“If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. But just know that I’ll never stop trying to make this right. I’ll never stop wanting you.”
She doesn’t say a word, letting my words bounce off the wall she’s built between us. I back away slowly. My heart shatters with every step. When I reach the door, I pause, my hand on the handle.
“I care for you, Izzy,” I say softly, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “And we are real. Real to me. I wish we were to you.”
I’m not brave enough to hear her reply.
I can’t.
My own damn eyes are filling with tears that I’m too ashamed for her to see. I leave the faculty lounge, the door clicking shut behind me. I walk away, the weight of everything I’ve lost crushing me. I feel utterly lost and completely alone for the first time in years.
Kokami.
24
ISABELLA
The classroom is empty now. Another day finished after yesterday’s confrontation in the lounge. The bathroom would have been a better choice to hide in. I ducked in there when I spotted the lounge, never really thinking he would figure it out. There he was, looking as shattered as I felt.
I care for you, Izzy.
His faint words, full of conviction, almost broke me. Nearly had me calling him back, demanding to clear the air immediately. But that wouldn’t have been too rash. Something biker Isabella does but not Professor Rossi.
And we are real. Real to me. I wish we were to you.
Soft but insistent, echoing from the faculty lounge yesterday and replaying countless times in the last twenty-four hours. It did feel real. Scarily real. Sunday was a mess with my father leaving, and Diego saw that.
He could have dropped me off at home to sit and stew, but he didn’t. He took charge, took me to his place to talk, and showed me his universe. I loved it. Spending the day in bed with him felt so natural and, dare I say, easy.
His life isn’t charmed, especially with his back injury and having to turn away from the sport he loved. The shrine to his former self attests to that. Yet, he seems to have bounced back so effortlessly.
Whereas one or two things are going wrong in my life. Papà getting hurt and the loss of my beloved bike, which I have yet to grieve properly, sends me into a tailspin. Diego’s betrayal keeps me spinning like I’m on an out-of-control carnival ride that I can’t escape.
I rub my temples, a headache etched across them from all the thinking and crying I’ve done in the last two days.
I should steer clear of him.
Keep my distance.
Let him finish the semester and graduate so we can both move on with our lives. It’s the smart thing to do. The professional thing. But the thought of it sends a sharp pang through my chest. The idea of seeing him all semester and then watching him walk out of my life feels unbearable, like losing something I didn’t even know I was searching for.
Yesterday was tough.
I overslept after a restless night of tossing and turning. Showing up late to class isn’t like me, and I can’t afford to fall apart this early in the semester.
Exhausted, I drop my hands to my desk and glance at the clock on the wall and then the dusk sky. Sitting here in my cold classroom isn’t going to change anything. I might as well go home, shower, and order takeout. At least, I’ll be a whirlwind of emotions in pajamas on the couch rather than in my professional attire.
When I finally get all my crap together and head out of the building, I skid to a stop at the unexpected sight before me.
Diego, dressed in black leather, his helmet dangling from the handlebars of a white Ducati Panigale V2 with red accents. His dark hair is slicked back, and he leans against the machine, looking absolutely stunning.
The air in my lungs freezes, and I wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me. But no, there he is, as real as the ache in my chest. Diego looks up, catching my eye as I stand frozen in place. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of determination in the set of his jaw. I force myself to breathe and take a cautious step into the cool evening air.
“Rossi.”
I don’t know what I expect him to say or why he’s even here. My mind scrambles for an excuse to walk away, but my feet betray me.
“What are you doing here, Diego?”
