is lost in the shadows.
“I, uh…” I sit up against the headboard. “I guess I passed out, huh?”
He sips his drink. “You did.”
So, he is awake. Interesting.
“Sorry.”
“Isla, why did you return to Cherry Creek?”
His question startles me. Not because everyone, him included, has asked since I returned, but because somehow it doesn’t feel right to give him my practiced answer once again.
I remain quiet because I don’t know what to say. Either I lie or I tell the truth, but neither seems like an option right now.
“Isla?” There’s a pleading edge in his tone.
In a split-second decision, I decide to be truthful. It will feel good to talk to someone about it, relieve the burden I’m carrying on my own. “My dad has lung cancer. I came home because I wanted to be near him while he’s recovering.”
I run my finger under my eyelids, remembering the earlier conversation with my parents.
“How bad is it?” He lifts his hand holding the glass and brings it to his mouth.
I grip the sheets in my lap like a vise. “He’s already undergone chemotherapy, and now they have to do radiation because the chemo wasn’t as effective as they’d hoped. If this doesn’t work…”
There’s no way I’ll voice the words. If I speak it, it might turn into reality.
He leans forward, and I can see his face in the moonlight streaming through the open window. Pain is etched into his eyes. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.” His voice is soft, nurturing, almost, in a way I’ve never seen or heard from him before. In a way I never imagined Garrin Stone could sound.
“Thank you,” I whisper and a lone tear drips down my cheek.
He stands and sets his drink on a nearby dresser. He’s removed his tux jacket from earlier. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and the first three buttons of his shirt are undone.
I hold my breath, watching him lean one knee on the edge of the mattress, then the other, crawling over to my side. At first, I think he might kiss me, but instead he reaches out, wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest, leaning against the headboard.
He’s holding me so tenderly, cradling me in his arms like no one will ever hurt me as long as he’s around, that another tear falls, then another and another until I’m sobbing into his chest, clutching his shirt in my fist.
His hand runs up and down my back to comfort me, but he says nothing to soothe me. No bullshit words that people spit out, no promises that it will all be okay.
After a few minutes, my tears dry up, and in a lot of ways the burden I’ve been carrying feels lighter.
He pulls me away from him, his hands on my shoulders, and looks directly into my eyes. The compassion and pain in his surprises me.
“I remember what it was like watching my mom fight to stay healthy day after day when she was sick. I was much younger than you, but I remember every agonizing second like it was yesterday.” He shuts his eyes tight for a moment before continuing. “She was my safe place, and I had to watch as she faded away to nothing.”
“How did your mom pass?” I ask.
I knew his mother was no longer in his life, but I never knew the specific details. In high school, I made an offhanded comment about moms crying at our graduation ceremony and he said he wasn’t feeling well and hightailed it out of class. I tried to apologize the next day, but he told me not to be sorry, and he has a way of making a conversation final.
“Breast cancer. She fought it hard, but…” He sucks in a quick breath and pain flashes across his face.
“I’m sorry.” I cradle his cheek with my palm. It’s rougher with the small amount of stubble growth.
“I’m here for you if you need me. Whether it’s to vent, cry or beat the shit out of me when you hate the universe.”
A small smile tilts my lips. Somehow those words are exactly what I need to hear.
“Thank you.” I lean in and kiss his cheek.
I pull away and our gazes lock and both of our breathing picks up. When I suck my lips in, a nervous habit of mine, it draws his attention. A sort of nervous anticipation swirls around us, and all I can think about is how