Rainfall Novel – ISLA Cillian left Seattle in an August heatwave in order to get settled in Boston before the training camp started. As I step off my flight at Logan airport the excitement of seeing him settles on me along with the chill of the October fall air. One I know will disappear as soon as I see him because of the heat we’ve always shared. Me: Deplaning now. Cill: Waiting for you in baggage. His reply warms me some, liking that he’s already here waiting for me. We’ve mostly kept the promise of video chatting daily, only missing random days here or there when our schedules are too full to align. He’s incredibly busy with training, practice, press, and promo. The team even asked him to start an Instagram page because he never had social media before, so that has taken up some extra time, even though I know he’s been getting help from the team. It all adds up, and some days, the only time he has to connect with me is a few minutes before he crashes at the end of the day. I hate it, but I also know it’s new and it will calm down and get easier. The schedule is temporary; we are not.
I’ve reminded myself of that so many times over the past few months. It all seems so silly though when I turn the last corner and he comes into sight. Cillian’s eyes scan over all the other wayward passengers, thumb playing with his bottom lip the way he always does when emotions take over him. The thrumming stops as soon as he spots me and his shoulders drop in a sigh of relief, as if he didn’t believe me when I told him I was here. Strangers pass between us, occasionally blocking my view of him as I weave through on my way to him, until I finally stop only inches away. I take in his form that seems impossibly bigger; he’s bulked up and it’s evident beneath his joggers and form-fitting dark tee. “Hey, Isla Cole,” he says, his sky-colored eyes bouncing quickly between mine. “Hey, Wylder.” “Come here.” Without hesitation, I jump, knowing he’ll catch me in his strong grasp, his hands instantly cupping my hip to hold me in place as I wind my legs around his hips. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I dig one hand into the thick hair, pulling his face up so our lips can land on each other. His tongue plunges into my mouth as I breathe him in, the familiar scent that eases every tense knot in my body.
“I’ve missed you,” I tell him as soon as he lets me up for air. “You have no idea,” he mumbles back, but I do. Even on my busiest days, the ache of his absence was a dull pain my heart never forgot. “Well, I’m here for two nights. Let’s not waste time in a dirty airport.” He laughs, pressing a few more pecks to my lips before lowering me back to my feet. He fills me in on his day-to-day routine on the way to his house, then peppers me with questions about my course schedule. “How’s the family?” “They’re good. Mom’s taken up knitting, making scarves for all the guys on the team. Willa’s wreaking havoc as a high school senior.” “Probably leaving a trail of broken boys in her wake,” he teases. “You know it.” He holds my hand the entire ride.
I raise our entwined fingers, studying all the new marks his skin wears. I’ve been witness to his bumps and bruises for so long, I feel like I have to chart new maps of him. I can’t wait to strip him down and do just that. “Take me to bed or lose me forever,” I tell him as he piggybacks me through his front door. “Cole, you don’t even have to ask. Bed was going to be my first stop.” “Oh, I’m so sorry,” a light voice says from around the corner. A blonde woman comes into sight a moment later. “Tor let me in before he left. I thought I’d be done before you got back from the airport.” “Hey, Trina. What’s going on?” Cillian asks her as I drop from his back. “I brought by some dinner. I thought it would be nice if you didn’t have to worry about that.” “That’s great, thanks,” Cillian responds, while I try to figure out who this person even is. “Isla, this is Trina, one of the team photographers. Trina, this is Isla.” “Hi,” she exclaims, her eyes bright and cheeks a bit flushed.
“It’s so nice to meet you. Cill speaks of you all the time!” “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Woman I have never heard of before this very moment. I offer a hand, and she shakes it with the same bubbly enthusiasm her words hold. “Okay, okay, I’ll get out of your way now. But the fridge is stocked!” She gives Cillian a hug, and I get a quick wave as she hurries out the door. “What the heck?” “Yeah, she’s on the, uh, exuberant side,” Cillian says. “I don’t like that she was so comfortable in your space.” “Ah,” he says softly, fingers coming to smooth out my furrowed brow. “You jealous?” “Yes, I am, Cillian. I’ve never been in your home, but she has.” With strained effort, I keep my hurt out of my voice. It’s not his fault that I’m feeling so uncharacteristically insecure. And the last thing I want to do with my short time here is fight with the man I love.
