Chapter 16
Chase stood in the back room, stunned. Were Isabella and Five the same person? He followed her into the showroom, his mind reeling with the possibility. As he thought about everything he knew about Five—the artwork, her home life—it made sense that it could be Isabella. But if he asked, and it was true, she’d freak out. She might even shove him out the door. It was best if he didn’t let her know his suspicions.
He ignored the blush on Isabella’s cheeks and stood on the stepladder, turning the spotlights, moving the ladder, and doing it again at the next vacant spot. As he worked, she took down the art she wanted to move. She brushed her hair from her forehead when they were done. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
All he could think about as the night progressed was Five and Isabella, reconciling the two as one person. He knew Five’s father was an artist. It went right along with the art gallery. He made a mental note to go online and do some research into who owned the Vibrant Hue.
They finished the showrooms at ten fifteen. Chase stuffed his fists into his pockets. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to explore this new information he had. His crush on Five suddenly became much more real. Five was standing right in front of him, and his attraction to Isabella was growing.
“I have some time. Do you want to go over our notes and start on our paper? I have my stuff in my backpack.”
Isabella’s gaze ducked to the floor. “Okay. I have my notes in the office. We can go in there.”
They sat at the table, and Isabella slung her backpack to the floor. She fished around in it until she found her science notebook, then slapped it on the table. An embarrassed smile flitted across her face.
Chase grinned at her. “Tell me about your family.” He hoped she wouldn’t shy away from him asking.
She fiddled with her pen. “My family situation is weird.”
He shrugged. “That’s okay. I still want to know.”
She dug the toe of her shoe into the carpet. “My parents are both gone. My mother died when I was little—car accident—and my father died of brain cancer when I was twelve.”
His throat closed, and he swallowed. How horrible for her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Delilah and Ava are my stepsisters.” She looked at him, and he kept his face passive. He didn’t want her to think he’d figured out who she was.
“I guessed you weren’t blood sisters since you don’t look anything alike. Is there a reason you don’t get along?”
Isabella avoided his gaze. “Delilah was insanely jealous of me when my father remarried. I guess she thought I was daddy’s favorite. And Ava was always very insecure. She followed after Delilah in everything. When my father passed away, things just got worse. I guess they didn’t like that I had a father for so long, and they barely got any time with him.”
“What about your stepmother?”
Isabella’s cheeks colored, and she shook her head. “She hates me,” she whispered.
“So you’re in a house full of people who constantly tell you you’re worthless.” The words made his heart ache, and Isabella’s frown confirmed it. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You don’t know how badly I want to go tell the whole lot of them off.”
A smile cracked her face. “I’ve tried that. Didn’t work out so well.”
Wanting to lighten the mood, Chase unzipped the small pouch of his backpack and pulled out a bag of Skittles. “I brought us a snack.”
“Perfect.” Isabella stood. “I’ll be right back.”
She left the room and came back with a ceramic bowl. “Let’s dump them in here.”
“So I can’t separate out the colors. I see. You’re trying to force your Skittles religion on me.”
“Yep.” A grin told him she was teasing. She took the bag from him and tore it open. They made pinging noises as she dumped them into the bowl.
He stood behind her and reached around to pick up a purple one. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “What if I combined my favorite flavor”—he picked up a green one—“with my least favorite one? Would it still taste good?”
Isabella swallowed. “I don’t know.”
He popped them in his mouth and chewed, making a face. “My rainbow is lacking. What’s your favorite and least favorite?”
“Red is my favorite.”
He pulled out a red one. “And your least?”
“Yellow.”
He dug in the bowl until he found a yellow one. “Okay, turn around and open up.”
She did as he said and closed her eyes as well, her eyelashes resting on her cheeks. He placed the candies on her tongue. “Now, chew.”
Her eyes flew open as her jaw worked, a smile forming on her face. “I taste a robust rainbow.”
