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“Michael, look over here,” a man shouts, and, of its own volition, my head snaps to my left.
Eyebrows pulled together, I search the crowd. Michael isn’t a rare name, and it doesn’t mean he’s here.
But the moment my eyes land on the tall figure twenty feet away, my heart stutters, and I lose all semblance of calm.
It is Michael.
My Michael…but he’s not alone. With a hand on the small of her back, he guides a beautiful blonde forward.
My breath hitches as I watch them. I don’t know who she is, but maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been two years. So many things could’ve changed.
“Isla, can we have your attention?” a woman yells.
Shit. People are watching me. What the hell am I doing?
At the sound of my name, he whips around. When his gaze collides with mine, I nearly wobble in my heels. But instead of allowing the moment to destabilize me, I force a smile and turn away from him. It’s better this way.
“Sorry,” I say, shifting into the kind of pose that’s expected of me. “I’m all yours now.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
only ever you
MICHAEL
Twenty-two years old
The buzz in my ears intensifies, mixing with chatter and shouting and camera clicks. My body is stiff as I stand next to Emily, a fake smile stretched across my lips. All I want is to drop the act and race inside to find Isla.
What is she even doing here?
“Michael, over here.” Shoulders straight, I shift and focus on the guy calling my name. My posture hopefully comes across as casual, while in reality, my hands are in my pockets, balled into fists, and my body temperature is steadily climbing.
Luckily, the photographers are professionals and don’t ask me to pose with Emily. They let us decide how we interact and snap photos from there.
Yes, I briefly rested my hand at the small of her back as I guided her forward. It was the easiest way for the two of us to get where we needed to go. But the second I locked eyes with Isla, I put distance between myself and Emily in every way I could.
I don’t look at her, and I keep my body angled away, my focus fixed straight ahead, never on her. To her credit, she picked up on the shift in my demeanor right away, and she stays close enough to look appropriate, but there’s an invisible line between us she doesn’t cross.
The elevator ride to the rooftop takes a lifetime. While I stand with Emily in the stainless-steel box, my heart beats faster and faster, and sweat covers my forehead. I pause on the periphery of the event. My extremities tremble, so I shift my weight to hide it.
Isla is the only person who has the power to make a mess out of me so quickly. Where is she?
The sounds of cameras and shouts of photographers have disappeared, replaced by soft background music and low voices as people mingle. Glasses clink. To my right, someone laughs too loudly.
I scan the room, instinct taking over. I need to find her. We have to talk. It’s been two years full of silence, full of longing and heartache. I watch her skate all the time, no matter how badly it hurts, knowing she was mine yet wasn’t.
She’s not at the bar, and I’ve looked at the face of every woman here to no avail. I scan the tables. Still, nothing. Not even a flash of deep red like I saw a few minutes ago.
“Michael.” Emily tugs at my sleeve, diverting my attention to her. “Do you mind if I mingle a little?”
I shrug. “Of course not. That’s why you’re here.” I crook a smile I don’t feel. “Have fun.”
Eyebrows knitted together, she assesses me. Then, she nods. “Find you later.”
Once she’s gone, I move, still hypervigilant and searching. When I find the Vipers’ captain, Pete Morgan, I shake his hand, mumble, “Congratulations,” and then move forward. I nod at familiar faces, barely registering what anyone has to say. I can’t focus on anything except the question circulating in my head: Where is Isla?
This place is bigger than I initially thought. There are too many people, too many places she could be hiding.