My temper has other plans though. “I ever walk into your house again to another woman; I’m cutting appendages off, Wylder. Now take me to bed.” “You don’t want a tour of the place?” “Later. After.” “Yeah? You need my shaft that bad, Isla?” “About as badly as you need me, Wylder. Unless you’ve been getting that from your little cheerleader photographer,” I counter, letting more of my jealousy be heard. “No.” He snorts. “But my hand probably has new callouses. I haven’t beat off this much since I was thirteen.” Cillian grasps my hand and pulls me to his room. We don’t resurface for hours. Not until I have spent all the time I needed studying his body, and he mine, both of us refusing to reclothe until we feel reacquainted physically. Sweaty and spent, we stumble over each other on the way to the kitchen.
Trina seemed so at ease in the space. I could probably write that off to Torsten, who has been on the team for a few years now, but should I? Is she here often because of my boyfriend’s roommate or because of my boyfriend? They must be close enough that she knew when I was flying in. Cill hasn’t given me any sign to worry, and I need to have faith in that before I self-sabotage our relationship. Shaking off my weird mood, I pull out the artfully crafted charcuterie board with a laugh. The woman obviously underestimated how many calories hockey players burn every day, especially after a three-hour bout of sexual activities. “You need more than this,” I tell Cillian. “Do you have pasta?” “You don’t have to cook, Isla. I can order something.” “Let me take care of you,” I argue. “I’ve missed it.” “I’ve missed you,” he says, swatting me lightly on the hip as he moves past me to pull items out of a pantry on the other side of the kitchen.
He lets me make the pasta for him, standing behind me the entire time, his arms wrapped around me while I work. The position doesn’t change much while we eat, me sitting on his lap at an oversized dining table that I imagine doesn’t get used often. “I have to be at the arena early tomorrow, but you can come too. They said someone will show you around before the game, if you want. Mom will be flying in late; she’ll meet you there.” “I’d like that,” I tell him. “It will be nice to see Erin. I’m glad she’s able to make the trip. Dad was sorry he couldn’t make it, too.” Cillian’s grandmother’s health hasn’t been the best recently. Erin was able to find a friend to keep watch over her so she could fly from Omaha for the game. She’s heading back shortly after the game. It’s the best she could manage, but I know Cillian appreciates it. “I’d love for him to be here, but I get it.
He’s got a team to work with and his own game coming up,” Cillian says, popping another piece of cheese in his mouth. “Mhm, but mom says she and Willa will come along when we can all make it for a weekend game.” “Hopefully sooner rather than later,” he says, chin resting on my shoulder and giving it a slight nip. “Hopefully.” “You ready to spread those pretty thighs for me again, Isla?” he whispers in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine and a thrill through my core. “Always, Superstar.” The following day, I keep to the background, watching Cillian go through his gameday routine. It hasn’t changed much over the years, and I enjoy the familiarity of it. Whatever nerves he had when he flew to Boston have disappeared.
He’s as ready for his first game as a professional as I’ve ever seen him as he checks that his duffle has everything packed in it just the way he wants. We stuffed it last night, but this gameday ritual is always performed, regardless of how much care he took previously. Cillian doesn’t like to show up at any arena unprepared or without his comfort items, like his headphones so he can listen to his carefully curated pre-game playlist. “All good?” I ask when he finally zips it up and stands. “All good,” he confirms. “You’re going to kill it today, Wylder.” He looks at me, blinks a few times, maybe dazed by it all. Afterall, he’s realizing his lifelong dream tonight. “Yeah, I am.” He beams proudly. “Yeah, you are,” I agree on a laugh that he ends with a searing peck. The arena is a hive of workers, busy prepping for the first game of the season.
I’m allowed to walk Cillian to the locker room, and from there, I’m escorted around by Cindy, a woman around my mother’s age who’s been working the arena for over a decade. I’m getting special treatment because of my name, my dad, more than being Cillian Wylder’s girlfriend. But I won’t complain since the tour gives me something to occupy my time before Erin gets here and the game starts. “Mr. Sterns offered access to this suite for you and Cillian’s mother,” Cindy says, opening a door to a fully equipped suite, complete with food, beverages, a private bathroom, and seating above the rest of the arena. Sterns is the general manager and an acquaintance of my dad—again, the team showing deference to my last name.
