh. “I guess. But if I get cut off again because of you, I’m going to tell Nash you’re in danger and make him sleep in your room with you.”
My close protection officer is like the human version of a golden retriever, and while I normally enjoy hanging out with him, I don’t want to share a bed with him. And I definitely don’t want him in my dad’s house.
I don’t want anyone in my dad’s house. Including me. And yet, I’m still here. Unable to go through that door. Unable to come to terms with my past.
“Deal,” I agree, then quickly read off the number from the text message earlier.
Carter makes me repeat it twice, slower each time, before saying, “All I can confirm is that it’s definitely a number I have in my phone, and it’s not not who you want it to be.”
I roll my eyes but thank him before letting him go back to the party with his wife and friends.
The air is cooler now, the last remnants of sunburnt gold giving way to navy blue. A breeze kicks up, rustling my hair as I set my phone down next to me. I exhale, long and steady, feeling the shift inside me.
I’m going to pretend to date Izzy. I’m going to fake date Isabel Harper.
And if I’m lucky, we might even become friends again. Shit, if my pounding heart and excitable hormones have anything to say about it, we might even be more than friends.
My mind drifts to last night, when, just like every night that week, I’d tried to write and failed miserably. Wild Bluffs has lost its mojo.
After sitting outside for hours gently strumming my newly delivered guitar, I’d finally given up and taken a long shower instead. My mind had wandered, and almost as a dare to the ghost of teenage Izzy, I’d reached down, fisting myself. But this time, instead of high school Izzy showing up with sass and funny comebacks, it’d been the adult Izzy who appeared in the shower with me. Rather than bending her over like my body begged me to, I’d pulled her into my arms and held her there, leaning down slightly to kiss her forehead as the shower fell over us like a gentle rainstorm.
The relief I felt had been bone-deep—and it wasn’t just the release of actually being able to finish for the first time in forever. That soft kiss, it’d felt…right. Like I’d finally found solid ground after drifting for too long.
But I know my time here is finite; I’ve known that all along. My career is elsewhere, and who am I if I’m not Jaxon Steele?
Every decision I’ve made as an adult has been about chasing my dream. It’s the one way for me to show my dad—hell, to show myself—that I’m worth something. That I’m not just the kid who caused my mom to deteriorate. The baby who masked her symptoms until it was too late. But at the same time, I can’t ignore the feelings that are starting to permeate every thought. The ones that say Izzy is more important than any award on my wall, more valuable than any of the money in my accounts.
Which makes me wonder, have I been chasing the wrong thing this whole time?
Chapter eighteen
Izzy
