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Tovah

G od, he was such an asshole.

I stood outside the locker room door that Isaac had slammed in my face, glowering with frustration and helplessness. I hated feeling helpless, and Isaac always made me feel that way. He reminded me of the past, and the ways I couldn’t protect my mother and me from the villains in the shadows. Equally bad—or worse—he made me feel physically helpless, because I was so intensely attracted to him. I was like that Pablo Neruda poem, except toxic instead of romantic. Everything in my body wanted his body, even though I hated him and loathed his family more.

I guess no matter what you do, you can’t get rid of a childhood crush.

Even if your childhood crush—the first and only boy you ever thought you loved—didn’t remember you.

“That didn’t go over so well,” Aviva, my best friend, commented beside me. She brushed her brown curly hair out of her face, the light catching on her engagement ring.

I bit my cheek.

I was not jealous. I was happy for her, even if I still didn’t trust her fiancé.

Okay, fine. A good journalist was honest, so I would be, too.

I wasn’t jealous…but sometimes, late at night, I wondered what it would be like to be able to belong to someone else.

I never would be free to love someone and have them love me. Not when I had so many secrets to hide. Not when life had taught me that no one could protect you but you.

But when the nondescript dream lover’s face I imagined turned into Isaac Jones’ obnoxiously attractive one—with his dark, wavy hair a weaker woman would want to run her hands through; strong, sharp jaw, and high, sculpted cheekbones that would make anyone swoon, and piercing brown eyes that promised retribution in a way that made my thighs clench—I stuffed my head into my pillow and screamed. Not to mention his towering height, broad shoulders, and abs upon abs upon abs…

Stop it, Tovah.

“I think it went fine,” I said, shrugging and tossing my curly hair. This month, it was a bright hot millennial pink. Everyone thought I was some rebel, but I dyed my hair to keep those from my past from finding me and exacting their revenge.

It was being-in-hiding 101. Most people would choose a basic, natural hair color, figuring that they wouldn’t stick out and therefore no one would notice them. But I knew better: sometimes hiding in plain sight was the best approach. I changed my hair color regularly, opting for big, bold, sometimes neon colors, with the rationale that no one would look at a girl with bright pink or green hair and think, “Oh, she must be hiding from the mafia.”

Besides, I liked it. It was fun. It made me feel like I at least had a little control over my life.

Aviva shook her head lovingly, seeing right through my denial. She knew I was attracted to Isaac.

“You know, if you showed up wearing one of the many jerseys you have of his, he might be more willing to give you the interview. You’d look real cute with JONES written across your back, don’t you think?”

“Stop matchmaking,” I growled, even as I could feel my entire face go pink, matching my hair. “It’s never going to happen.”

Aviva didn’t know why Isaac and I would never happen. It wasn’t only that he hated me—I assumed because he didn’t trust journalists, given his family’s notoriety.

I knew why I hated him, though. Or why I was supposed to.

Even though Isaac had forgotten me, I’d grown up near him. I’d always had a crush on the dark-haired little boy with the dimples, who was kind to everyone, including me, even though my mom—who didn’t trust his family—made me promise to never tell him my name. The crush was one from afar, for the most part: He was the boy prince, heir to his family’s criminal Brooklyn dynasty. And I was just the lowly maid’s daughter.

That was, until his father’s closest friend and second-in-command decided to marry my mom when I was six, raising us up from the lowly “help” to…well, still the help but less lowly. Mark Berner had seemed like the perfect stepfather…at first. It didn’t matter that I was no longer the maid’s daughter: my mom refused to let me tell Isaac who I was. She didn’t trust the Silvers or the people who worked for them, not even Mark—and she was right not to.

It didn’t take long before fists started flying, and my mom started wearing long sleeves and cover up. Even at six, even though she’d tried to hide what was going on from me, I knew . I knew what the crying and begging at night meant, and why she’d become so timid and would tremble as soon as he got home from whatever violent work he did for Abe Silver.

My mom did her best to protect me, until she couldn’t anymore. Until the abuse got worse and worse. Until he started threatening to kill us.

And that’s when she—when we —took drastic measures to make sure he couldn’t hurt either of us anymore. That’s when we changed our last names and went on the run.

Before we’d left, there’d been Isaac. We’d only played together once or twice, only spoken a few times, but I never forgot any of them—especially the last.

I promise to protect you, bashert, as long as you promise to always be here.

I promise, Isaac.

Then why won’t you tell me your name?

Because I like when you call me your soulmate.

I shook my head. That had been a long time ago. I’d learned quickly that Isaac was a Silver through and through. The Silvers were our enemy, chasing us for so long we’d never be free.

