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Quietly making my way to the hallway, I stop by my office, grab my keys, and head out for the night. She needs to eat dinner, and I won’t force her to feel awkward with me there.
I’d like to say distancing myself from Ivy has helped. But my little obsession has a permanent residence in my mind. She’s there constantly.
After two more days of training, she begged for ice cream. Gage and Ty were more than happy to volunteer. It may only be a brief drive-through outing, but it’s something. She needed to get out—somewhere other than the heart-wrenching visits with her father.
Glancing at my tracker, I turn to Liam, who’s working on the couch in the great room, before I head for the shower. “The Little Storm will be home in five.”
“You’re losing it, man.” He chuckles, always intent on screwing with me.
Things have been mildly strained between us since he took Ivy out against my orders. His intentions were good, and she isn’tpushing back against my rules now, but it was an unnecessary risk. The way he deals with tension is to stir things up though.
“You said she was the light, but you call her Little Storm. Sounds like you don’t know her at all.”
Liam has a smoothness about him. He’s a charmer, capable of robbing a man of his worth and fucking his wife, all while smiling so charismatically that, somehow, the poor schlep convinces himself he was willing to hand it all over. That’s precisely why Liam is an asset on our team and why I trust him with my life. If he thinks he’s justified, he doesn’t hesitate, and in our line of work, hesitation equals death. If not ours, someone who we’ve vowed to protect.
That quality for my current situation is less desirable. Liam is used to melting panties, winning bets, outfoxing the sly. He lives for the game, the chase. And he’s already mentioned that he has his sights set on my girl.
I tsk, not exposing an ounce of my concern. “Anyone can be the light when the sun is shining. It takes a goddamn force to strike with a crash so bright that even the outlines of the raging clouds are illuminated.”
Liam’s head falls back with a drawn-out sigh. “Fuck.”
That meager exasperation may be the wisest opinion Liam has ever expressed. He might finally grasp that Ivy is mine, designed for me. That I know every curve of her face, every strength she hides, every dream she grips. So, while I pity my friend—mybrother—for losing such an extraordinary woman, there is no other option. Ivy will always belong to me.
Having said all we need to say, I leave him to finish his late-night work, but his voice freezes me at my doorway.
“You’re in love with her.”
My gut wrenches. “I’m not—”
“Jesus, for once, shut the fuck up and listen to me, Chief. You know I’m the last person to give advice on this shit. But we all adore that girl. And it’s fucked everything up because none of it is simple anymore. It’s a goddamn mess. The thought that we’d turn her overand … I can’t even …” His tone holds more emotion than Liam ever has—a testament to how this is wearing on us all. A testament to how much he cares for Ivy. “I know you think keeping her at arm’s length will help you protect her. I get that. It’s the way we’ve always done things. But she’s already in your head. Your thoughts aren’t any clearer. And she’s lonely and upset. And probably fucking scared. She deserves … if you don’t give in to it, she’ll find someone who will.”
I spin around, heart pounding out of my chest, molars grinding. “Don’t start this shit again, Graves.”
He drags a hand down his unshaven face with a shake. “That’s not a threat. And I wasn’t only talking about me. It’s the way it’ll be, and you know it. She’s special. We’re all in this together. We won’t let you lose focus. I’m sure it comes as a surprise, but I’m not always a motherfucker, and I’m not blind. But if you don’t step up, you’ll lose her one way or another.”
He might as well have gut-punched me. The thought of losing her in any capacity is too much to handle. I should thank him for his warning. It proves he’s trustworthy with her, telling me to step up. But figuring out how not to fuck this all up is too much right now. All of it is balled up at the base of my throat, choking me.
So, I nod, letting our eyes connect in understanding, and head to the shower with the hope that, somehow, clarity will rain down on me.
IVY
If I ignore my embarrassment for practically throwing myself at Wells, my broken heart from his rejection, and the reality that I am mixed up in something seriously fucked up, life is pretty fantastic right now.
Training is actually fun. The constant hustling keeps my mind from drifting, so I feel more present than I have in months. We’re only getting started. I know they’re simply building up my stamina because Ty mentioned adding knife throwing, fighting, and the obstacle course next week. They clearly enjoy torturing me.
But then again, these guys are also incredibly sweet. Even Wells—or maybe especially him. The wedding, the books, all my favorite foods stocked. That hotter-than-hell massage. He might not want me, but he is considerate about caring for me.
The biggest demonstration of that has been with my father. Somehow, he convinced Theresa to sneak us in the back door for our visits on Wednesdays because he isn’t comfortable with me signing in. He’s on edge when we’re there, keeping my father’s door closed and nervously checking the hallway. But it’s the one thing he hasn’t suggested I give up. Maybe because he knows it would end in an all-out war.
That isn’t all Wells did concerning my father though. Yesterday, he snuck him abottle of Macallan 18, covertly pouring him a small glass. My father isn’t a scotch drinker, like Wells—orwasn’tbefore his stroke. His preferred cocktail was an old-fashioned when he was at home, but whenever he was with someone else, he matched their taste. He claimed it was a bonding technique. So, not only was the Macallan the ideal drink to share with Wells, but I could also tell it made him feel less broken and a bit more like himself even though he needed assistance to drink it. That small glass of scotch had my heart jumping out of my chest.
Unfortunately, Wells has made it clear he isn’t interested in catching it.
Tonight, I’m out with Ty and Gage, getting ice cream. Since they insisted we could only use the drive-through, they elongated our outing by speeding and doing donuts like lunatics down a desolate dirt road in the 1970 Plymouth Road Runner. The dusty wind whips through the open windows, slapping the three of us with an enlivening sting as we hurtle toward nothing but our own adrenaline rushes. Every time I scream, they look at each other and laugh. So, I’ve taken to yelling far more than necessary just to see their faces erupt.
The air is suffused with exhaust and waffle cones, crisp apples and burned rubber.
Nostalgic belonging.
