She knows I’m home.
We both know I’m home.
Just like she knew it all the way to her bones, the same way I did, Winter Ivy was the one for me. She was it.
She was so bloody beautiful that night at the dance. Jaci’s dress was a wee bit too tight, but it fit her well enough. Too well, if memory serves me correctly. I had to finish the joint I rolled earlier that night just to keep me boner under control.
Ay. Even then: Sans contrôle.
It must have been me Irish luck back then too that had me heading back to school that night after the dance to grab me art folder. Otherwise, I never would’ve seen her standing outside the gym, cursing her lighter for all it was worth with trash lying in bags at her feet. I’d have done seven Hail Mary’s just to get the chance to talk to her alone and there was me chance. Did I go overboard? Absolutely. Embellish a wee bit? What’s a lad to do, she was the bloody girl of me dreams, mate. I did what any solid Irish American would do, I laid it on thick, and wished it well with all me father’s father’s good ol’ green luck.
I took the shot.
And scored…even if it was just for a brief moment.
When I leaned in to kiss Winter Ivy, I was praying to the Lord above not to wake me up if it was a dream. And when our lips finally met under the awning of her front porch, I swear to this day, I saw stars shoot across the sky, her lips felt so bloody incredible.
Seconds later when our lips let go, I whispered against her mouth, “Ivy, love, you’re it for me. Now stop making me chase ya.” I kissed her again and then strolled me way to me bike at the curb.
Now, ten years later, here we sit in one of our first of many upcoming board meetings to strengthen the northern branches of Lucky Pipes bond with new distributors, ie, Miss Winter Ivy’s other project with Seattle Motorcycles, Inc.
See, me Ivy’s been busy. She’s been blowing her way through the art and bike world up here in her new little corner of her new little life with as much fervor as she’s blown through whatever extra cash she can on her old lingering habits.
She’s a fucking bloody power house in all sense of the words right now in front of all these men at the meeting and me. With her black silk capped sleeve button up blouse tucked into the dark gray empire waist pencil skirt that hugs her hips perfectly, and her red fucking heels that don’t end.
Bloody hell.
I adjust me self as her wool covered arse rounds the corner on me side of the meeting table. “I just think if we utilize the contacts I’ve accumulated by investing time into SMI, it would be much easier for Lucky Pipes both in the short and long term. Show me where you disagree, and I’ll listen to your rebuttal.”
She slowly makes her way back to her seat as she speaks, using her hands to help emphasize on the important, key parts of her speech. Me Ivy’s done a great job, she has.
I don’t think she’s even stopped for a breath since finishing school. She just traded one off for the next and runs both full-time jobs as one. It’s utterly incredible to watch.
She…is utterly incredible to watch, even still, after all this time.
After no one speaks or interjects any rebuttal against her debate, she signs the few pages on the desk in front of her before sliding them across the dark wood surface towards Reesie boy, then she settles her eyes on mine.
I pause.
I smile.
I breathe.
Once I’ve signed the paperwork and slid it to the person beside me, I sink back into me leather seat and keep me eyes pinned on Ivy’s. And after all the papers have been signed by all the meeting’s attendees, we stand and file into line from the conference room. But I linger at me spot at the table, at least until Ivy walks by. I brush me hand across the small of her back and lean in to whisper against her ear.
“Ya have a lunch date, I’m told.” I chuckle when I feel her body tense under me hand. “Now, now, me Ivy. I know ya been a good girl, I know ya done as I asked and got rid of that bloody wanker.”
As we step from the office and make our way towards the parking lot I continue to tease, “The question is, are ya clean? How long’s it been, me Ivy?”
I stop and turn towards her as we near her car, pinning her eyes with mine. Bloody begging her.
Her beautiful blue eyes gaze softly back into mine, “Yes, Ryker. I’m clean. I haven’t used or drank since the night in the garage. Okay? Now, what do you want? Yeah, I got rid of Bowen. Tell me, Ryker, before I lose my shit, what the fuck do you want from me? Because you keep telling me you’ll explain, but you never fucking do!”
When her eyes pool with tears, I realize how exhausted she is. She’s strung so tight, she’s a breath away from snapping.
God love her.
God help her.
