I don’t get lonely. It’s self-imposed.
I hear movement downstairs, and my heart pounds. I use the flashlight to exit her room, then turn it off. Staying in the shadows, I move down the hallway to the top of the stairs.
I peer down. She’s still asleep, but she’s shifted so that she’s curled into a ball on her side.
The silence of the house surrounds me as I soundlessly slip down the stairs.
As I get closer to her, the movie on the TV mixes with her heavy breathing.
Sympathy rolls through me again. She’s alone in this huge house.
She could be over at my house, but she’s not.
And for the first time, a real sense of worry goes through me. What if she were to get involved with Aaron? She’d spend all her time with him—and none with me.
I lean over her, my fingers lightly grazing her cheek. She whimpers, leaning into my touch.
I can’t lose you, Ivy.I just… can’t.
“See you soon,” I whisper, before withdrawing my hand.
As I head through the kitchen, my fingers are still tingling from touching her. Her vanilla and sugar scent is embedded in my nostrils.
I glance back at her before opening the door, twisting the lock, and stepping outside into the cold air.
I head through the garden toward the woods. It’s a long way to where I parked my car, but I couldn’t risk my brother seeing it and questioning where I was.
Once inside my garage, I quickly change back into my work clothes and head into my house.
The game has changed, Ivy. Now I’m watching you.
And I’m not letting you go that easily.
21
IVY
It’s Wednesday, a good day for errands. People are distracted. Routine-driven. Predictable.
More importantly, it’s been two days since I last saw Sebastian. I’m going a little crazy.
I tell myself I miss the routine, but it’s more than that.
I miss him.
Still, I can be patient when I need to.
Thomas drives me to the grocery store and waits outside.
I’m pushing a cart, my eyes on the list on my phone, when I run into Drew in the produce aisle.
Literally.
My cart clips the corner of his basket as I turn. We do the awkward grocery-store freeze—the one where both people apologize even though neither of us is entirely sure who’s at fault.
“Oh—sorry,” he says automatically, then blinks. “Ivy.”
“Hi, Drew.” I smile, easy and warm. Like this isn’t strange at all. Like I didn’t leave his brother rattled in a café two days ago.
