Four Of A Kind

Chapter 161: [3.63] Broken Things Stay Broken

The ball exploded off Cassidy’s racket like a gunshot.

It slammed into the back fence so hard the chain link rattled.

She grabbed another ball from the basket.

Stupid brain. Stupid numbers. Stupid teacher who’d looked at her with that sympathetic expression that made her want to scream.

It’s okay, Cassidy. We can try again next time.

Next time. Like there’d been a first time. Like she hadn’t walked into that classroom this morning feeling something she hadn’t felt in years.

Confidence.

She’d worked three goddamn hours last night. Twenty practice problems. Seven out of ten correct. She’d memorized the quadratic formula. She’d used the graph paper. She’d done everything Isaiah told her to do.

And then she’d sat down for the test and her mind had just… stopped.

The numbers scrambled themselves. The formula disappeared from her brain like water through her fingers. She’d stared at problem three for ten minutes before realizing she’d written the same wrong equation four times.

Serve. Crack. Fence.

Another ball.

The worst part was the hope. She’d actually believed she could do it. That maybe this time would be different. That Isaiah’s weird graph paper system and his stupid calm voice and his refusal to tell her she was broken had actually fixed something.

But broken things stayed broken.

Serve. Crack. Fence.

Her mother would see the grade. Would make that face. The one that said I expected nothing and I’m still disappointed.

Vivienne would try to be diplomatic but Cassidy would see it in her perfect older sister’s eyes. That confirmation that yes, Cassidy was still the stupid one.

Harlow would hug her and tell her it was okay and Cassidy would want to punch something because it wasn’t okay and hugs didn’t make failed tests disappear.

And Isaiah.

Serve. Crack. Fence.

Isaiah would lose his job. Contract clause. Performance metrics. Her GPA had to go up by point five or he was out. And she’d just bombed the test that was supposed to prove she wasn’t hopeless.

He’d go back to Philadelphia and his crazy commute and his exhausting bar shifts. Back to barely sleeping and eating vending machine garbage and looking like death.

Because she couldn’t keep numbers from moving around on a page like a normal person.

Serve. Crack. Fence.

Fuck!

She grabbed another ball but her hand was shaking. The basket was empty. She’d burned through two dozen serves and nothing felt better. Her shoulder ached. Her throat was tight.

She turned to grab the ball bag when she felt it.

That prickling awareness.

Someone was watching.

Her head snapped up.

Isaiah stood at the fence.

Cassidy’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Great. Perfect. Exactly who she wanted to see when she was sweaty and angry and about to cry over a stupid test.

She turned back to the baseline and grabbed a ball from the ground.

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been hitting tennis balls alone for two hours. That’s not fine.”

Heat rushed up her neck. “It’s called practice.”

“It’s called avoidance.”

Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. “I don’t need a lecture. I get enough of those from Vivienne.”

“Not lecturing. Just observing.”

She spun around. “You can observe from somewhere else.”

Isaiah watched her with those dark eyes that saw too much. Always saw too much.

She served three more times. Each crack of the ball felt good for exactly half a second before the hollow feeling rushed back.

Movement caught her periphery.

Isaiah walked onto the court.

Grabbed a racket from the equipment bin.

Moved to the opposite baseline like he belonged there.

Cassidy’s brain stuttered. “What are you doing?”

“Playing tennis.”

“You don’t play tennis.”

“I’m learning.” He bounced on his toes, mimicking her warm-up stance badly. “Serve.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re hitting balls anyway. Might as well hit them at someone.”

Something hot and sharp twisted in her chest.

Fine.

If he wanted to get destroyed, she’d destroy him.

Her smile stretched wide and dangerous. “Your funeral.”

She tossed the ball up and served.

Isaiah swung.

Missed by a mile.

The ball cracked into the fence behind him hard enough to make the whole structure shake.

Cassidy’s laugh burst out before she could stop it. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Time to watch Mr. Perfect Isaiah Angelo bow and grovel at her feet.

Isaiah retrieved the ball and tossed it back over the net. “Again.”

“You sure? I could’ve killed you just now.”

“I’ll risk it.”

She served again. Not quite as hard. Gave him a chance.

His racket actually connected this time. The ball went sideways into the net, but he’d hit it.

“Better,” she called out.

“Liar.”

“Complete liar.” Her grin felt sharp. “But you made contact so that’s something.”

