I wait while Nash enters the house, my phone in my hand, ready to call 9-1-1 should anything crazy happen. Instead, he comes out twenty seconds later, a big smile on his face.
“You’re clear,” he says after he opens my door for me.
“But there’s a car here,” I say slowly, my mind trying to catch up.
“Yup. There’s a person here, too. But you’re not in any danger. Or at least not too much. Good luck in there.”
I shoot one more questioning look Nash’s way as I make my way up the steps to the house and push open the door. There, onthe couch, scrolling through shows on the TV like she owns the fucking place, is Izzy.
No wonder Nash couldn’t wipe the grin off his stupid face.
“I hope you don’t mind, I grabbed a water,” Izzy says, still scrolling through options on the streaming service she must’ve signed into herself. I sure as hell don’t know my own login information for things like that.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “I thought we were meeting at your place.”
“Yeah, but that felt awkward after all the stuff the other day, so I decided to surprise you here,” she says. “I didn’t think about Nash needing to check the house, though. Luckily, he decided not to shoot me. It’d really hurt my friendship with the guy if I had to dig a bullet out of my shoulder, and I like him.”
Ignoring the slight flare of emotion at her confession about Nash, I focus on what’s really important—her being in my house.
“You can’t be here, Iz. Let’s go to your place.”
“Don’t call me Iz, Jaxon Reid,” she says as she leans back and crosses her arms. “I can be here if I want to. I mean, maybe not legally, but I’ve been here about fifty times in the last fifteen years, which is”—she taps her chin as if in thought—“only about fifty more than you were, so if anyone shouldn’t be here, it’s you.”
“You visited my dad?” I ask, surprised at how hurt I feel. Izzy was always on my side. My dad and I fought a lot there at the end, and Izzy never agreed with him. She thought it was ridiculous he wanted me to give up my dream of being a musician to stay in Wild Bluffs and farm. She knew how much his resentment of my fucking existence hurt me.
“Yeah,” Izzy says, her tone defiant. “He understood how it felt to lose you. No, not to lose you. To have you choose to leave. So, yes. I visited him. And then I kept visiting because he waslonely.” She looks out the window, biting her lower lip as she scratches her nose.
Izzy may not have known that my dad told me I was the reason my mom died, but she knew I always felt like he resented me for having to raise me alone. The fact that she chose to console the man who all but forced me out of the house, who made it clear he would’ve been better off without me, is like a deep lash of fire to my chest.
“Oh good,” I say. “God forbid he have to live with his choices.”
“Some would think that you, of all people, would value the ability to forgive and forget.”
“Whymeof all people?”
Her eyebrow lifts, and she opens her mouth before closing it again. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. We’re supposed to be hanging out so you can write music. So, I guess we should do that.”
I’m walking toward the corner where I have my guitar propped when I spot a large paper bag. “What’s this?” I ask, picking it up and peering inside.
“I found my parents’ oldGuitarStargame and thought we’d play, but I don’t really feel like it anymore. We can just hang out here, and I’ll fuck around on my phone while you do your thing.”
I pull the console, a mic, and two guitar-shaped controllers out of the bag, realizing that’s not all she brought. “Marshmallows, too?”
“And chocolate and graham crackers. Surely you still know what s’mores are, even if you look like you haven’t had sugar in the past fifteen years,” Izzy says as she scans me from head to toe.
My body heats at the perusal, my dick suddenly reminded of what we’d done on Thursday.
“I don’t think you have much room to talk, Iz.”
She lets out a laugh. “Right.”
There’s a hint of sarcasm there, but I’m not sure what it means. She’s clearly beautiful with her strong, athletic build and girl-next-door features. Growing up, everyone was half in love with Izzy. I’d been the odd man out, our friendship far outweighing any romantic thoughts. Now, though, that’s no longer the case. Sure, I want to be her friend, but other feelings are swirling beneath the surface too. Feelings that are certainly not platonic.
Feelings I’m not sure I have any business having.
“Let’s do it, then,” I say, grabbing the console.
Izzy shakes her head. “I’d rather read.”