“Of course, there are also seats down below, if you’d prefer to be closer to the ice.” “I would. It’s where I’m most comfortable.” “Makes sense,” she says, leading the way back out of the suite. “I imagine it’s where you grew up.” “I spent my fair share of time there.” “I can bring Miss Wylder to you when she arrives.” “Thank you, Cindy. That would be wonderful.” I take my seat along the boards, the player’s bench only a section away from perhaps the best seats I’ve ever had. I’m certain Dad called in favors for this one, but I enjoy the placement as I take everything in. The excited chatter of young fans taking their seats or vying for a spot along the glass in the hopes of gaining the attention of the players with their homemade signs.
There isn’t a lot of this that I remember from Dad playing in the NHL, I was so young and once Willa came along it was harder for my mom to take us both to games like this. But the atmosphere, as a whole, runs through my veins, this world is in my blood. Sharing it with Cillian now only makes it more special. Warmups start with blaring music and cheers from the crowd. Cillian spots me on his first lap, sending me a chin nod and a half smile. Focused on the game the way he is, I’m surprised he even spotted me. Only a few minutes later, Erin arrives. “Hi,” I greet her, giving her a warm hug. She’s about my size and I always wonder how she birthed a practical giant. “It’s so good to see you.” “You too, sweetheart,” she says emotionally. She gave up a lot of time with her son for him to achieve this. It could have easily gone a different direction and maybe then she’d regret some of the decisions she made. Cillian doesn’t have much family.
He was conceived from a one-night stand at a music festival. His mom never got the guy’s last name, so when she found out she was pregnant, there was no way to contact the man. She’s a single mom and an only child whose father died when she was in her teens. When Cillian came to the Timberwolves, he moved in with a host family because his mom couldn’t afford to relocate, nor did she want to leave her own mom alone. It sounds harsh, but it’s quite common for WHL kids. For the past year, he’s lived with me. Dad bought a condo close to the University of Washington campus for me to live in while I’m at school, studying marketing. Willa’s goal is UW, too, so she’ll live here if she’s accepted. It will be nice to have company the year after next with Cillian across the country, playing in Boston. “Can you believe this is happening?” “Absolutely.” “Of course.” She laughs. “Are you hungry? There’s food up in the suite, or I can go grab you something?” “No, no. I don’t think my nerves could handle anything right now. I’m so excited for him.” As she says the words, Cillian skates back around.
When he sees her, he slows, placing a gloved hand over his heart as he does. Erin lets a few tears fall but hurriedly swipes them away. I grasp her fingers in mine and hold them through the rest of warmups. Trina shows up, introducing herself to my boyfriend’s mother before she proceeds to repeatedly get in our way while she takes photos of the players. It adds to my annoyance and wariness of her, but she has a job to do, so I do my best to let it go. Besides, it’s not as if I can start a rink side brawl with the woman right before Cillian’s first game. No matter how much I’d like to put the blonde in her place. “She’s something,” Erin whispers to me conspiratorially after Trina moves on. Her response to Trina only confirms that I wasn’t imagining her intent to be a nuisance.
“How’s school?” “Good. I have a busier schedule than I’d like, but my professors are great.” “That’s a plus, sweetheart. And how are you doing with the distance?” “Well, that part sucks,” I tell her, dropping my head on her shoulder. “I miss him every day, but it’s overshadowed by how proud of him I am.” “You’ve always had an unwavering confidence in my boy. He’s never had a bigger supporter.” “That’s not true, he’s always had you.” Erin quiets and I sit with her in silence. I know she wishes their lives could have been different. Cill’s profession changes a lot for all of us. Being a rookie, it’s impressive enough that the team has him on the starting roster. It shows a huge amount of confidence. He proves he’s worthy of the spot when he scores the first goal of the night. Cillian tends to get attitude on the ice, but tonight his game is clean. No penalties, no sin bin.
