“Gale’s not the same. She should be getting better by being near me and she’s not. I want you to tell me what happened to her.” The ice in his gaze pierced Isleen’s grave of memories.
“Alex. Leave.” Row’s voice was all angry mother. The tone could shrink an adult man to little-boy size. “Leave this table. Right now.” She stood from her seat and pointed out into the house. He didn’t leave; he just stared at Isleen, accusation chilling his expression.
“I didn’t hurt her. I’d never hurt her. I tried to protect her.” Images of torment and torture flashed into Isleen’s mind—escapees from the memory grave. Things she never ever wanted to remember, things she didn’t want to speak of, things she had to keep buried. “I’m not going to talk about it.” She heard herself yelling and couldn’t lasso her volume back down. “None of it matters now. It’s done. It’s over. And I’m done being hurt by it.”
*
Xander shivered beneath the cold spray of water. Goose bumps prickled his skin, and chills racked his body, but he wasn’t getting out until the goddamned urge to chase after Isleen passed. He wasn’t going to set foot in that house, but goddamn, he was worried about her. Even under the frigid spray, his face fired with embarrassment that he’d had to call Row and ask her to check on Isleen. Row telling him that Isleen was okay, that she was just getting out of the shower, did nothing to calm him. It was like his body was primed in her direction, vigilant for a threat, ready to sprint to her rescue.
His phone on the sink vibrated loudly against the porcelain. It could be about Isleen. Naked and splashing water everywhere, he jumped out of the shower.
Kent calling lit up the display.
Fuck. He’d forgotten Kent intended to conduct his initial interview with Isleen today.
“Yeah,” he answered, reaching for a towel.
“You going to be around after I interview Isleen? We need to talk.”
“So talk.”
“Face-to-face. Asshole.” Anger sharpened Kent’s tone, but Xander didn’t care. Maybe talking on the phone was the way to handle the guy. No hearing his thoughts. No urge to go rage monkey.
“I’m busy.” He wasn’t intentionally antagonizing the guy. Okay, maybe just a little.
“Make time. I need some answers.”
“Here’s some answers for you. No. No. And, guess what? No.”
“I don’t have time for your shit. We’re pulling up to the house right now. Camille wants to see you. Be ready to talk when I’m done with Isleen.” Kent disconnected the call.
We’re pulling up to the house right now? Camille wants to see you? Xander did not just hear those words. Kent was not saying that Camille was with him. No. It was a joke. Yeah, because they always enjoyed a good laugh together.
“Shit!” he yelled. Camille was here. He’d never invited her to his place. Hell, she thought he lived at the main house. She had made the assumption that was why he never invited her here—didn’t want to welcome her into the family home for a fuck. She didn’t know he had his own cabin on the top of the hill.
He hadn’t expected Isleen and Camille’s worlds to collide—at least not this early. Xander knew exactly what Kent was doing. The guy wanted Camille to stake her claim in front of Isleen and force Xander to make a decision. The guy was an asshole for doing that to Isleen. A whole new level of low in Kent and Xander’s relationship was about to occur.
Xander yanked on a pair of jeans, the material scraping skin and hair off his damp legs. He jammed his feet into a pair of boots and sprinted for the main house.
*
She had yelled at Alex. Her words and tone hung in the air the way a piano chord still hums long after it has been struck.
A knock on the front door snapped all of their eyes and attention away from Isleen. Row headed across the house to answer the knock, while Matt and Alex left the table at the same time, both of them exiting the main house via a door underneath the balcony. Isleen stared down at her piled-mile-high plate that she’d only eaten two bites from, her appetite having disappeared.
“Isleen, you’ve got company,” Roweena said and moved in next to Isleen’s seat almost as if she were protecting her.
Isleen raised her eyes from the plate. The man from the hospital yesterday—she’d only seen him briefly—and a woman. They were a beautiful pair. Both had golden hair and stunning moss-colored eyes. He was classically handsome with sharp male features and carried a square-shaped duffel bag slung over one shoulder. She was the femininely beautiful version of him. Had to be brother and sister. She wore a dress the color of her eyes and a pair of heels that made her as tall as her sibling. She was stunning enough to be a model.
“You’re looking good.” The man’s gaze roamed over Isleen’s face, snagging just a moment on her forehead, then moving on to her hair. “You’ve made a miraculous recovery.”
“I do feel better.” She smiled at the pair. “I saw you yesterday, but I don’t remember your name.”