Isaiah rolled his shoulders. Adjusted his grip.

Then he grabbed the bottom of his button-down and pulled it over his head.

Cassidy’s brain stopped working.

The white tank underneath clung to his chest and shoulders. His arms looked different without sleeves. More defined. The kind of build you got from actual work instead of gym selfies.

Heat flooded her face so fast she felt dizzy.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s hot.” He tossed the shirt toward the bench. “And I’m about to embarrass myself. Might as well be comfortable.”

“Put your shirt back on!”

“Why?” He picked up the racket again. “Does it bother you?”

Yes. “No.”

“Then serve.”

“You’re a pervert!”

“I took off a shirt. You’re the one staring.”

Her face was on fire. “I’m not—shut up!”

“Serve, Cassidy.”

The way he said her name made her stomach flip.

She grabbed another ball and fired it across the net with enough force to kill someone.

Isaiah actually returned it.

The ball went long but he’d hit it properly. Follow-through and everything.

“Huh.” She caught the rebound. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Or I’m a fast learner.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They fell into a rhythm. Cassidy served. Isaiah missed or hit it badly. She corrected his grip without thinking about it, walking around the net to adjust his elbow angle.

Being this close to him with his shirt off made her hyperaware of everything. The way his chest moved when he breathed. The calluses on his palms. The small scar near his collarbone she’d never noticed before.

She stepped back quickly. “Try again.”

This time his return actually made it over the net.

Cassidy’s competitive instinct kicked in. She moved to the ball without thinking and hit a clean forehand down the line.

Isaiah dove for it. Missed. Hit the ground hard.

Cassidy was laughing and running toward him before her brain caught up.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

He rolled onto his back, breathing hard. “Define okay.”

“Did you die?”

“Not yet.”

She knelt beside him. Grass stains covered his shorts and there was dirt on his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably.” He looked up at her. “But you’re smiling.”

She was.

The realization hit her like ice water.

She’d been destroying herself for two hours and five minutes with Isaiah had made her forget why she was angry.

Her chest tightened.

“I failed.”

The words came out quiet. Broken.

Isaiah sat up. “The test?”

“Yeah.” She looked away. At the fence. The basket. Anywhere but his face. “I froze. Just like I always do. All those practice problems and your stupid graph paper and it didn’t matter because when it counted I couldn’t remember anything.”

Silence stretched between them.

Cassidy waited for the platitudes. You tried your best. Next time will be different. Don’t give up.

“How many problems?”

She blinked. “What?”

“How many problems on the test?”

“Thirty.”

“How many did you finish?”

Her throat got tight. “Twenty-two.”

“How many of those do you think you got right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe thirteen? Fourteen if I’m lucky?” She laughed but it sounded hollow. “Not enough.”

Isaiah pulled grass out of the ground. Shredded it between his fingers. “That’s forty percent. Maybe higher.”

“That’s still failing.”

“That’s forty percent more than you were getting a month ago.”

She turned to look at him. “That doesn’t help.”

“I know.” He met her eyes. “But it’s true.”

Cassidy hated how much she wanted to believe him. Hated the way her chest hurt. Hated that she’d worked so hard and it hadn’t been enough.

“You’re gonna get fired.”

“Maybe.”

“Because of me.”

“Because of contract language.” He stood up and offered his hand. “Not the same thing.”

She stared at his hand. Took it.

He pulled her up and she stumbled forward into his chest.

His arms caught her automatically. Steadied her.

She could feel his heartbeat.

Could smell his deodorant mixed with sweat and grass.

Could count the exact number of seconds before she should pull away.

Five seconds passed.

She didn’t move.

Neither did he.

“Cassidy.”

“What.”

“You’re shaking.”

She was. Her whole body was trembling and she couldn’t make it stop.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I said I’m fine!” She shoved away from him. Stumbled back. “Just leave me alone, okay? Go tell Vivienne I ruined everything. Go tell my mother I’m the fuckup everyone thinks I am. Go tell—”

“Hey.”

His voice cut through her spiral.

Cassidy’s breath came too fast.

Isaiah stepped closer. Slow. Like approaching something that might bolt.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I bombed the test.”

“You finished a lot of problems.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone!” The words ripped out of her. “Says my teachers and my mom and Vivienne and everyone who’s ever looked at my report card and decided I’m the stupid Valentine!”