The team goes on to win and Erin’s in tears by the end, so happy for her son. Letting the crowd die down, we stay seated and wait for the three stars to be announced. It’s a hockey tradition for three outstanding players to be acknowledged after the game. Cillian is one and it brings on a fresh round of Erin’s tears of pride. This time, I join her, shedding a few of my own as he skates off the ice, waving to the dwindling crowd. We’re on cloud nine until we get to the family room, where we’re to meet up with Cillian. As he comes into sight, so does Trina, who throws her arms around him in a big hug. It would be friendly, except the touch lingers, and not only hers. My step falters, and Erin’s hand grasps mine. She sees it too. Me losing him, she sees that. Trina fades from existence and all his attention turns to me and his mother.
He’s all smiles and excitement, hugs and pecks. It’s hard to believe that I have any reason to worry or to be jealous when he dotes on us as we grab a bite to eat before taking Erin back to the airport. I all but forget there is a new woman trying to work her way into his life when he has intercourse with me stupid for hours, worshiping my body like I’m his lord and savior. Cillian ignores everything but me until he takes me, too, to the airport the following day. The entire flight home, I talk myself out of the idea that Trina is, or ever will be, anything more than just his coworker. ISLA “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Willa asks, her iced coffee nearly tumbling over as she slams it down on the table. “Yes,” I say, trying my best not to let tears fall. My emotions have been out of control since my last visit to Cillian. It didn’t go well.
I’ve visited him three times now. During each trip, my anxiousness has spiraled to a new high. Trina not only still has a weird attitude with me, but she’s become an almost permanent fixture in Cillian’s life. He chalks it up to her being buddies with Torsten, but I didn’t buy that the first time he said it. I sure don’t believe it now. Regardless of my protests about how much time she spends at their apartment, nothing has changed. I hear her in the background when I’m talking to Cillian on the phone, she shows up unannounced when I’m there, and she makes a point to show how much she knows about my boyfriend whenever she can. The proof is in the picture I’m stretching out on my phone to get a better look at. Cillian has been filling his Instagram with shots of him on and off the ice. Mostly the ones that aren’t game related are of his training. This one is him shirtless in the gym, sweatpants riding low enough that you get a full view of his happy trial and a hint of more.
But also, being as experienced with his shaft as I am, I can see he’s half hard. To further my distress, Trina’s reflection is visible in the mirror as she takes the shot of him. She’s barely dressed herself, only wearing tiny workout shorts and an even tinier sports bra. He’s commando, showing too much of himself, and has the beginnings of a hard-on… for her. I want to die. No, I want to murder them both, then I want to die. “Are you going to call him on it?” “Yes.” “If you don’t, I will. I’ll fly there and find a big knife—” “I’ll handle it,” I interrupt Willa’s plan of murder. I leave her in the kitchen and retreat to my room. Cillian doesn’t answer the first time I call. Knowing his schedule, he should have down time right now. My nerves ratchet up, but so does my anger.
He doesn’t get to avoid this and blame him for even trying. Because I’m feeling very unhinged right now, I watch the phone on my clock and wait exactly three minutes before calling again. “Hey,” he answers as if it’s any other phone call on any other day. “Are you trying to avoid me?” “No, Isla. Of course not.” “Is she there with you?” “Who?” “You know who! The blonde that had you in such a tizzy at the gym that I can see your semi on a tiny Insta photo.” “It wasn’t like that,” he starts. “I’m trying to build up a fanbase is all; it’s good for the team and might help them want to keep me around.” “Why are you lying to me, Cill.” My voice breaks. I can’t keep it under control. I’ve loved him so much for too long now. “I know what I see. Just don’t lie to me.” We’ve had three great years without trust issues, without petty arguments, or even any major conflict.
It seems incredible, considering our age and lifestyle now that I think about it. But it’s true; we’ve been supportive and honest. I don’t want that to change now, though I know it already has. He’s been distant this past week and I’m simply not stupid enough to think Trina isn’t a big part of the reason why. He goes deathly quiet for a few long moments. I know it’s coming, his admission. The truth, finally, that all isn’t well and fine between us anymore. “It’s been hard, Isla. Being away from you, it’s been hard.” “For me, too, Cillian. But be honest with me. Because what has been hard for me is not being able to see you every day, not being able to be at every game to support you in person the way I want to. Not being able to tend to your bruised body after a tough game,” I ramble. “It’s not tough for me to ignore the guys in my face every day at school.
