Izzie smiled. “My right elbow still aches on rainy days.”
“The monkey bar break.” Her mother looked down at her wineglass and twisted the crystal stem between her fingers. “I remember talking to your father after I left, checking in on you guys. He told me Ella was her usual ‘I don’t care about anything’ self, and that you were fine, doing great at school and raking in a bunch of athletic awards. But he knew you were hurting.” She looked up at her daughter. “Then he said something that made me very sad.”
Izzie felt her composure slipping, the memory of those awful first months trying to keep it all together, ones she never let herself revisit. Her mother’s eyes grew suspiciously bright. “He said he’d been talking to your swimming coach about your progress and your coach had said it was a shame you didn’t take risks anymore because you were good, but you could have been great.”
Izzie drew in a breath, feeling as if she’d just been socked in the stomach. She dropped her gaze and found herself staring at her mother’s shaking hands. Please not now. She couldn’t do this now.
“What happened between your father and me was complex, Izzie.” Her mother’s voice held a lifetime of regret. “I know you think I destroyed him, but it’s not that simple. Life isn’t that simple. And not everyone’s going to walk out on you. I promise you that. Take a chance on Alex. He seems like he’s worth it.”
Izzie thought about herself as that daredevil little girl. How that part of her had come out that night in London. And wondered if she could channel it again. Because her mother was right. Alex was worth it. And she was madly, head-over-heels in love with him.
* * *
Alex leaned back against the elevator wall, his mouth curving. It seemed like forever ago he’d gotten stuck in that elevator with the whirling dervish who’d transformed his life, but in reality it had only been six weeks. Six weeks to him finding his penthouse empty without her. Six weeks to the man who never entertained the concept of long-term doing it on a regular basis.
He’d had plenty of time to think on his whirlwind twenty-four-hour trip to Seattle. And he’d come to the realization that Izzie had been right about Jess. He’d been so busy being self-righteous, he hadn’t stopped to think how he would have felt if it had been her out to dinner with an ex she’d once been crazy about. No, he’d never given her any reason to doubt him, and she should trust him. But his ex did want him back. And that was different. He needed to tell Jess to find someone else to support her. He couldn’t be that person. Not anymore.
He watched the skyline of Manhattan fly by as the glass-walled elevator slid upward. His need to prove himself to his father was the root cause of his biggest failures. The question was, could he alter that pattern for the future? Could he avoid being a chip off the old block in all the ways that mattered?
The doors opened on the fiftieth floor. He was so lost in thought it took him three tries to punch in the security code that bypassed the receptionist’s desk through the back doors. There wasn’t one minute since he’d met Isabel Peters that he hadn’t known she was different. She made him a little insane—yes. But he was also starting to think she might be the one. That he might be in love with her.
His hand froze on the handle of the double glass doors that led to the executive offices. He’d sworn he’d never utter those words again after Jess had left. Did he have it in him to be the man who stayed when Izzie seemed to want to run every time things got tough?
He thought, perhaps, yes.
Head spinning, he pushed through the doors and headed toward Grace to grab his messages. Tonight, according to the heads-up James Curry had given him, Frank Messer’s accusations were going to die a slow death in front of America. Sophoros would finally be rid of him with the generous settlement Alex had put together to make Messer disappear forever this time, and things would be back to normal. Then he would deal with Izzie.
Mark was sitting on Grace’s desk, which wasn’t an unusual sight per se, but the dark look on his face was. “Alex,” Grace greeted him, getting jerkily to her feet. “You’re back.”
His PA’s face was pale, her hands flailing uselessly at her sides. His smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
Grace’s gaze darted to Mark, then back to him. “Izzie’s been trying to reach you.”
He fished his phone out of his pocket. It was still on airplane mode. He’d missed five calls from Izzie?
An uneasy feeling snaked up his spine. “Is she okay?”
“Yes, I think so—she—” His assistant darted another glance at Mark. “I told her you were on your way. She’s coming over.”
His gaze narrowed. “What is going on, you two?”
“NYC-TV just ran the preview of your story,” Mark said quietly.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “Curry told me the story sided with Sophoros...”
“I think they went in a dif—”
His name blared from the television. A picture of him in a New York Crusaders uniform flashed across the screen. A headline ran in the ticker beneath it. Painkiller Addiction Destroyed Football Hero’s Career.
Blood whooshed in his ears. His legs went weak. He clutched the side of Grace’s desk and stared at the screen. This couldn’t be happening. Izzie had buried that information.
A clip of his old teammate Taylor Johnson flashed up on the screen. The host previewed an exclusive interview with him that evening: an athlete from the inside on how drugs were destroying professional sports. His blood ran cold. How could Johnson know? He hadn’t been in the locker room that night. Xavier had been the only one with him, telling him not to do it.
A mad feeling of unreality enveloped him. This was impossible.
The host moved on to preview the weather. Alex stared at the screen, hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to tear the television from the wall. The clatter of high heels tapping across the tile floor brought his head around. Izzie half ran the last few steps down the hallway. He took one look at her panicked expression and pointed at his office. “Go.”
She put her head down and did as she was told. He sucked in a lungful of air, walked into his office and slammed the door. She jumped, her hand flying to her mouth.
“What the hell,” he bit out, “was that? Xavier and I were the only ones in the locker room that night.”
“Taylor said he saw you take the drugs.” Her voice was low but steady. “He knew the dealer. Had an issue himself.”
His insides felt as though they were on fire. “Who told Bart about this?”
The color drained from her face. “I didn’t mean to, Alex. I gave him some notes and—”
“I don’t care how,” he roared. “Did you or did you not give Bart Forsyth the information about the illegal painkillers?”
“Yes,” she choked out. “But I didn’t mean to. I—”
“Stop,” he thundered. “Stop.”
He stood there, legs spread apart, her answer tearing him to pieces. He’d been dying, begging for her to say no, she hadn’t done it. But she had.
“That’s all I need to know.” His voice was so low, hollow-sounding, he didn’t even recognize it as his own. “Get out.”
“Alex, please, you have to listen to me.”
He shook his head. “That’s been my stupidity all along, Iz. I did listen to you. I believed in you. And you were just playing me for a fool.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “What do they say, ‘fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.’”