Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan
23
Isabel
After another intensely intimate night with Logan, I’m surer than ever that I really do want what I proposed to him yesterday—to stay and see where things between us go. Between Natalie’s example and the success from my first sale, I’m beginning to believe I could be happy without getting to the pinnacle of fashion like I always dreamed. It feels like the right time to reframe success and take steps toward a career of my own making.
I spent all day working on the new designs for Helen and Amber and took breaks to pull shit out of rooms to add to the dumpster while Logan was at a training gig.
I walk into the rink at halftime, or whatever they call the break between periods. The guys are in a loose huddle, and I take the time to look around. Natalie, Betsy, and Tina wave me over, but the huddle breaks, and Logan comes toward me. I’m keenly aware of the daggers Emily’s throwing my way, but they miss their target.
He stops at the wall, smiling. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
“Get a lot done today?”
“I did. Guess it helps not to have a sexy man luring me into bed.”
He grins and swings his legs over the wall and walks me backward, then we’re hidden behind the bleachers.
I’m laughing, something to the effect of “How very high schoolish of you,” when he kisses me, and I have to eat my words. This man isn’t any more the guy I knew in high school than I am the woman he knew. Yet we still fit like puzzle pieces, and instead of scaring me, it thrills me.
“I missed you today,” he says.
“Yeah, I missed having you to boss me around and tell me I’m doing it all wrong.”
He laughs and kisses me again. When a buzzer sounds, he breaks the kiss. “Cockloft after this, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Logan makes his way back to the ice, and I watch him return to his team with the deepest sense of acceptance and belonging and love I’ve ever felt.
I start toward the bleachers when my phone rings, and I stop to answer, tapping the green circle on my screen, putting the phone to one ear and plugging the other. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Isabel Medina?”
The formal tone drags my stomach to my feet. Yeah, I know the voice of a bill collector. I close my eyes. “Yes.”
“Sorry to call so late. This is Mary Stout. I’m in HR with Threadbare. I received your résumé, and we’d like you to come in for an interview. We can fly you in from New York, put you up in a hotel for a couple of days, or, if your schedule doesn’t allow, we could set up a panel of interviews on Zoom. How does your schedule look?”
My mouth is hanging open. Threadbare is a wildly successful fashion company, and the position I applied for is senior designer. I applied more as a tongue-in-cheek whim than a serious interest. I knew they’d put my résumé at the bottom of the stack based on my previous job titles.
Only they didn’t.
For a minute, I forget where I am. I forget the life changes I’m considering. I even forget I’m crazy about an amazing man, right here, and “I’m available” pops out of my mouth. “I’m actually in Oregon right now, visiting family.”
Guilt floods me, and my face flashes with heat. I’ve given the same “I’m available” answer dozens of times during the last five years. The answer is automatic, only this time, instead of feeling excited, I feel sick. Confused. Caught between worlds. Didn’t I just agree to go all in with Logan? Didn’t I just set up contracts for boutiques in Oregon?
Instead of looking like a total flake and backpedaling on my immediate answer, I let Mary tell me about the arrangements she’ll make and she says that she’ll contact me again tomorrow. Which is when I’ll tell her I’ve changed my mind and cancel altogether.
And, wow, that decision sends a sizzle of fear all through my chest.
I’ve committed to stay in one place. In this tiny town where this kind of job offer will never be extended to me.
I head toward Natalie, and Trevor yells, “Is-bell” from Tina’s lap. I tap his nose and greet him with “Hello there, handsome,” before sitting beside Natalie.
“Looks like things with Logan are heating up,” she says, grinning.
I force a smile, but I feel guilty as shit over the phone call I just took.
“Does this mean we get to keep you?” Tina asks.
Get to keep me?Has anyone ever actually wanted to keep me? God, this is all happening so fast. Big changes in a short amount of time, when I’ve spent most of my life getting small changes over an extended period of time.
“I’m letting things unfold to see what happens next,” I say.
“That’s fantastic.”
“Thank you. And thank you—all of you—for setting up and helping at that party. I made good money and really got my groove back.”
“Always happy to participate in a girl getting her groove back,” Natalie says.
“They’re talking you up all over town,” Tina says. “Overheard Devon McCluskey and Brenda Tyson raving about you at the bakery today.”
“Really?” I can’t lie, that makes a tingle run through my stomach.
“Hold your path, sweetie,” Betsy says. “Good things are coming for you.”
Hold my path.That’s as sage advice as I’ve ever heard.
These women have become the sisters and mother I never had, and I’m struck by how easily I found them. Effortless, even. In New York City, no one knows their neighbor, even in the same apartment building. Everyone stays to themselves with an occasional “Good morning” in the elevator. No one looks at each other on the subway, drowning in their EarPods and cell phones. I already have more people I’d call friends here than I ever had in New York.
