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Isla can claim she’s fallen asleep watching TV again until the cows come home, but I wouldn’t believe a single word of it. She’s sleeping out here on purpose, and I’m not fucking having it. She’ll sleep in our bed where she belongs.
The sudden possessive need to have her beside me should make me pause in my tracks. But it doesn’t.
I stride to the couch, flip the television off, and carefully lift Isla from the couch and into my arms. Just like last night, I’m struck by just how right she feels against my chest, but I don’t pause. Her guard is likely higher than it was last night, and if she wakes while I’m carrying her from what she probably deems as her safe place, she’s going to kick and scream like a wild kitten, and I’m in no mood to deal with that right now.
I lay her on her side of the bed. The only light in the room is the moonlight through the window, and it illuminates her soft skin, making it look like she’s glowing.
The only comfort I find tonight is that she’s slipped into the same shirt I dressed her in last night, as if she knew if she dared to wear anything else she would wake up in it anyway, and a smug smile tips up the corners of my lips at that thought.
I strip out of my own clothes, leaving them in a pile at the end of the bed before crawling in beside her.
But tonight, I don’t hesitate to drag her across the bed and hold her against me, her soft breaths whispering across my skin.
Not for the first time, I realize how truly fucked I am.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ISLA
Every night I go to sleep on the couch, and every morning I wake up in Doc’s bed.
Alone.
Predictably, he’s avoiding me, and if it weren’t for the fact that I wake up in a different place from where I fall asleep and the scent of him on the sheets, I would think he hasn’t been at home overnight.
When I wake up, he’s already gone, like a ghost in the night, and it’s really starting to get on my nerves.
He’s a forty-year-old adult, surely he can be better than this.
But then I remember who I’m talking about and the reason my aunt is dead. He chose serving his country, a truly honorable thing to do, over his wife constantly. Even when the SEALs didn’t need him, he volunteered to go, forcing Aunt Clarissa into the arms of a man who turned out to be her demise.
Even when he was home, he avoided spending time with her, always choosing to do anything else but be with his wife.
I really never should have expected anything less.
My phone vibrates across the couch cushion, and I reach for it, hope blooming in my belly that it might be someone, anyone,from Boston. But I’m equally as disappointed as I am excited to see it’s Bella who has messaged me.
Bella: Me, you, tonight, shots, dancing?
I nibble on my bottom lip, tapping the screen with my thumbnail as I think about my options.
Doc will be pissed if he gets back here and I’m gone. He explicitly said no partying. But honestly, I don’t really care.
He’s the one acting like an overgrown child, so why the hell should I follow his rules?
Isla: Hell yes! Where am I meeting you?
We make a plan to meet at a local club that she knows, and I jump straight to getting ready. I don’t need two hours to get done up for a night out, but after the week I’ve had, I’m going to take every second of self-care I can get.
Trying to catch up on school has been a fucking nightmare. I’m just enough behind that all the first assessments are due, but I have no idea what I’m doing because I didn’t learn the material. It’s proving to be even worse than I expected, and honestly, I set the bar pretty fucking low to begin with.
Add Doc’s disappearing acts to the party, and I’m ready for a night of tequila and dancing. Plus if I’m home early enough, I might just miss the grumpy asshole altogether and already be fast asleep by the time he gets home.
It’s unlikely given my track record, but miracles happen every day.
Two hours and a cab ride later, and I’m standing in line waiting for Bella. It feels good to be back in my party clothes, even if I did go a little darker than I used to, assuming my new friend would as well.
I’m wearing a short leather skirt that barely covers my ass, with a risqué lace bralette and a mesh crop over the top, paired with the knee-high leather boots I bought myself for Christmas last year. My dark hair is secured in a messy ponytail, with tendrils falling around my face. I kept my makeup dark to match the vibe and topped off the look with blood-red lipstick. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever looked better.
