Page 60 of The Knockout Rule

Of course she wouldn’t have. Isla had never questioned Heather’s acceptance. Shame was the culprit. The self-loathing that came with weakness and led to secrets. “It was my issue, not yours. You’re only the second person I’ve ever told. Well, no. The third.”

“The third?” Heather’s eyes and nose filled the screen now. “Do I have to unfriend you on Instagram?”

Isla laughed, but it sounded watery. “I should have talked to you about it. I just thought I had a handle on things.”

“Because you’re the daughter of Stubborn-Ass Slade and the apple didn’t fall far from that immovable tree.”

Heather’s insight was more accurate than Isla cared to admit. Isla’s father had kept her in the dark the past two years, not sharing his illness, barely letting her help him now. Since his bout of fatigue and nausea, he’d kept more distance from her, answering with short texts. Refusing to spend time with her.

Was it shame keeping him isolated, the way Isla had refused to share her weakness? Fear of what others would think? Were they so similar neither of them knew how to ask for help?

If that was the case, she had to stop running from her problems. She didn’t want to end up like him, fighting issues on her own. Shutting herself in her room. Hiding who she was, warts and all. She’d been doing exactly that for years, the reality of her self-destructive behavior startling. And maybe, just maybe, if she quit keeping everyone in the dark, her dad would learn a thing or two from her.

She told Heather everything. From her first attack watching her dad fight, to the therapy that hadn’t helped, to her learned techniques, the physio jobs that had brought it all back, and then about her father’s Parkinson’s.

“I knew there was a bigger reason you went on that trip.” Heather propped her chin on her hand. “I hate you for not telling me, but I love you a whole lot, and love always wins. I wish I were there right now.”

“Wish you were here, too. Dad listens to you more than he does to me sometimes. And we could have sleepovers.”

“A Bad Eighties Music Dance Party this time.”

Isla could use a ridiculous dance party, but she was also drained. In a good and bad way. Finally opening up to Heather was a huge weight off. The shame she’d expected to feel hadn’t risen; the nervous rush of her pulse had slowed. Sharing the secret with her best friend was a relief on some levels, but her mind was still a tangled mess.

“I’ve fallen for Eric. Like, really hard. I told him as much and he feels the same. But when my dad called and I had that attack, my worry transferred to Eric. I pictured him in the ring, getting hurt, and I had a full meltdown. He kissed me, like the best kiss of kisses, but I ran out and we haven’t talked about anything personal since.”

“Was the kiss Princess Bride good?”

“Notebook in the rain good.”

“Jesus. He’s for sure a professional cunni-linguist.”

Isla slumped forward and rubbed her eyes. She could not focus on that visual: Eric’s wide shoulders between her legs, his tongue on her, hot breath, throaty sounds, brushes of his stubble. Would he whisper to her in Russian while devouring her? Say words in Hebrew or French?

She whimpered. “I think I need a shot.”

“You and me both.”

Isla fanned her overheating face with her hand. “He’s too good to be true. Everything but the boxing. He has the power to bring my worst days back, but he also makes me incredibly happy. I feel so good about myself around him. And horny as hell. What do I do?”

“This is a tough one, sweet potato.”

“Since when do you call me sweet potato?”

“I have a craving for sweet potato fries.” Heather and her cravings. “What about therapy again? You said you didn’t stick with it because you didn’t like the therapist. Maybe try someone new?”

Isla was exhausted just thinking about dredging this all up again. As it stood, her hotel room was spotless, all her clothes neatly folded and put away. She’d rearranged the small amount of furniture twice. Avoidance and procrastination for the win. “Dating a guy shouldn’t require therapy.”

“Depends if the guy’s worth it.” Heather leaned forward and kissed the screen. “Gotta head to work. We’ll talk later. Just see how you feel around him today. Don’t make any rash decisions. And if you have any more episodes or just need to vent about your dad, please call me.”

Thrilled at not having to lie, she said, “I will. Love you.”

They signed off, and Isla flopped back on the bed. She had no clue how she’d work with Eric after Preston’s revelation. Eric understood her to the core and ticked all her ideal-man boxes. He’d told her, through Preston, that flowers would follow her, because they lifted their heads to the sun—the brightest light in the sky.

That was how he saw her: bright, beautiful, stubborn, strong, smart.

And she had to work with him shortly.

She left her room early, wanting to arrive at the gym first. Time to get settled and centered before she had to face him. She didn’t trust herself to act normal, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to confront him with all she’d learned. She also couldn’t quit picturing him in Preston’s place at the bar, across from her at a table, holding her hand, whispering romantic words.