But she won’t know how close her daughter is to her, not until I know for certain that this time she won’t run the bloody hell away from me—from us, again.
God dammit, I love me Ivy. I do.
But I gotta protect what’s mine, and right now the only thing that’s truly mine, is me sweet little five-year-old daughter, Lily Blake Killian.
“Ay. I just wanted to take ya to lunch, that’s all, love.” I smile me most convincing smile as I raise me hands in mock surrender. “That’s all.”
She blows her bangs out of her face and tilts her head to the side as she looks up at me suspiciously. “That’s it?” she asks.
“Ay.” I nod before looking down at the toe of me black boot, then I look back at her and smirk, “Just lunch, that’s it. Cross me heart.” I crisscross me fingers over me heart and wink.
It seems to take her a few moments, but she gathers her composure before sliding on her its-me-against-the-world mask into place and smiling.
I had plans to take her to a restaurant. One that was extremely far away from here, as well as nowhere near her place. Then I had plans to drive her home…where hopefully we’d talk. I’m trying to strengthen me will around Ivy. Me control.
I swear every minute I’m near her, I chant to me self in me head:
Don’t rape her, Killian. Don’t molest her, Killian. Fuck it, don’t look at her, don’t breathe her, don’t speak to her until you get yer head down south a wee bit less swollen, Killian.
I just chant. I don’t know if it’s actually working, but I’m too scared to not chant, so I chant.
Jesus, she’s beautiful.
I watch as the first bit of sun I’ve seen up here in this rainy state, filters through her dark hair and me palms itch to sink into it. Twist in it. Bloody yank on it.
Don’t rape her, Killian. Don’t molest her, Killian. Fuck it, don’t look at her.
As I look down, she speaks, “Okay, lunch sounds good. But I’m driving. And after, we,” I see her motion between us in me peripheral. “Go our separate ways. Ryker, it’s been established what’s going on here. I know what you want. But until I can meet whatever hidden pre-requisite or bar you have set for me, I can’t physically tie myself to you any more than I already am. It’s too much, Ry. You’re too much.”
Okay, well, there goes me plans. But she’s right. And maybe if I know going in I can’t put me hands on her, maybe I can keep me train of thought on track, and maybe we can make some bloody progress.
“Ay. Of course, me Ivy, love.” Me hand grasps her car door handle and I smile as she slides into the driver seat. But as soon as I see her bare legs spread under her dark gray wool pencil skirt when she pedals the clutch, a lump hardens in me throat, and I have to cough before I can speak, “Just pull onto the main road there.” I point towards the aforementioned road. “Find ya a restaurant ya fancy, love, we’ll eat a bite and have a chat. Sound good?”
After she nods, I close the door and then head towards me bike.
Right as she pulls out of her parking spot, she looks over her shoulder and sadly smiles at me, and an old memory crashes into me.
Beating its way against me frontal lobes as the rest of me brain drives me bike behind Ivy’s car.
Just as I extend my hand out to open the door, I hear a grown man mutter something under his breath and I dive to the side, landing tucked to the side of the fort in the dirt, hugging the well-constructed outer wall.
“You better have yourself home and cleaned up by the time Blythe gets out of the shower, too, you piece of shit!” A short stocky older man shouts. I can barely make out his profile in the dark but I know exactly who it is the minute I hear his clearer voice.
Edward Cage.
Winter Ivy Cage’s ‘uncle’.
I knew there was something funny about that guy. I knew I hated the slimy bastard.
It takes me a whole five minutes to move after I don’t hear his boots stumbling in the distance any more, and even then, it’s only because I hear her whimper.
I’m up on me hands and knees crawling towards the little wooden door and as soon as I tear it open, I freeze in the doorway at the sight before me.
There’s blood… Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, there’s blood… everywhere. “Ivy?” I hiss, mainly because I’m scared out of me bloody mind. I see her dark head shaking back and forth in the moonlight shining through the windows. “Ivy?” I adjust me tone when me fear is blanketed with concern as me eyes meet hers.
With our eyes locked, her head keeps shaking as she mutters, “No no no no no no no no.” And the closer I ease towards her, the louder she gets. She’s damn near yelling when I put me hands on her shoulders and squeeze, she shouts when I shake her, “NO! It’s only this bad on the first day! Why are you here? Why are you here on the first day? JUST GO AWAY!”
