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I couldn’t keep existing the way I had been when I first arrived. It was too much to carry. Too heavy of a weight.
All of it.
My dad’s expectations.
The family name.
Trying to avoid knowing anything about my mom’s experience here.
All I wanted was to lay down somewhere soft and warm and be able to rest. I hadn’t had that in a long time.
Cameron’s bike eased into the driveway, and while it was similar to my own piece of property, the driveway stretched farther back and curved more with the land. It was hard to see anything beyond the sharp beam of his headlight, then my own slicing through the dark trees a fraction later.
The shadows coming off the fir trees were tall and thin and eerie, shifting along with the movement of our headlights.
“If I survive this without tree PTSD, it’ll be a miracle,” I uttered as Cameron slowed, turning his bike into a small break in the towering specters.
When he finished his turn, the house came into view. It was a small one story, with a cute porch and windows flanking the front door. Perched on the front stoop was a big square planter overflowing with purple and white flowers.
Cameron cut off his bike as I parked next to him. Before exiting the car, I glanced at my silky green pajama set. Were the shorts always this short, and I just never noticed because I wasn’t used to parading around with my ass cheeks one inch away from public consumption?
I tugged at the lacy hem and quickly glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Dear God,” I breathed.
My hair.
I sank back in my seat. There was no salvaging any of this.
But damn if I wasn’t going to try.
I shoved my fingers through the tangled mess, slicking it back off my face. In the front pocket of my purse was a hair tie, and I looped it around the makeshift bun at the nape of my neck. I swept my thumb underneath my eyes, and pinched my cheeks, cursing that streak of vanity that had me not wanting to look like a crazy person.
Cameron unlocked the door, and warm light flooded the windows when he stepped inside. I blew out a short breath and hooked my purse up over my shoulder.
Before I ascended the steps, I took a quick look down at my bare legs. Even with the cardigan pulled shut, I looked naked underneath.
Always look like you’re in charge of the room, Ivy. People will respect you more when you walk in looking like the boss.
“Get out of my head,” I hissed under my breath.
This was not the time because I looked—and felt—like the boss of absolutely nothing.
It was easier to look like the boss, to strut in somewhere confidently, when you’re not in a vulnerable position. But I needed help, and he knew it. He knew it and didn’t hesitate to do something about it.
There was only one way for this to play out—I was exposed and humbled, and all I could do was trust that he wouldn’t take advantage.
I must have hesitated too long before entering the house because Cameron’s broad frame was silhouetted against the backdrop of the light behind him.
Just enough light came from the house that I got a searing flashback of studying his chiseled profile in the elevator. Something tight and hard unspooled in my chest when I registered the way he was watching me. It was the same way he looked at me then too.
Curious.
Kind.
And interested.
“You know,” he said easily, “it makes it easier when you come inside the house.”
