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In this new upside-down reality, at least I can count on them.
WELLS
Today is Thanksgiving. This week has been arduous, but with the bomb I dropped, that was to be expected. Ivy has shed more tears than I’ve ever seen from her. She’s also been edgy, which was anticipated. We’ve all been diligent in giving her space.
Yesterday, we went to see her father, per our usual Wednesday appointment. He doesn’t permit her to visit on holidays, believing it would interrupt the joy of the day. His wisdom and foresight never cease to amaze me.
Unfortunately, he was having a terrible day, unable to offer even the slightest confirmation in acknowledgment to what Ivy shared. And when she bawled in his lap, I nearly lost it myself, sick for both of them. It was grueling enough to see my girl in so much pain, but to watch the man I admire most in this world suffer, trapped inside a body that simply won’t cooperate while his little girl sobbed, added another level of torment. She was quiet most of the night. It was yet one more example of why I’ve grown more hesitant by the day to let her travel the path to KORT.
But today, I’m perched in the doorway—hands in my pockets, feet crossed at the ankles, in a state of awe—watching Ivy and the guys, all in aprons, bopping around the kitchen to Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.” She insisted we have a traditional meal and prepare it ourselves, forbidding any meal-prep intervention from our chef. My job was the turkey, which we stuffed and placed in the oven a few hours ago.
Now, she has the guys helping her with the sides, football silently playing on the TV while they all harmoniously spin and mix and bellow into utensils—a state of ease and goofiness the three men would have never been found in prior to my Little Storm. They’re following her every command and dance move, and she’s glowing like the goddamn sun.
A few days ago, I told her O’Reilly wanted to meet her. She, understandably, feels reluctant to speak with him and hasn’t given me an answer. I haven’t pushed her even though he’s growing anxious and the clock is ticking. She’ll be thrust into this life in one week—unless we decide to run. Seeing her here so carefree makes me think that’s the better option. I couldn’t have imagined giving everything up a few years ago, probably not even two months ago, but now, I’d walk away from all of it for her. We all would.
Dinner is far better than expected. Ivy runs a tight ship. After pie, she clanks her fork against her wineglass with three short dings. Our eyes all snap to her cheerful blues.
“This is one of the best Thanksgivings I’ve ever had. I love you all so much, and I love my father for his infinite wisdom in forcing me to remain present. It gifted me moments I will always cherish. So, thank you.” She clears her throat, emotions obviously welling up again. “I’ve made my decision. I’m ready to meet O’Reilly, and when the time comes for me to take the seat, I’d like you all to work with me. I don’t expect you to give up doing what you’re so masterful at, but I’d like to know I can count on your expertise and counsel in those uncharted waters.”
I didn’t think it was possible for these guys to adore her more, but that little speech has them all fawning over her the rest of the evening. She’s proven her loyalty to them again and again. Outside of the four of us, we can’t say that about anyone else. We’ve all lost so much. Ivy’s become the constant we seamlessly orbit around.
Once everything is cleaned up, I set out for our bedroom in pursuit of my Little Storm. When I enter the steam-filled bathroom,she peeks around the corner of the stone shower, face bright and beaming.
“Coming in?” she asks, eyebrows waggling playfully.
We’ve been less intimate this week with her emotions all over the place. Aside from the morning wake-up call I offer, I’ve let her set the pace in that arena, but I don’t need to be asked twice. I drop my clothes into the hamper and join her. She falls against me, her body molding to mine. Although she’s plastered on a light and airy demeanor today, as she melts into my chest, I realize it was for our benefit, and it’s weighing on her. She’s made her decision for us, for her father, probably for her mother and Celeste as well.
“Ives, look at me, baby. This is important.” I lift her chin, the droplets of water dotting her freckles.
She’s so goddamn beautiful; she steals my breath. Her sapphires are heavy, holding all I’ve laid upon her this past week.
I kiss her dainty nose and settle on those big doe eyes. “Without taking anyone else into consideration, if you could choose between a life on the run, a life where you were free but had to look over your shoulder at every turn, or a life that kept your family close but forced you into a dangerous role with impossible choices, which would you choose?”
Her stormy blues lock on to mine, a tear of overwhelm mixing with the shower drippings and trickling down her cheek. “I’ve thought about it in those terms for days, and I always arrive at the same answer. I’d choose whichever life you were in. That’s the only choice for me.”
Fuck.
“That’s not excluding everyone else, but I get it because my answer is the same in regard to you. What if being together this way means enduring unfathomable pain?”
She reaches for my body wash, squirting it onto a loofah and lathering me up. “You’ve worked too hard to disappear. You’ll protect me.”
I push her hair back from her face, cupping her cheeks. “Always, baby. But sometimes, the protection is the very thing that hurts.”
She sighs, shakes her head free, and continues scrubbing me. “I’m not sure how else to say it, Wells. I wish you had trusted me with all of this sooner, but it’s okay. I’m okay. And my answer won’t change, no matter what you throw at me. I want you, this life with you, the life with those men out there and Celeste and my parents, whatever that means. It’s worth every risk.”
I don’t know what to do with that answer because I’m sickened by the possibilities in store. I’d burn the whole fucking world for her, but not even I can promise she won’t be singed in the process. Not in this life. The life I’m thrusting her into, believing it was what she was made for, trusting her father’s plans. For the first time, I understand why my mother chose to disappear—an action I always saw as cowardly and shortsighted. She had the world at her fingertips, but at what cost? She chose a tentative existence for my father, my brother, and me—a far braver move than what I credited to her.
I smooth my hands down Ivy’s arms, her silky skin and vanilla-raspberry soap awakening my cock, even as I ache with concern. “We can run. I don’t need this. It was a mistake to push you into this life. You’re all I want, Little Storm. That’s it.”
“I’m not running,” she insists.
“You don’t realize what it entails. It’s not safe. I can’t …”I can’t fucking lose you.
“You helped my father obtain the votes, right?” She hangs up the loofah, eyes fiery and set on me.
“Yes.” I smirk, knowing her mind is already made up. Her determination blazes through any objections I have. It’s the very storm in her that I love.
Her shoulders rise with the steam. “Was it only because I’d be worth more? Did you believe I’d fail once I got there?”
