“What is it, then?” she asks. I hear the hurt tucked beneath her control.
I should tell her the truth.
Because I can’t stand the idea of you being harmed and it being my fault.
Because I don’t know how to love anything without guarding it like it will be taken.
Instead, my mouth betrays me. “I’m not wrong to be careful,” I say.
I hear how it sounds. I know it’s not the answer she needs.
There’s another pause.
Then Ivy exhales a low, disappointed sigh. “Okay.”
The word somehow sounds final.
“Ivy—”
“I’ll see you later,” she says, still calm again. Guarding herself now. “Have a good rest of your day.”
And then the call ends, and I’m left standing in my office with the phone still in my hand, the silence loud around me.
Control has always kept me alive.
I just didn’t realize it might cost me her.
45
SEBASTIAN
I leave the office early to take Ivy and Mr. Pickles to his first vet appointment.
I’m not sure what to expect when I get home, but the cool silence from her is a bitter pill to swallow, even though it’s one of the scenarios I prepared myself for.
Drew is thrilled he’ll have some free time without the “damn scrawny cat” in the house. He’s still mad that Mr. Pickles pissed on his bed again this afternoon.
Ivy insists on holding Mr. Pickles the entire drive, murmuring sweet words into the cat’s fur. She talks to him as if he understands her. Honestly, it seems like he does.
Once we arrive, Ivy puts him in the carrier. I grab the carrier from the back seat and try to hold her hand, but she moves away.
I don’t like it. At all.
The vet’s office smells like antiseptic and wet fur, and Mr. Pickles is not impressed.
He hisses from inside the carrier like he’s been personally betrayed by the concept of veterinary medicine. Ivymurmurs to him under her breath, fingers curled through the grate, soothing and low.
She hasn’t looked at me since we walked in.
I hate it.
We sit side by side in molded plastic chairs that squeak every time someone shifts. Our knees almost touch. The space between us feels deliberate, measured down to the inch.
I left work for this appointment. Cleared my schedule without thinking twice. Told myself it was practical. Efficient. Necessary.
But the truth is, I needed to see her.
Mr. Pickles growls again.
