Page 83 of Fractured Faceoff

I couldn't help myself when I grabbed her and kissed her. Wasn't that what we were supposed to do? My hands cradled her face as if she might shatter into pieces if I held on too tight.

What the hell had gotten into me? Was it the thrill of finally stepping into myself with this new team? Or maybe I just couldn't fucking help myself… something I seemed to feel a lot around her.

Isla’s lips tasted like victory—sweet and intoxicating—but that kiss opened a door I hadn’t expected to cross through. It sparked something deeper within me, something terrifying yet exhilarating.

Her eyes widened slightly when we broke apart. That brief moment hung between us, charged and heavy with unspoken words.

We lingered there for a heartbeat longer than necessary before reality crashed back in. Cameras flashed, questions richoched.

And I… I was ready to go home.

The engine rumbled to life as I turned the key; the truck vibrating beneath us. The weight of the night settled in as we pulled out of the parking lot. Isla sat next to me, her gaze focused on the passing streetlights.

"I can't believe you hit him," I said, a smirk creeping onto my face.

She glanced at me, a hint of defiance in her eyes. "He deserved it."

"I don't doubt it." I chuckled, but the laughter faded when I noticed her left hand resting in her lap, fingers curling slightly as if trying to ease a twinge of pain.

"Brody said Ava hit on him," she murmured, almost tooquietly for me to hear. "That she… wanted to take him to bed."

"What?" The edge in my voice cut through the quiet cab. Anger spiked in my chest like a lightning bolt.

"I don't know if you guys were… together." She shrugged, her voice shaky. "I thought… I just thought you'd want to know."

I blinked, the weight of her words crashing over me like an avalanche. For a second, I forgot about Brody’s cheap shot; all I could think about was how hearing that must have felt for Isla.

Fury bubbled inside me—not just at Brody but at Ava too. The way she’d always take things that didn't belong to her, and now this?

I gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles white against the dark leather. “That’s… fucked up, sugar.”

“Yeah.” Her tone turned flat, each word heavy with hurt.

Silence stretched between us as we cruised through dimly lit streets. My thoughts raced; how could Ava do that? She was supposed to be supportive of Isla—hell; she was with my brother, with me! My foot pressed down on the accelerator as if speeding away from this mess would somehow solve it.

I could feel Isla's tension radiating from her as we drove. The hum of the engine filled the space between us, but it did nothing to ease the silence. I glanced at her, noticing how her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit I’d seen too many times before.

"I'm sorry," she finally broke through the quiet, her voice barely above a whisper. "I hope I didn't… embarrass you?—"

"What are you talking about?" I shot back, unable to hide my confusion.

She bit her lip, eyes focused on the passing streetlights blurring into streaks of yellow and white. "I didn’t know Brody was going to be there. He’s pestering me about money. Did you know his co-host is moving in? Anyway, it’s not even about the money, and I know I’m rambling, but…”

I placed my hand over hers on the gearshift, feeling the warmth seep through. Her skin felt soft beneath my fingers; it grounded me.

"You could never embarrass me, Isla." My voice came out firmer than I intended. “I promise you that. I'm sorry that you had to deal with that. That you had to hear about Ava.”

Her gaze flickered up to meet mine for just a heartbeat before she looked away again, lost in thought. The weight of what she'd just said hung in the air like a heavy fog; Brody was one thing, but hearing Ava’s name twisted something deep inside me.

The road stretched ahead, illuminated by faint lights against an ink-black sky. Each bump in the asphalt made Isla's hand twitch slightly under mine. The silence lingered comfortably between us—unlike anything else I’d felt recently—and somehow became our refuge from everything swirling outside.

“Brody’s full of shit,” I muttered more to myself than her.

“I know.” Her response was almost automatic, but there was an edge in her tone that told me she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

I tightened my grip on her hand without thinking about it, a silent reassurance that somehow made both of us feel anchored in this moment.

As we drove on, not a single word passed between us again, but my heart raced like I’d just laced up for another round on the ice—not from anxiety or pressure but from something altogether different simmering beneath the surface.

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