I never thought it would come to this. I can’t get Isabelle out of my head. Pops’ news is also stuck on repeat, delivering a crushing blow to my gut over and over again.

This is really fucking bad.

I look out the window after Isabelle and her parents leave, waiting for Pops to finish what he started before they arrived. My hands run through my hair and I take a deep breath, hoping this night will end before too long.

My brain can’t decide what to focus on. Pops’ illness causes my blood to run cold. It devastates me, then the thought of Isabelle in my lap crowds it out. They’re competing for air time, sending me into a downward spiral, and all I know is if I can get the fuck out of here, I might have a chance to breathe again.

“You okay, son?” Pops asks.

“No. I’m not.” I reply. “I don’t understand why you kept something this big from me for all this time. How can you get to stage four cancer and exhaust every possible avenue without my knowing a thing about it? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I knew that you’d worry.” His face softens a little, and fills with genuine concern for me. “I was protecting you for as long as I could. There wasn’t any point, having you stress and fret over me for two years while my doctors did their thing and my body did the rest.”

Two years? Two fucking years?

“I deserved to know.”

He gives me a weak smile but doesn’t answer. None of this is fair, and it shouldn’t have gone down this way. He’s effectively shortened the time I have to come to terms with his illness and let go. It’s a childish notion, but I can’t stand the thought of that. I don’t want to lose him.

“I want to see you at our weekly board meetings, starting next week,” he says and I let out an audible groan from the back of my throat. Our server comes by with the check and hand-held credit card processor. I shove my black card into his hand dismissively. Pops frowns as the kid runs my card and leaves. He can tell that I’m close to losing my shit, but presses on with trivial talk of business. “You need to have a firm grasp of how we run the day-to-day. And on the other item—”

“You mean the part where you cut me out of your will if I don’t step up at Steele Industries and if I don’t pick a woman and get hitched? That part?”

“Looks to me like you’re well on your way to figuring out the hitched part,” he answers with a smirk, and his eyes drift over to the empty chair next to me where Isabelle sat during dinner.

He’s out of his mind if he thinks getting me hitched is that simple. I’m not husband material, for starters, and Isabelle wouldn’t dream of marrying someone like me. She knows me too well. I’m not good enough for her.

“Get Isabelle Harrison out of your meddling marriage plans. Neither of us will go for it.”

“Boy, you’re a fool if you let some other man win her over.”

The mere thought of another man touching Isabelle drives me close to rage. I want to punch something, and I have no fucking business being jealous, but I fucking am.

“Wait…you and Isabelle… are you two already seeing each other?” Pops asks, scrutinizing my face. I look away and don’t say a word. He chuckles. “Oh, you moved in on her, didn’t you? I was wondering how she could leave the table and come back with less makeup on her face than when she first got here. I can see why she’s perfect for you. She’s a good girl… poised, beautiful, and she’s always been a good friend to you.”

“No. Not another word.” I push my chair back and stand so abruptly that the table and all the glasses shake. “We’re done talking.”

“I beg to differ son.”

“What? Are you trying to tell me that these demands are part of some ultimatum? No disrespect, but you know full well that I don’t respond well to threats.”

He drops his hand to the tabletop and pushes off to stand but stumbles a little, his body seeming fragile and frail for the first time tonight. I rush to his side, feeling like the asshole that I know I am through and through. I’m riddled with guilt for arguing with the old man, the villain for adding stress and tension to his already terminal health prognosis.

“Let’s get you home,” I tell him, shouldering some of his weight with my arm at his elbow.

“Don’t think for a second that I won’t hold you to these two demands,” he persists once inside his limo. “And don’t let that girl slip away just because I insist on being a hardass for a change. You’ll regret it. Mark my words, son.”

“It hardly matters now, she doesn’t want me. Not in the way you think. Anyway, I’ll have Dominic follow your driver so I can make sure you get to bed all right.”

I let his driver leave then sit alone in my limo for the ride to his place, hating the helplessness I feel.

I sink into bed and look up at the ceiling. It’s pointless lying here. I won’t be getting any sleep tonight. Not when my brain is so wired, my body is this restless, and with every aspect of my life in utter chaos. From one minute to the next, uncertainty becomes the constant.

I flip over and tug open my nightstand drawer, searching for the only photograph of my parents that I keep around. Most of their stuff is in storage where I grew up. It hurt too fucking much to keep looking at, but this portrait of them on their wedding day is more or less bearable. It was a time where they were together and I wasn’t in the picture yet. Something about that distance makes it easier for me to find comfort in their faces.

I run my finger down the side of the frame, not sure what to do. Pops is sick. He’ll be gone soon and I’ll have no one. I thought I was all alone in the world when I lost them, but it’ll be true this time. I won’t do too well with losing him.

And then there’s his crazy plan to make up for lost time and thrust me into the deep end of the proverbial swimming pool of life.

It’s near impossible to wrap my head around the idea that Pops wants me to get married within less than six months. It’s fucking ridiculous. Crazier than his belief that I can take over Steele Industries within that time. Someone needs to make him understand that my settling down and running the company are no guarantee of happiness or a solution to being alone.

But his words about Isabelle keep running through my mind.

I can’t deny that our bumping into each other and that one-night stand have shifted things between us. I was convinced there was nothing left. No friendship, no closeness, no connection, no interest.

But I was wrong.

For one, the bond Isabelle and I formed all those years ago stood the test of time. And this budding attraction, it’s hot like fire, fierce and fucking undeniable.

I carefully place the framed photo back into the drawer and force my eyes closed. Who knows. Maybe we crossed paths last week and tonight for a reason. As my mind slowly drifts off, an outlandish idea forms.

Isabelle and me. Maybe she showed up at exactly the right time.