Page 112 of Third Strike Smitten

She shrugs her shoulders and picks at her burger bun. “We used to be close. Happy. We used to do things together all the time. I have a brother but he moved out of state after Dad died and my mom…” she takes a deep breath, releasing a defeated sigh. “She saw me through my recovery and now…well, I think in a way, she blames me for dad being gone.”

“It’s not your fault, Coach,” I remind her, wrapping my hand around hers. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I guess, but it doesn’t change the fact that my mom feels the way she does and that our family is forever changed because of what happened.”

My heart breaks for her. All Isla wants is to love and be loved. I see it in her face every day. I see it in the way she treats people…the team, my brothers. But she doesn’t think she deserves for that love to be reciprocated and that guts me.

“I’m sorry, Isla. I am.” I lace our fingers together. “But none of what happened to you means you have to live a life without love.” I gesture to the extended family seated around the yard. “You can have this too, you know. All of it.”

She looks at me, and something flickers across her features, hope, maybe. Or fear.

Or both.

“Can I?” she asks, and the vulnerability in her voice grabs at my soul.

“You’re already part of it,” I tell her, squeezing her hand. “The team loves you. My brothers love you.” I pause. “I love you.”

She swallows hard and her chin quivers. “Killian...”

“I know you’re not ready to say it back,” I continue, my thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. “And that’s okay. I just need you to know that this—” I gesture around us, at the team, at my brothers, at the life we’re building together “—is yours too, if you want it.”

She blinks rapidly, a single tear escaping down her cheek. “What happens when my flight assignment ends?” she asks. “What happens when I have to leave?”

The question hits me like a fastball to the gut. I’ve been trying not to think about it, trying to live in the moment, but the reality of her departure looms over us like a storm cloud on an otherwise perfect day.

“I don’t know,” I admit, because I won’t lie to her. “But I know I don’t want you to go.”

She looks away, her gaze drifting to where Bishop is now demonstrating some ridiculous dance move that has Mackenzie covering her face in secondhand embarrassment. “I don’t want to go either,” she whispers so quietly I almost miss it.

My heart stutters in my chest. “Then don’t.”

She looks at me with a pained expression, and fuck, I just want to hold her. “It’s not that simple,” she says, her voice barely audible over the laughter and music drifting across the yard.

“I know.” I squeeze her hand. “But it doesn’t have to be complicated either.”

“But what do you think it would look like? Me staying? What happens when you’re on the road for weeks at a time? What happens when I get another flight assignment? We’d never see each other.”

I shrug, trying to keep it casual even though I feel like hopeful chaos on the inside. “We’d figure it out. Together.”

“And what happens if something happens to you and…and I’m not there?”

And there it is.

Her real fear.

It’s not that she doesn’t love me. She clearly does. Her real fear is losing me. Losing us. Losing another family that loves her so much.

I repeat the same words I just said, but with a little more reassurance. “We’d figure it out, Isla. You and me. Together.”

“Together,” she repeats, the word sounding foreign on her tongue, like she’s testing its weight.

“Together,” I confirm, squeezing her hand.

Before she can respond, Bishop’s voice cuts through the air.

“Kill! Get over here and back me up! Mack says my dance moves are tragic, but I think they’re revolutionary!”

Isla laughs, the tension between us breaking like a wave against the shore. “Go save your brother from himself,” she says, giving my hand one last squeeze before letting go.