He stared at her lips and suddenly had a strong urge to taste the rainbow, too. He took a step back to stop himself from making a mistake. “Guess I just need to find a better combination.”
They ate Skittles and worked on their paper until it was almost midnight. Chase gathered up his things and stuffed them into his backpack. “Let me drive you home. I’ll stop a block away again.”
Isabella gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
They turned off all the lights in the gallery, and Isabella locked the door. The moonlight shone on her face, and he tried not to look at her lips. If he wasn’t careful, he’d do something to scare her off.
He opened the car door for her and then slid into his seat, clicking on the stereo. He had his favorite Beatles CD in, and “I Want to Hold Your Hand” came on. He held in a groan.
He tried to take his mind off his desire to put the moves on Isabella. “Do you think your stepmother will be happy you got everything arranged?”
“I hope so.” Isabella stared off, not allowing her gaze to meet his.
She fiddled with her sleeve, and he noticed a bruise on her upper arm, peeking out. It looked like finger marks. He pulled out into traffic, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his skin was tight on his knuckles. When he turned onto Isabella’s street, he slowed the car.
“If I ask you something, would you answer truthfully?”
Her face blanched, and she clutched the strap of her backpack. “Maybe.”
Well, at least that was an honest answer. “Does your stepmother ever hurt you?”
Visible relief flooded over her, and her shoulders fell. “No. She’s mean, but not in that way.” She glanced at her house.
“So, the bruise on your arm . . . ?” He wasn’t sure how to finish the question, so he let it hang.
Her hand flew to her arm, covering the purple marks. “Well . . .” She didn’t say anything more but didn’t have to.
Chase suddenly wanted to punch someone. Preferably Isabella’s stepmother. He clenched his teeth to avoid saying something he’d regret. The seconds ticked by as words tumbled around in his head. “That’s physical abuse, Isabella.”
“I guess I should have said she doesn’t usually get like that.” She drew into herself like she wanted to disappear from his car.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She stared down at her lap. “You’re right, though. I need to stop defending her.”
“You could go to the police. Press charges. Maybe they’d remove you from the house.”
Isabella’s gaze snapped up to his. “For a bruise on the arm? I’d be right back with her after a week—if they’d remove me at all. And she’d be furious.” She blinked, and fear shone in her eyes. “It could get much, much worse,” she whispered.
Chase clenched his hands into fists. Was she right? Would they put her back into that situation? He wasn’t sure, but understood why Isabella wouldn’t want to take that chance.
She laid her hand on his knee. “I’m going to be out of there after I graduate. Just eight months. That’s all I have. If I can endure until then, I’ll be fine.”
He placed his hand on hers, her smooth skin making his heart beat faster. “Will you promise me something?”
She hesitated. “What?”
“Promise me if she starts getting physical again, you’ll call 911? Or me, and I’ll come get you?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“Good.” Because if he saw any more bruises on Isabella, he’d have to be dragged off her stepmother in handcuffs.
“Night, Chase,” she said, her hand on the door handle.
“Have sweet dreams, Isabella.”
She gave him a sideways glance, then smiled and nodded. She climbed out of the car and walked up the street to her house. He stayed back but made sure she got in the door okay. He waited until he saw her bedroom light flood the balcony, then he pulled out his phone and texted.
Hey, Five, how are you?
Tired. But fine.
He looked at the clock. It was after midnight now. Oops. He knew he shouldn’t have texted her. He shouldn’t know she was still awake. Oh, sorry, just looked at the clock. Were you asleep?
No. Just heading to bed. How’s your sister?
Continuing to improve. He paused, wanting to ask if she got in trouble when she walked in the door, but it would have given him away. Instead, he texted, Thanks for everything, Five.
You’re welcome. Good night.
Night.
Chase drove home, his mind unable to settle down. He didn’t need any more proof that Five was indeed Isabella—or that Isabella was being abused at home. But what could he do about it? That was the real question that gnawed at his gut.