“It’s a free country.” He smirks again, but it’s thinner now. “Can’t stop me from going to pick my dog up from the vet.”
“No,” I say, not moving a muscle. “But I can make damn sure you don’t terrorize Ivy.”
The glint in his eyes fades slightly. He holds his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender before giving us a wide berth, then heading inside the vet’s office, the door swinging shut behind him.
Mr. Pickles yowls again, clearly voicing his opinion on the subject.
I exhale and turn.
Ivy releases me and hugs the carrier tighter. Her eyes are bright, but not in the way I want.
She looks annoyed.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She holds my gaze for a beat too long. “Yes,” she says. “But we’re going to talk about that.”
“Ivy, he’s an asshole.”
She nods. “I know that. But you didn’t give me a chance. You just stepped in.”
The vein throbs in my forehead. “You moved closer to me. Grabbed my jacket.”
“I know. I was scared. You decided to have a pissing contest outside thevet’s office.”
My stomach drops.
Damn it. I did it again.I decided for her.
And even though part of her leaned into it, another part of her is done being managed.
Mr. Pickles lets out a furious yowl, punctuating the moment.
Ivy exhales slowly, eyes dropping to the carrier. “Congratulations,” she murmurs. “You scared off the threat.”
Then she looks back up at me, green eyes sharp. “Now explain why you didn’t ask me first.”
And just like that, I realize defending her was easy.
Trusting her?
That’s the part I still don’t know how to do.
46
IVY
The ride home is quiet except for the rumble of the engine and Mr. Pickles’s complaints. He growls low in the carrier, clearly unimpressed with the day’s events, the vet, or the general state of humanity. I turn around, slipping my fingers through the grate, and murmur soothing nonsense while Sebastian drives like he’s defusing a bomb—hands steady on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes forward.
He keeps glancing at me.
I don’t look at him.
When we pull into the driveway, Drew is already on the porch with his arms crossed, face lighting up when he spots the carrier.
“Oh, good,” he says. “The hellcat survived.”
Mr. Pickles hisses on cue.
