I’d let her go. And I’d been paying for it ever since.
When the airportexit appeared ahead, the ache in my chest worsened. Isabel was leaving, and I had no idea how to stop her. Or get her to listen to my apology again. Really listen.
I stopped at the departure curb and put the truck in park, but neither of us moved. The engine ticked in the sudden stillness, and when she reached for the door handle, I got out and retrieved her bag from the backseat.
We stood on the sidewalk, facing each other. Her blonde hair was up in a tight bun, like it usually was, accentuating the exhaustion etched into every line of her features. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. As though something was eating her alive from the inside.
“Thanks for the ride.” She spoke politely. Like we were strangers.
I wanted to say something that would make this hurt less for both of us. The thing that would give us both a reason to try again. “Take care of yourself,” was all I could come up with.
She nodded and reached for the suitcase handle. Our fingers brushed for half a second, and she yanked it away as though I’d burned her.
“Goodbye, Kick.”
She walked toward the terminal entrance, rolling the suitcase behind her, and I watched her go, waiting for her to look back. Hoping she would.
She didn’t.
The automatic doors swallowed her, and she was gone.
The drive homefelt twice as long. Every mile doubled on a highway that was an unfurling gray expanse ahead of me.
Her farewell replayed in my head. It had sounded permanent. Final. As though she was closing a door and locking it behind her, throwing away the key so neither of us would be tempted to open it again.
She’d mentioned the Van Orr villa in Italy once or twice, and it sounded beautiful. There were sprawling vineyards, centuries-old stone buildings, and views of the Tuscan hills that went on forever.
When there, she could distance herself from her father’s emotional coldness, from Paso Robles gossip, and now, from me. From the mess I’d made of us.
Maybe that was what she needed. Space to breathe without judgment crushing her. Distance from the person who’d hurt her most.
We were never going to work anyway. Van Orr and Avila—both from wine country families, but we’d chosen such different paths. She’d stayed in the world she was born into, navigating the social circles and expectations. I’d chosen rodeo over the family business, spending most of my time on the circuit and traveling from town to town.
I thought of calling Snapper. He wasn’t just my brother; he was my best friend. My hand even reached for my phone, but I changed my mind and left it in my pocket.
How would I explain how I was feeling? That driving Isabel to the airport had left me feeling hollowed out? That I’d spent two months trying to fix what I’dbroken, only to watch her walk away without looking back? That the woman everyone thought was a spoiled princess chasing my brother was actually the only person who’d ever really seen me?
Snapper would never understand. He’d never seen what I saw in her. No one had except me.
By the time I got home, I’d convinced myself this was the right ending. The only one that made sense.
Italy would be good for her. Time away from the town that had laughed at her for years.
I hoped she found whatever peace she was looking for over there.
Even if it meant I never saw her again.
3
ISABEL
Istood at the airport departure gate, watching planes take off through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Kick had dropped me off at the curb an hour ago.
I’d lied and told him I was going to Italy. The same thing I’d told my father.
The guilt of those mistruths pressed against my chest, but what else could I have told them? The truth? That I was running away to the Russian River Valley, hoping to start over? That I needed to disappear before anyone discovered my secret?
While my father wouldn’t have bothered, Kick would have asked questions I couldn’t answer. So I’d let him believe the lie.