I check out the bench and find the puppy always in someone’s lap, getting kissed and passed among the guys. “Where’s Royal’s bird?”
“He and his sister are sharing her, so Dolly stays at his sister’s house when he’s on duty. I hear she got to Sorenson’s dinner plate once too often. She was also a jealous bitch when it came to Lucky, and of course, Logan has seniority.”
I’m smiling over that information when my phone pings with a message. Guilt over accepting the job interview returns full force. Mary is probably texting to confirm the agreement for an interview. As soon as I get home to my computer, I’m going to cancel by email. I can’t wait until tomorrow.
That decision takes some weight off my shoulders.
But when I pull my phone from my pocket, I find a message from Aiden, not Threadbare.
Jesus. I am looking so forward to getting him and everything associated with him out of my life.
The message reads Does the new guy know about all your smoke and mirrors?
An icy sensation curls in my gut. New guy? How could he possibly know…
I have to read it twice more before I realize Aiden has to be here, has to have seen me kiss Logan. I look up, my breath coming quicker, panic jumbling my brain.
Aiden stands in the ice rink’s lobby, staring through the glass between the lobby and the rink, smiling. And it’s not a nice smile. It’s a got-you-bitch smile, and my stomach free-falls.
This problem between me and Aiden has to be more complicated than I thought, or he wouldn’t have spent the time and money to track me down himself. And it has to be about him and me, or he would just have taken me up on my offer to ship the rifle back to him and given me my money back. But I’ve always known this wasn’t about money, at least not for him. The damn thing cost less than his monthly wardrobe allowance. No, for him this is about control.
Logan may think Aiden’s dangerous, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Aiden is a coward. He likes nothing better than a good mind fuck, and I’m so done with those games.
“I’ll be back,” I tell the women. By the time I stand, Aiden is gone from view.
I hurry down the bleachers and push into the lobby only to find it empty. I make my way toward the exit and scan the parking lot. He’s nowhere. If the text wasn’t still on my phone, I would believe I’d imagined seeing him.
I call him and put the phone to my ear, but I get his voicemail. I hang up and text him. Chickenshit. You come all the way here to find me, then run and hide?
When I get no answer: I told you I’d give the gun back, you wasted your time and money tracking me down.
Still nothing. I growl and shove my phone into my pocket.
I’m going to have to come clean with Logan. Much cleaner than I expected. I really did want to leave my mess behind, but Aiden knows too much. Before we were dating, when he was upper management, and I was just an errand girl, he asked about my Instagram profile. Because he was in the industry and could find out the truth with one phone call, I had to tell him that I was the window display designer, not the designer of the clothes displayed. I confided in him about how rough it’s been for me since graduating college, which was when he got me the assistant designer’s position. I thought he was a good guy back then, but his true colors showed soon enough.
I have to be the one to tell Logan about my past. I can’t let him learn it from scum like Aiden.
Back inside, I rejoin Natalie, Tina, and Betsy, but my mind isn’t on the game. At least not the hockey game. It’s on whatever game Aiden is playing. I try again and again to find the words to tell Logan that Aiden is here, but I can’t explain one thing without explaining everything and there’s just no reason to do that. Except, well, Aiden is here.
I barely recognize that the firefighters have beaten the cops, ending the tiebreaker between the two. I move in a haze out of the rink, where I tell Natalie I’ll see her at the bar. Then pace the parking lot waiting for Logan.
When he finds out Aiden is here, he’s going to go all alpha on me. God, I don’t want to tell him. I just want to handle it on my own, the way I’ve done everything else in life. But I promised him no lies.
The rink door opens, and a gaggle of about ten firefighters and six cops spill out with good-natured ribbing and agreements to meet at the bar.
Logan breaks off from the group, but he’s joined by Tucker, Cole, and Carter. Lucky runs in circles around them.
When Logan sees me, he smiles. “Hey.”
“Hey. Great game, you guys.”
“Want a ride to the bar?” Logan asks.
“No, thanks. I’ve got my car.”
The other three get into the truck, and Logan says, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to congratulate you on the win.”
“I guess a kiss is out of the question.”
I laugh and glance at the truck with Tucker riding shotgun. He knows about me and Logan, but I’m not ready to take this to a kiss-in-front-of-others status. “I’ll see you at the bar.”
He climbs behind the wheel and waits until I’ve started the Jeep to drive out of the parking lot. I sit there, heater on high, trying to shake off the chill of the night, the rink, Aiden.
“God, what a fucking mess.” I head to the bar, heavy with self-disgust and disappointment. “I finally get something really good in my life, and I manage to screw that up too.”
As soon as I turn into the parking lot of the Cockloft, I know I won’t get a chance to talk to Logan tonight. The place is packed, and the music is as loud as the conversations.
