She ignored me, pulling her phone out of her pocket and tapping out a text. After she hit send, I snagged it from her hand.
“Hey,” she protested.
“All good here. Sore wrist and a scratch on my forehead. No need to worry,” I read out loud. I pinned her with an incredulous look, and she set her jaw. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
The paramedics were still within earshot, and the guy approached us immediately. “Sir, she cannot be left alone tonight. Someone has to wake her up every three to four hours, and I’d strongly advise against leaving her alone.”
With a lift of my chin, I handed her the phone back. “You have one chance to call someone over here.”
Isabel swallowed visibly but tucked her phone in her pocket. “I am not forcing them home from their jobs, or their trips because I bumped my head. I am fine. I’ll ice my wrist and take some Tylenol and set an alarm.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “You’re going to wake yourself up if you’ve got a concussion?”
She shifted on her feet. “I can ask a neighbor.”
“To stay with you all night?”
Isabel rolled her lips between her teeth and stared past me. “Mmmhmm.”
The paramedic shook his head.
“It’s fine,” I told him. “I’ll handle it.”
Isabel’s eyes narrowed. The paramedic went back to the gurney to help his partner load up their equipment.
“You can do all those things if you want to. The ice, the Tylenol, the rest,” I said evenly. She eyed me suspiciously. I leaned in until less than an inch separated our faces. “But you will do it at my house, and if you argue with me right now, I’ll load you up and drop your stubborn ass off at the hospital myself, do you understand?”
Tense silence stretched like a rubber band, and she opened her mouth to argue. I saw the heat of it in her blue, blue eyes.
“I get it,” I said before she could disagree. “I hate it when people need to take care of me. Nothing makes me feel more powerless.”
Isabel huffed out an annoyed breath.
“This is not just about you, okay?” I gentled my tone. “I owe you, Isabel.”
At the sound of her name, her eyes softened.
I’d never said her first name out loud before, or not to her, at least.
Something switched in her head, maybe I’d never know what, because she pinched her eyelids closed, let out a slow, deep breath, and then nodded.
“Good,” I said quietly. “Do you want to pack your bag or should I?”
Chapter Nineteen
Aiden
The inside of my truck was separated into two very distinct moods on the drive back to my and Anya’s house. The back seat, holding Emmett and Anya, was giggles and laughter, her telling him all the toys she had, all the things they could do during their sleepover.
The front seat was a bit quieter. Isabel stared out the window, her black backpack at her feet. From the corner of my eye, I could see the dried blood on her temple, and my hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Her silence didn’t bother me, because I wasn’t sure what to say either.
Guess what? Six hours ago, I imagined screwing you against the closet door, and here we are, on the way to my house, so you can spend the night.
The words didn’t exactly flow naturally off the tongue.
I opened my mouth to say … something … and I stopped myself. That indecision rankled. Nails on a chalkboard type discomfort. I never second-guessed my decisions, never doubted what my next move would be.
But this position I found myself in—one of my own making—had me on unsteady ground.
Isabel shifted in the passenger seat, and I caught the way she tried to hide her wince.
“Did you take anything yet?” I asked.
She glanced at me, her eyes holding that same wariness as when we first met. Eventually, she shook her head. “I feel like I got hit by a car,” she admitted. “I think the adrenaline is wearing off.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be even worse.”
Her head angled back, she sighed heavily. “I know.”
I pulled the truck into our neighborhood, and Emmett pressed his face closer to the window. “Cool! You guys are right by the lake.”
“Pretty close,” I told him. “We can walk there after dinner if your aunt wants to take a nap.”
“What are we having for dinner?” Anya asked. “I’m starving.”
“Please don’t let Isabel cook,” Emmett begged.
Isabel turned her head and smiled. “Hey, I didn’t let you starve this weekend, did I?”
“Not technically,” he muttered under his breath.
I caught myself smiling a little at the exchange.
Our house came into view, and her head tilted with interest when I slowed. It looked small, from the front, with the pine trees towering over the top of it. But inside, it opened to the kind of space and view I never could’ve provided for Anya in California. She had a yard to play in. Mountains and water practically in our backyard. It was as idyllic of a childhood as I could give her, as the sole person responsible for her upbringing.
And for the first time since Beth died—no matter what the circumstances were—I was going to walk into the front door with another woman so that she could sleep under our roof.
As I hit the garage door button, I couldn’t help wondering what the fuck I was doing, bringing her here like this. The instinct to do so, standing in her backyard, had been overwhelming and impossible to ignore. I never would’ve been able to walk out of that door if I’d known she was alone.
This, however, was different. Because now, there was no going back from it.
Denying that I was attracted to her was a fool’s errand. I could lie to myself about a lot of things, but not this, no matter what had grown between us the last couple of weeks.
But having her in my home, the place I shared with my daughter, after the experience they’d just shared, felt like I was tempting fate.
I parked the truck and let the kids out, watching carefully to make sure Isabel was walking steadily as she waited for me to unlock the door into the house. Her progress was slow, her hip clearly bothering her more as time passed.
As soon as I opened the door, she gave me a subdued smile as she passed into the kitchen through the laundry room.
“Come on,” Anya yelled, sprinting for the stairs, “I’ll show you my room. I have a pink canopy!”
“Uhh, okay.”
Isabel exhaled a soft laugh. “I don’t think he’ll act suitably impressed.” As she walked slowly into the family room, her gaze lit on the wall of windows, pitched in an A-frame, overlooking the sprawling view of Lake Sammamish. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Thanks,” I replied. “Do you want to go straight to bed? Or rest on the couch?”
Her eyes flew to mine, her cheeks becoming a shade of pink. “Which room should I use? I wouldn’t mind a nap.”
I blew out a hard breath because I hadn’t thought this piece through. The guest room, which I’d assumed Emmett would use, was across the hall from Anya’s room on the second floor. The third bedroom—my own—was on the main floor, along the back of the house with the same view as the family room. I gestured in that direction. “You can sleep back there. I don’t want to make you do stairs.”