Izzy: Are you home?
Me: Yes. Omigawd. Why are you crying? What’s wrong?
My voice catches in my throat as the doorbell rings. I swing the front door open to find my little sister standing in front of me, tears and blotches dotting her face and neck. Her dark hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, something she never does, her body in black leggings and an oversized Tom Ford tee of our dad’s. She’s never been in public like this as far as I can remember. Not even in college.
“Izzy.” I open my arms, and Isabelle Pembroke-Walsh steps into them, seeking the comfort that only your sister can give.
“Whatever it is, Izzy Bizzy, I’m here.”
Kicking the door closed, I lead my baby sister to the couch, worry coursing through me. Isabelle is such a mess that all I can do is hold her while she cries a torrent of tears. Declan finds a box of tissues, setting them next to us, then brings a cool rag to wrap around her neck.
After an endless stretch of minutes, Izzy’s tears subside, and she pulls back, the red dots still speckling her skin. As if sensing Ladybug, she reaches down and picks the puppy up, snuggling into her fur, a fresh batch of tears spilling down her cheeks.
Declan retreats to the kitchen, giving us space. I can hear him filling the tea kettle and rummaging around in the cabinets. He pours us each a cup of tea, setting them on the coffee table. I wipe some tears from her cheeks, frustrated I can’t stop the waterfall from escaping. When Izzy’s tears finally subside and the hiccups fade, she looks at me with those soft gray eyes so like our mother’s.
“I love you, Bree.”
“Same, Izzy.” My throat tightens before I nudge her gently. “You came all this way. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
Her chest heaves, almost a half-laugh. “I’m leaving Preston.”
“What?!” My insides curdle as I process her words. “Did he hurt you?” I will absolutely main the sorry excuse for a husband if he did.
My younger sister by ten months stares into space, shaking her head as if searching for the right words. “No. Not physically. I’m just tired of feeling invisible.”
“Oh, honey.” I stroke her black hair, so much like our mother’s.
“And there’s the fact that he hasn’t touched me in six months.”
I’m at a loss for words. They were married just last year.
Declan looks at me and mouths the words, “I’m going to go.”
I mouth back, “Thank you.”
As the door closes, my baby sister shatters in my arms, and all I can do is hold her as the tears come.
Chapter 8
Declan
“I’m out.” Ryder tosses his cards face down and leans back, grabbing his beer off the felt.
“Same.” Zane flings his down with an annoyed sigh.
Poker night at Ryder’s is always a good time.
Until recently, I’ve been a sub. But when Ryder added another table, I moved to regular status. Some of us played high school football together, and those are bonds not easily broken in a small town.
Who knew that a bunch of jackasses from Hillside High would be leaders in our respective fields by the age of thirty? Zane Wyatt owns a cattle ranch, Nash Rivers makes music, and Ryder Bannon is a fire captain. Coach Mendoza is the athletic director for the school district now. We should invite him to poker night sometime.
Without looking at my hand, I push my chips in with a slow smile. It’s hard to beat pairs of aces and kings. “Raise.”
Nash doesn’t hesitate. “Not enough.” He tosses in more chips, then takes a sip of bourbon like he’s got all the time in the world. “You’re going to want to think twice about that one, Dec.”
Ryder leans forward, elbows on the green felt. “Well, well.”
Zane crosses his arms, watching the two of us like a tennis match, just like he did back in high school.
