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I drop my hold on the bucket and lurch away from him. “Stop telling me how I feel!” I practically shout.
“Then you tell me!” Bishop yells back, startling me. He tosses the bucket away, river water gushing out into the grass. “Tell me why you crawl into bed with me every night and then act like I don’t exist once the sun rises! Tell me why you say you want me here, but can barely bring yourself to be in the same room with me!”
“I thought you liked me complicated,” I throw back at him. “I thought that’s what fascinated you in the first place.”
Bishop looks away, takes a deep breath. “Really? You’re going to use that against me now?” When he looks back at me, I have to drop my gaze from the hurt in his eyes. “You say you’re not angry. You deny being scared. So what is it then? Tell me why you’re acting this way.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“How about the truth,” Bishop suggests, voice icy. “Can you manage that for once?”
And in an instant all my fear boils over into rage. Every dark, ugly thought I’ve had since the day I was put out comes writhing to the surface. “I lost everything!” I scream, so loud and shrill my throat aches. I wish I still had the bucket so I could throw it at him. “My family! My home! My best friend! The person I loved most in the world!” My chest feels like it’s going to explode, too much emotion confined in too small a space. My hands are curled into fists so tight my fingernails threaten to burst through my palms. “I had everything ripped away from me! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
Bishop’s whole face is clenched, like he’s fighting his own battle beneath his skin. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I have a pretty good idea what that’s like.”
And that’s so typical of Bishop, to remind me I’m not the only one to suffer. Only right now I don’t want to hear it. My anger is like a balm, soothing over all the tender spots I don’t want to examine too closely. “You didn’t have to come after me. You had a choice.”
“You think I had a choice?” Bishop demands. “What choice? I’m not like your father or Callie, Ivy. I was never going to just let you go. I love you. There was never any choice.”
His words stop me cold. For the first time it really hits me, what it means that Bishop is here, that he came to find me. He’s the only person in my entire life who hasn’t failed me. As quickly as it descended, the anger swirls out of me, like a black cloud lifting up and away. But it leaves all my open wounds exposed with no way to protect them. I cross my arms and dig my fingers into my elbows. I feel like if I don’t hold on to something, I will disappear.
“Talk to me,” Bishop says, quieter. “We used to be so good at that. Please…just talk to me.”
It’s like we’re back in the basement of the courthouse, separated by the iron bars of a cell. That time, I chose to lie in hopes that it would spare him. This time, if I lie it will be out of pure cowardice. And he is right; it will ruin us. There’s a limit to how many lies I can tell him before he stops caring about the truth.
My father, Callie, President Lattimer—they have already taken so much from me. Am I going to let them take Bishop, too? I want to reach for him, pull him close and whisper my secrets against his skin. In so many ways I am stronger than when I was put out
. But my heart has grown timid, constantly trying to protect itself from a fatal blow. I know now that I can survive out here. The question is whether I have the strength to really live.
The silence looms between us. Even the wind in the trees has fallen silent as if it, too, is waiting to see what will happen next. “I’m scared,” I manage to get out, my voice a thin wire. “You’re right. I’m so scared.”
Bishop takes a step toward me, stops when I hold up a hand. If he touches me now, I will break apart. “Okay,” he says, careful, like finally we’re getting somewhere. “Scared of what?”
“Of you!” I choke out. “I’m scared of losing you again,” I whisper, tears stinging against the backs of my eyes.
“Ivy…”
“I can’t…” I breathe in slowly, try to calm my heart so that I can speak without my voice shaking. “I couldn’t stand that again. I had to lock you away. Pretend you never existed. I tried so hard to forget you.” Despite my best effort my voice breaks, my words turn watery. “That’s the only way I could make it out here. And then you were back, right in front of me. And it was almost worse than not having you. The thought that I might have to suffer it all over again.”
Bishop’s eyes never leave me as I speak. That same look in them I remember so well, like he’s seeing right to the heart of me. “I can’t promise that I’ll never hurt you, Ivy. Or that I’ll always be here. Every day is a risk. There are no guarantees. Especially not in this life.”
“I know that,” I whisper. I give him a wobbly smile. “That’s kind of the problem.”
He closes the distance between us, not touching me, but right there in front of me. Solid and warm and strong and everything I told myself I could never have again. “I’m here now.” He takes the final step and hooks a hand around my waist, pulling me in tight. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Being so close to him startles the breath from my lungs, sends a tear trailing down my cheek. Bishop cups my face with his free hand, wipes away the tear with his thumb. “I’m still yours, Ivy,” he whispers. “I always have been.” His body is warm. His jacket smells like autumn, brittle-backed leaves and chilly sunlight. I watch my hands come up and flatten against his chest. My hands climb higher, skimming over his neck and face, fisting into his hair. My tears are coming faster now, streaming out of me like they haven’t since the day I let go of the fence and stepped into this new world. I drop my head and rest my forehead against his shoulder. My tears soak into his jacket, sting my chapped lips.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper on a hitched breath. “I’m so sorry.” The words sound small to my ears, this apology that can never be big enough to encompass all the ways I’ve wronged him.
Bishop doesn’t speak, but I can feel his uneven breaths against my hair, his hands rubbing my arms. My sweater slips off one shoulder, and his fingers find bare skin. The night air is cold and his hand is warm and my whole body catches fire. I turn my head and run my lips up his neck, kiss the line of his jaw until I find his mouth. Our kisses taste like salt and forgiveness, and I’ve never been so thankful for his arms around me, supporting me, holding me, weaving us together.
I feel hollowed out, but not empty. All my lies and secrets and fears are finally flowing out of me, leaving me floating. I’m light with the knowledge that Bishop and I have found our way back to each other. That in the end, we are stronger together than all the forces that tried to pull us apart. We belong to each other now. Not because someone forced us to marry or bound us with lies, but because we’ve chosen each other. And I understand in a way I never have before that loving someone is always going to feel like flying—the unthinkable drop, the fear of falling, the heart-in-your-throat thrill. It is always going to be impossible until the moment that it’s not and you’re soaring on pure faith, your altitude completely dependent upon something you can’t control.
I pull back slightly, a breathless laugh when his lips chase mine. I trail my fingers over his face, the curve of his cheekbones, the line of his brow. For the first time since he got here, his eyes are twinkling with that barely suppressed amusement I remember so well.
I hold his face between my palms, stare into his eyes. “I love you, Bishop. I never stopped.” It’s the first time I’ve really told him how I feel, the sentiment not disguised as something else or hidden between lies. They are not easy words for me. They don’t flow effortlessly off my tongue. My family taught me to keep them clutched tight, always stingy with the things that matter most. It will take work before the words come naturally to my lips, before what’s in my heart doesn’t feel like something I need to hide. I see the gleam in his eyes and tilt my head, the corners of my mouth lifting even as my tears still flow. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Bishop smiles. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I knew.”
