It’s worse than I thought.
I run down the stairs, barely keeping upright as I make my way back to the first floor. I force myself to gently open her old bedroom door instead of ripping it off the hinges like I want to.
When I do, I find her waking up, rubbing at her tear-streaked face.
I force myself to keep hold of the doorknob and to quiet tonight’s inner rage at the sight of her.
She seems so small and fragile in this bed, and I don’t want to be the thing that breaks her.
But to my surprise, she gently lifts the comforter on the empty side of the bed and nods at me to get it.
I quickly step out of the sneakers and socks I didn’t bother taking off when I got home and slip into the bed beside her.
If she needs more space, she’s going to have to use her words, because I simply wrap my arm around her middle and pull her into me.
Her arms go around my neck as my face nuzzles into hers.
There. I can breathe again.
“I’m so sorry,” we say at the same time.
I rear back, because what the hell does she have to be sorry about?
“The team lost. Because of me,” she hiccups.
Oh, fuck that.
I lift her quivering chin with my knuckles. “Escúchame, Isabella.” Her eyes widen as I speak Spanish. “Esto no es tu culpa. ¿Entiendes, mi amor?” If I tell her that this isn’t her fault in Spanish, then it might start to sink in after I repeat it a million more times in English.
“I can’t take away all the pain he caused you in the past, although I hope you know I’ll try. But I could not, and would not, let whatever move he pulled tonight slide. Never on my watch, Isa. Never.”
She sighs against my chest, then notices my messed-up knuckles.
“This looks like it hurts.” She reaches for my hand and kisses each knuckle softly.
“Trust me, I’m not the one that is hurting tonight.” I kiss her forehead. “On the bright side, it looks like my season is over, so I don’t need to pitch with it any time soon,” I try to joke.
She groans and leans her head back on my chest. “Not funny.”
“Maybe just a little. You’re gonna have to get used to the fact that I have no more games and, therefore, will be around all the time to annoy you while you try to get your work done.” I kiss her head. The scent of her floral shampoo puts my soul at ease.
She’s in my arms. Everything else will be all right.
“And why are you down here instead of our bed?” I chastise lightly.
She shrugs. “Didn’t feel right being upstairs. Felt guilty of my role in it all.” She raises her voice when she sees me ready to cut in. “Even if it wasn’t my fault, it still didn’t settle well with me.”
“And now?” I shift so some of my weight is on top of her, but not all.
She looks up at me, wet lashes clumping together as she searches for something she must find, because she smiles.“Yeah. Now I’m feeling much better.” She nudges me slightly, and I eagerly take the hint.
I finally kiss her and feel her soften under me.
Her legs open, allowing me the space to get closer to her.
Our bodies know this dance well. Our hands travel, and we start to pull at each other, trying to find ways to get even closer.
Isabella breaks the kiss, only for a moment, to take her tank top off and throw it across the bed.