Well, shit. Now that I’m ready to tell him, we’re in the worst possible place for a discussion like this. I know he’ll want to jump in and help me, and honestly, I want to fix my own fuckup, thank you very much. Like I told Logan, I don’t need a hero. All I need to do is step the hell up and end this problem.
I head inside and find the bar even busier than I imagined. A slow sigh leaks from my lungs. I’m not in the mood for this, but I work my way through the crowd, saying hello to more people than I realized I knew in town until I reach Logan. He’s crouched on the floor, playing tug-of-war with Lucky, beaming, eyes bright, laughing with some of his friends.
I smile at him from a few feet away, and he lets Lucky win the game and stands. Lucky takes the toy in his mouth and shakes it hard, spinning in a circle. Logan reaches out and wraps my shoulders to pull me into the group and kisses the side of my head.
I guess we’re stepping into the light after all. I’d feel better if I had Aiden behind me. Especially given he’s in town.
Logan introduces me to the men, but I can’t seem to hold on to a thought, let alone a name. They both say their wives are interested in coming to my next sale, and we make small talk for a bit.
I look around and see everyone laughing, smiling, talking. Women who purchased from me at the show wave and gesture to themselves wearing my designs. Their excitement thrills me. Hell, everything about this place warms me from the inside out.
Standing at Logan’s side, his arm around me, feels so right. Like I’m grounded. Like I’ve grown roots that stabilize me. Like I’ve got protection from the sky falling.
Damn. I love this man.
A hot, uncomfortable current traces through my body. I’ve never had luck with love. As in never, and I have so much more to lose now than when I came to town—Logan, friends, what little self-esteem I’ve managed to recoup.
“Hey, look who’s here.” Logan drops his arm from my shoulders and steps back to take another woman into his arms for a hug. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
It’s Maya, and the sight of her makes my heart plunge.
What is this? Show-up-in-Hood-River day?
I glance around, expecting to see Aiden around some corner. I check my phone, but there’s no message.
“I tried to make it for the game,” she says, “but I always seem to get tied up with something. Going by your smile, I’m guessing you won.”
“We did,” Logan says.
The men we were talking to turn and start a different conversation with others.
“Congratulations.” Maya’s gaze turns on me. And I brace for venom. She had to see Logan’s arm around me. “Isabel.”
“Hey.”
“We should talk,” she says, crouching to give Lucky some love. “I want to know more about this blockbuster party you had. Maybe I can look at some of your pieces.”
As far as olive branches go, this one feels as big as a redwood. Still, I’d be ashamed of showing my casual wear to a designer like Maya. “You don’t have to do that. You should spend your time here with Logan.”
“I can always find time for fashion.” She stands and glances toward the bar. “I’m going to get a drink and say hello to Cole and Tucker.”
She walks away, and I’m dizzy with relief, but it’s short-lived when I realize this is my chance to talk to Maya before she talks to Logan.
He faces me and slides his hands down my arms. “I sure would love it if you and Maya found even footing again.”
“Yeah.” I smile for his benefit, but I feel sick inside. “That would be nice. Do you mind if I go chat with her now? I’m pretty tired. I’m going to head back to the motel soon.”
He tracks his thumb across my cheek. “Yeah, sure.”
Then he kisses me in front of everyone and pulls back with a deeply satisfied smile.
Damn, reality is going to be one long, hard fall.
I take a deep breath and step up to the bar, turning to face Maya. “Hey.”
She takes a sip of something amber in her glass. “We don’t have to talk right now. Maybe tomorrow when I can see your work.”
I don’t want to do this dance. I don’t have time. I need to talk to Logan. “I know you don’t want to see my work, and that’s okay. I understand.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to see it.”
I feel like those roots I’d grown have been ripped out of the earth. “Do we need to talk about…anything? Other than fashion, I mean.”
“You mean the mismatch between your actual work history and your Instagram profile or the stories you tell Tucker?”
Oh, Jesus. This is worse than I thought, and I’m both mortified and terrified. “How did you find out about my work history?”
“You know how it is, coworkers go out for drinks, have one too many, confidential stuff leaks into the conversation. It’s the way I keep my finger on the pulse of the industry bullshit.”
I bite the inside of my lip to keep the tears back.
“I mean, you’re seeing my brother. I thought I should know. The whole cloak-and-dagger ruse you’ve been running is rather brilliant, if you ask me. You never explicitly say you’re the window display styler and not the fashion designer whose pieces are on display. Then you let people think what they want so you’re not technically lying. Clever. Very clever. But that approach will backfire with Logan, just FYI.”
“I know. I need to clear everything up with him. Can you let me tell Logan? Tonight, after all this is over and we’re alone? I really care about him. It needs to come from me.”