It’s not tough for me not to grow close to them because I miss being close to you. It’s certainly not hard for me to not be turned on by them.” “Isla. I hate everything about this. I mean, except for playing, everything else about me here and you there is sh-t,” he says with no small amount of fear in his own voice. “I don’t want you to be worrying.” “Well, I am. I can’t help that, especially not when you post stuff like that. If you’re putting that in the open, what’s happening behind the scenes?” “Nothing has happened,” he says with conviction. “Yet?” “I’m not seeking out other women. I hope you know that. I love you and I want to be with you,” he says, but it’s not an answer to my question. Not really. He hasn’t said nothing will happen.
He hasn’t said he’s not attracted to Trina. He’s said so much, but none of it has been the words I need to hear him say. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t a willing woman consistently putting herself in front of you though, does it? Loving me and wanting me doesn’t stop you from being aroused by her,” I tell him, completely defeated by this entire conversation. I knew when I called him this was coming, but love makes us stupidly hopeful. “You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?” “I don’t want to hurt you, Isla,” he admits after another quiet moment. “But I don’t want to lie either.” “Too late,” I say with a sob. “Where do we go from here?” “Nothing has to change,” he demands. “I don’t intend for anything to happen with Trina or anyone else. Yes, sometimes, my body reacts, but I’m not giving up on us, so please don’t give up on me.” “How am I supposed to keep fighting for us when you throw that kind of thing in my face, Cillian? How? It kills me to see you hard for her! But I’m supposed to just accept it as what? biology?” “Nothing has happened, okay? I haven’t done anything, and neither has she. I’ll be more careful about what I post.” “But you won’t be more careful about what you do? Or, who you do it with? Jesus, Cillian.
How much time do you spend with her anyway?” Again, he grows quiet, giving me my answer. “I’ll set some boundaries there,” he finally says. “I don’t trust her.” “Then trust me.” I’m trying. My stomach is in more knots now than it was before this conversation. For days afterward, an ominous feeling shadows me. As if the ghost of my future is trying to warn me that my relationship is already over, and I should just succumb now. Give in to the inevitable and start my grieving process so I can move on. My stubbornness won’t allow that. I’ll hang on until the bitter end. If he wants to end this, he’s going to have to do it. Whether with words or actions, it’s his call. I’m not the one walking away until I no longer have a choice. Willa doesn’t agree with my attitude. She’s always adored Cillian, but she’s not keen on giving him the benefit of the doubt right now. I can’t blame her, her anger with him comes from a place of love. We’re fiercely protective of one another.
Nightly, she reminds me that she’s ready and willing to fly to Boston to ‘cut a bimbo’. Part of her attitude is fear. I’m not handling the stress very well. The following days, I am restless, and my appetite is all but non-existent. If I can’t get a handle on it soon, Willa threatened to tell Dad and he’d sic our mom on me like a bulldog. I won’t get a moment’s peace. Willa has even warned that she’ll take my phone away from me just so I’ll stop scrutinizing every post that Cillian, Trina, and even Torsten post. I obsess over them all to glean some sort of information that says either, yes you can trust him. Or no, no you most certainly cannot. I’m losing my grip on reality fast. Though I can see that, I can’t seem to stop myself from letting it happen.
My brain is bombarded with intrusive thoughts all day, my nights filled with nightmares. It’s like watching a movie of my own life play out in front of me. One where I become the stupid girl hung up on a guy that’s already moved on. Except, he says he hasn’t. Days go by with nothing new happening. And yet my stress level hasn’t subsided. No matter how often I tell myself everything is okay, I can’t shake the feeling that it isn’t. My obsession has morphed into depression. I barely leave the house for anything other than class. When knocking sounds on my front door, I blink as the intrusion brings me back to my reality. Which consists of me staring at the television for so long that I don’t even know what I’m watching anymore. It’s definitely not what I put on, but I’ve been so in my own head I hadn’t even noticed that one movie stopped and another started.