Page 95 of Rust

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Isabelle

Panic filled Rust’s eyes. I was panicking just as hard. My heart throbbed in my throat and my palms grew clammy.

What if he doesn’t want this? What if he rejects me? Rejectsus?

“What is it, Isabelle?” he asked reluctantly.

“God.” I buried my face in his chest, where his salty, manly scent was always at its strongest. I never wanted to leave that place. I wanted to stay in his comforting arms forever. I just hoped he wantedmethere after I told him the news.

“I don’t know how to tell you this.”

His breath grew shallow. “What is it? Did you find someone else?”

“No. God, no. I wantyou,Rust. Only you.”

He let out a deep breath. “Okay. So is itbad?”

“Well, I guess that really depends…”

“Is it something about your dad?”

Fuck.

Dad.

He was flying to Las Vegas in just a few short days. I’d have to tellhimwhat I had to tell Rust,too. Maybe not on this trip—butsomedaysoon. And the thought of that was horrifying.

“Just tell me, Isabelle.”

I took a deep breath. The events that occurred exactly one week ago shot through my mind’s eye, like my life flashing before my very eyes …

* * *

One week earlier.

Minka woke me at the usual time, five thirty, by plopping her slobber-coated leash on the mattress and pushing it into my face.

Euch.

I rolled over and pretended to be asleep, praying the husky would take pity on me and maybe let me sleep in for once. I was dead tired because Rust and I had stayed up way too late last night. It had been our last night together before Rust and the Sin went on their final road trip of the regular season. When the boys returned, the playoffs would start—and believe it or not, the Vegas Sin had qualified for the playoffs this year, their very first season in the league.

As Rust described this time of year, “The playoffs are insane. Let’s enjoy the time we have together now, because things are about to get crazy.”

And if the standings didn’t change, things were going to get even crazier than that—because it was sure looking like the Vegas Sin’s first round opponent was none other than the Minnesota Extreme.

Which meant one more added stressor: thefella.

Dad was texting me constantly about the prospect of that series match up, and how excited he was to fly down to Vegas to spend time with me and hang out with “the big fella.” Rust and I were stumped on how to handle it. Should we tell him about us? Should we stay a secret?

The stress of it weighed on us both, which was bad, because Rust didn’t need any stress right now—he needed to focus on hockey, because it was officially crunch time.

Safe to say, last night was feeling like it could be one of our last quality nights together before our happy little lives got turned completely upside down. I got dressed up and Rust treated me to an amazing dinner at a five star restaurant. We got home late, and shared a bottle of wine while we watched a movie. Then, when we finally went to bed, we were up evenlater.

Which is why I was so dead tired, andreallyhoping Minka would sense that I needed to stay in and catch a few more z’s. But Minka was a dog who loved her routine, and would not easily be denied. Pissed I was ignoring her, she started up her high-pitched whine.

I hopped right into action.