She sighs and faces me. I’m trying to figure out if that’s real compassion on her face or a facade she’ll wear as she fillets me. New Yorkers are good at that. Really good.
“I don’t care when you tell him,” she says. “Or even if you tell him.”
All my air rushes out. “You… I mean… What?”
“Look, I live in that world. I know exactly how harsh it can be. How many really talented designers they chew up and spit out. How completely you’re expected to give your life over to your career to succeed. It’s a grind, girl. You know that.”
I nod.
“Just because you didn’t make it doesn’t mean you’re not talented or that you couldn’t succeed in a different venue. The fact that you stuck with it, tried over and over again to break in tells me you’ve still got that ambition you had when we were kids. And this facade you’ve built isn’t malicious or directed to manipulate Logan. I’m objective enough to know you were trying to put forward as professional a front as you could with the resources that you had. We all know social media isn’t reality.” She smiles. “I’ve been known to misrepresent my life a time or twenty.”
A little tension slides from my shoulders.
“I’d really like to see your work,” she says. “Whether or not it’s worthy of a New York runway, it’s a hit here. And in the end, isn’t that what we all really want—validation? Just to be seen? Heard? Considered? Hell, maybe I can hook you up with someone who could finance a small line, see how it turns out.”
My mouth drops open. My heart spins. “I… You…”
“This stuttering problem is new,” she says with a smile. “Don’t be bothered by what you don’t have or what you didn’t get. It’s clear you’ve found a few really sweet deals right here.”
“Why aren’t you being a bitch? This is the perfect I-told-you-so moment. And you’d be in the right.”
She huffs a laugh, finishes her drink, and sets the glass on the bar. “I’ve got too much drama in my life as it is. What would I even gain by saying I told you so? Time is the great equalizer, my friend. We’re all the same, irrelevant of where we work or what we do or who we know. In all honesty, I would have liked to see you succeed. Don’t waste your talent in New York when you’ve got great opportunities right here.”
While I’m still grappling over her grounded, sensible outlook, she looks past me and frowns. “Are you or are you not with Logan?”
I brace again. “I am. We are. I’m really crazy about him.”
“Then what’s your ex doing here?”
“My—” Aiden fills my mind, and all my blood drains out the soles of my feet.
“He’s good-looking,” Maya says, “but that’s about all he’s got going for him. And money, I guess.”
I press my fingers to closed lids. This has turned into the night from hell. “Shit.”
I’m not afraid of him. Certainly not shy about telling him how I feel. But he holds the key to my Pandora’s box, and, God, I don’t want that opened here, in front of all the people whose opinion of me would change, people who have been really great to me while I’ve been here. People who have made me feel like I’m worthy of love just as I am.
On a deep breath, I turn and find Aiden picking up a beer bottle, one finger around the neck, his gaze on me. He’s completely out of place. Maybe he fits in well enough on the outside in his jeans and flannel shirt, but I know him on the inside. It occurs to me that Aiden is a lot like Emily: insecure, mean, and vindictive.
I glance around to find Logan. He’s standing in a group of firefighters and volunteers, but his gaze is directly on me with a clear What’s going on? look in his eyes. Damn, he reads me way too well.
My gut stings. I don’t want to lose him. And the first step to making that happen is taking care of my shit with Aiden. The second step is telling Logan everything.
This is already the night from hell. May as well get it all over with now.
I lift a finger toward Logan in a give-me-a-minute gesture, then move toward Aiden.
I stop beside him, and he turns his head to look at me. “I never thought you’d come running back to your brother, tail between your legs.”
I don’t jump at the bait. “Why did you come all the way here? Why didn’t you just make arrangements with me to send the gun back?”
He shrugs. “I needed a break from work. Got yourself a firefighter, huh?”
No. Not going there. “Leave, Aiden. I’ll call you later with a time and place to give you the gun back.”
“That doesn’t work for me,” he says. “I want it now.”
Panic spirals through my stomach. “This isn’t the time or place to push me. You’re surrounded by cops.”
“Bitching at me will only bring attention to yourself. And you don’t want that, do you? For your brother and your firefighter and your friends to find out what your life was really like in New York.”
I don’t specifically remember telling him how I’d portrayed myself to my brother, but it probably came out in a roundabout way during our conversations. I sure wish I’d been more careful, but then I never imagined being in the situation I’m in right now.
“If you want to see that gun again,” I tell him, “you’ll get out. Now.”
“And if you don’t want me spilling dirty laundry, you’ll take me to the gun. Now.”
I clench my teeth. He’s got the upper hand in the moment, and, in true Aiden style, he’s working it. “Want to introduce me to your beau? He’s headed this way.”
My mind skips and darts before it stops on the safest location to meet him. “If you want the damn gun, meet me in the parking lot of the grocery store in half an hour.”