But Isaac? If I could corner him, and get him to confess to his father’s crimes, I’d finally have the evidence to get Abe Silver put away for good, destroy their dynasty…and my mom and I would finally, finally , be free. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, that Isaac had been trained by his family to keep their secrets close to the chest. But I had an ace up my sleeve—a good one.

“Tovah?” Aviva placed a hand on my arm, looking concerned. “What did I say? Where’d you go? You had that million-miles-away look on your face again.”

A million miles and fifteen years. I cleared my throat.

“Just planning out the interview,” I said brightly.

“Riiiiiight,” Aviva said. “I’m onto you, Tovah Kaufman. You’re hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

I laughed, like I had no idea what she was talking about. I hated lying to my best friend, but she couldn’t know the truth. She couldn’t know what my mom and I had done; she couldn’t even know my real last name. Not only would she hate me for it, knowing would get her killed. She was the only real friend I had. I refused to be the reason for her death, even if that meant I had to hide the truth from her.

At that moment, the door to the locker room opened, the team filing out in regular clothes. Jack nodded at me, before turning his attention to Aviva.

“Wife,” he said.

“We’re not married yet,” she protested, laughing.

“Don’t care,” Jack said, bending down and scooping Aviva up in his arms like a bride and carrying her down the hall and out of sight.

Leaving Isaac standing there with a glower on his face, holding two signed jerseys with JONES, 37 on them. A jersey I had three of in my closet, because I hadn’t been able to kick that crush, no matter how much I tried.

He started to speak, when a little kid came running down the hallway, tugging a pretty, embarrassed-looking blonde woman behind him. I recognized them; Isaac had talked to them after the game. Beaming, glower gone, Isaac sauntered over to them. He bent down, handing one jersey to the little kid, who immediately and eagerly pulled it over his head. It was so big on him, it practically hit his ankles, and the sleeves hit the floor. Kneeling, Isaac patiently rolled up the sleeves on the jersey until the tips of the kid’s fingers reappeared.

Slowly rising to his feet, he handed the second one to the kid’s mother, who blushed.

“For you,” Isaac said.

“Oh, you really didn’t have to,” she said, tucking a piece of golden hair behind her ear. She looked like a fairy tale princess—unlike me. I doubted that fairy tale princesses had pink hair and big curvy asses. I didn’t have an issue with my appearance, usually, but when Isaac quickly glanced over at me, shook his head, and leaned in to whisper something in her ear, my stomach dropped.

That’s what he liked, right? Petite blondes?

Tovah, stop. I scolded myself. You hate him, remember? Who cares who his next conquest is?

But I couldn’t help but watch as Isaac handed her his phone and she typed on it, probably giving him her number. Then, he bent down one more time to the little kid and gave him a high-five, handshake, and hug, making the kid squeal before he and his mom headed back down the hall.

I shook my head. Isaac Jones might be a good guy charmer, but Isaac Silver had a hidden dark side. If only the rest of the world knew.

I squared my shoulders. I was going to make sure they did.

He approached me.

“Well, little snoop, seems like you’re going to get your way,” he drawled.

My stomach dropped down to my toes. “What do you mean?” I hated that my voice trembled, hated that I was afraid.

“Coach Philip said I have to do the interview. Something about the team needing good press and knowing you’ll treat us with respect.” He snorted. “I don’t believe for a second you’ll give us an ounce of respect, but I’m nothing if not a team player.”

The fear receded, leaving space for almost incredulous triumph. Was I really going to be able to do this? Get time alone with Isaac “Jones”? Reveal that I knew he was Isaac Silver—as well as everything else I knew about him and his team? Blackmail him into giving up his family’s secrets to protect his team and his own personal interests?

Trying to school my face and hide my excitement, I nodded. “Your coach is right. I’m nothing if not respectful…you just refuse to see it.”

“Respectful, huh?” he murmured, setting off violent butterflies in my stomach. A dark, secretive look came to his eyes, but he quickly hid it before I could try to read what it might mean.

Clearing my throat, I offered him what was hopefully a white flag of a smile. I needed to trick him, get him to lower his suspicions so he’d follow through on meeting up with me.

“Tomorrow night at the Stacks? I won’t bite, I promise,” I offered.

He leaned down, whispering in my ear, like he had with the little kid’s mom, his lips so close to my sensitive skin it sent shivers down my spine.

“No, but I might,” he practically growled, shocking me down to my core. “And if I do, I’ll make sure it hurts.”

He straightened. The dark devil was gone and the golden god was back.

“See you tomorrow, Tovah,” he said cheerfully, whistling down the hallway as I tried to calm my pounding heart.

If he meant what I thought he meant, I was going to have to be the smartest, cleverest, and bravest I’d ever been.

Or I was in deep, deep shit.