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“No. She’s with Ivy, I think.”
Hell. Fuck. Shit.
Practically hyperventilating, I asked, “Which clinic?”
At this stage, she looked as alarmed as I felt. “Um… I’m not sure.”
I dashed out and called Liam.
“Oh, hello, stranger,” he said in a cheery voice.
“Ivy’s gone to a clinic. Do you know where she might be?”
“Oh, really? Is she okay?” His concerned note told me Liam was also in the dark.
“Apparently, she’s having a procedure.” I swallowed air. “I’m worried she’s having an abortion.”
“An abortion? What? But she’s not pregnant, is she? She hasn’t told me anything.”
“Fuck. What should I do?”
“Um… she went to Bellevue for an ingrown nail once.”
“But that’s a hospital. Do they perform abortions there?”
“I doubt it,” he said. “Why wouldn’t she tell us? Ivy opens up about everything. And we only saw her two nights ago. She was looking great and having martinis.”
“Shit.” Even if I stopped her, my child—or the child—would end up an alcoholic before it could walk.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Just outside Mad Love.”
“Have you tried calling her?”
“Yes. She’s not answering my texts or picking up.” I exhaled a deep breath.
“What about Summer?”
“I’ll call her now. I’ve got to go,” I said.
“I’ll keep calling Ivy too,” he said, sounding worried.
I stood in the alleyway and called Summer and, much to my relief, she answered. “Hey, I’ve heard Ivy’s at a clinic.”
“Chase?”
“Yeah. Where is she?”
“I just dropped Ivy off at a clinic.”
Dropped her off? She’s not there to hold her hand?
“Can you text me the address? Like right now.”
“Is everything okay? You sound anxious.”
“Just text me the address. Please.”
