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“What’s wrong?”
“What the fuck was that stunt with Ty?”
“He provoked that,” I say, incredulously.
“I was watching the game.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Tyson was playing clean; you were playing personal.”
“Fucking right, I was, Isla. I take it very personal when he taunts me with crude suggestions about you and calls you and Sadie ‘his girls’. That is extremely personal,” I hiss, trying not to gain Sadie’s attention inside. “You know what? I’m done being the bad guy in your life, Isla. All this time I thought I was only missing you, but now I know I was missing out on so much more. I could have had that bright smile and cheerful excitement from her. And yeah, that’s my fault. But I was cheated, too.”
“Cillian.”
“Stop. I’m not doing this today. Wait here,” I tell her and dip back inside to grab the letter I left by my doorstep. “This is for you. Let me know what you decide. Sadie Baby, come say goodbye to Mommy.”
It’s her play to call now.
17
ISLA
“What’s in it?” Zander asks me after he bowls yet another strike.
“That’s what I want to know,” Willa says. “But she didn’t open it.”
“We can sit with you while you do?” Kit adds. She grabs her ball and lines up, only for it to roll in the gutter like most have before. She’s awful at bowling unless she’s drunk, yet she’s the one that always suggests we come here.
Willa’s the best of us all, but if Zan is with us, she lets him win. No matter how many times I try to convince her to stop it, she always makes sure he gets a few points more than her.
“She’s got it with her,” Willa tells Zan. “Now is as good as time as ever.”
“What if it’s bad? Legal shit or something? He was kind of ominous when he gave it to me,” I say, admitting the fear that’s kept me from breaking the seal on the envelope all day. I flipped it in my hands over and over. My three papercuts proof that I nearly got the courage a few times.
“What if it’s not? Either way, you need to know,” Kit says.
“Tell you what? If Willa wins, I’ll open the envelope here and read it to you all.” I send a wink her way, and she glares in return.
“You’re a bitch,” she whispers while moving to grab her ball.
“Love you, too, Sissy Poo,” I tell her, laughing. She sticks her tongue out at me, then bowls a strike. Willa made it look so effortless that Zan narrows his gaze on her.
“I always suspected she was better than me,” he tells me after our last frame. We’ve moved to a table in the restaurant and are waiting for Willa and Kit, who made a trip to the bathrooms. Likely so Willa can complain about me goading her into giving up the façade. I place an order with our server, adding mozzarella sticks, her favorite comfort food. She won’t stay mad at me with those on the table.
“Maybe she thinks your swollen ego can’t handle losing to a pretty little girl.”
“Shut up, I don’t have a big ego. Do I?” He laughs but looks mortified.
“No, baby. It’s a normal sized NHL hopeful, male ego.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve got to have a certain amount of cockiness to make it in this game, Zan. Some have more than others. Yours is just the right amount.”
“That’s good, I guess,” he says, but doesn’t look convinced.
“All right, time to open that fucking envelope,” Willa announces, taking a seat at the table.
“Fine.” Grabbing it from the side pocket, I gently open the seal. I’m stalling, of course, but I don’t need another paper cut either. Inside is a handwritten letter on paper, imprinted with a Vancouver hotel logo. At least that means it’s not legal documents. As promised, I read it aloud.
Isla,