I don’t know what to do next, so I just wrap me self around her. I keep moving, I keep pulling her closer to me, then closer around me. Then I fidget in her hair because me fingers wont’ be bloody still, but I whisper, I do whisper the entire time, “It’s okay, me Ivy, I won’t tell anyone, love. I won’t tell.” Over and over I whisper it to her as I pull her closer to me.
The sun comes up when I feel her body finally sag against me own as she falls asleep.
After I slowly ease her to the floor, I grab up the messy clothes we cleaned up at some point during the night and toss them in me backpack. I pull me fresh, clean pair of uniform shorts and a shirt from me practice bag and set them beside Ivy where she sleeps. And before I leave, I grab a piece of paper and a pen from me backpack and scribble a note to Ivy.
Ivy, I’m sorry about coming here last night. I know you don’t want anyone to know, and I’ll never tell a soul. But I’ll also never let it happen again. The first night? Ay, then. Every first night, come hell or high water, I will make sure this does not happen again. It’s me duty, now. I swear this to you, from this day forward, I’m gonna be the lad who protects ya. Something happened last night to me, Ivy love, and if I have to catch ya to prove it, I will. Till next time, me beautiful girl. ~Ryker.
I gently fold the letter in half before setting it on top of the clothes I’m leaving for her. I pull the scratchy wool blanket up around her bare shoulders and kiss her forehead.
And right before I close the door behind me on me way out, I glance back to catch one last peek at me poor Winter Ivy, only to see her smiling back at me.
And I remember thinking: Damn, that’s got to be the world’s saddest smile to ever be smiled.
It’s the same smile that mirrors the one smiling back at me when she ducks under me arm holding the door open and walks into the Italian restaurant she chose for lunch.
Chapter 22
Ryker
It takes some cajoling and a lot of idiotic rambling on me part, but I finally begin to see her true happy smile replacing her sad one, and I relax. I don’t think lunch has been a complete bust. The food is good, the conversation? It could be a wee bit better. I don’t even know what I’m rambling on again about when she murders the bloody conversation with a single word and one hack.
“Have you seen her? How old was she when you last saw her? Was it when I last saw her?” Bam. Bam. Bam.
Hack. Hack. Hack.
Her sentences finish obliterating our happy little lunch as I grapple for answers. Any bloody answers at all.
“Wha—“ I swallow a drink of water around the lump in me throat, “Seen who, Ivy love? I don’t follow.” Of course, I follow, it’s a stalling technique.
“Our daughter, Ryker,” she calmly says.
“Ay, I know ya mean our daughter, Ivy, love, what I mean is, why? You know when I saw her last, yeah? It was with you.” I don’t mean for me voice to be carried so far, but bloody hell, every one fucking shut up as soon as me mouth started!
“Okay, Jesus, Ryker.” Her tiny hands pat the dark surface of the table between us. “Just. Stop shouting,” she hisses. “I have my car, I’m of sober and sound mind, I can leave.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” I mutter. Bloody fuck, now I’m the one botching the whole meal.
“She’d be…Or she is, five now?” she softly asks, almost hesitantly and me heart constricts.
“Ay.” I nod, not wanting to add anything which could potentially hang me self later on.
“I wonder. I mean, I usually don’t. Hell, I usually stay as far away from the thought as I possibly can. Via drink, or inhale, or other…drastic measures. But, lately—I guess I’ve been wondering about what might have been. I hate babies. I always have. But now, thinking of her. All grown up. I don’t know. I just wonder shit. Like can she tie her shoes? If her name is long or short, I wonder—probably just because my name was so easy to write. Three letters in Kindergarten is a cake walk. I remember being scared to death that Edward would find out I told my teachers I just used Ivy and not Winter Ivy.” If the stars have wings, then I’d bet me unlucky arse. Me Ivy blushes just as she glances down.
She blushes.
I don’t know if it’s the ache in me old heart when her blush tugs on me strings of it, but I blabber the first thought that pops in me head to her every question. “Ay, she can tie her shoes just fine, has for a year. And Lily’s an okay name. Just one more letter longer than yours, love.”
I realize me mistake when her mouth opens and closes without uttering a word. After she gains her composure, she blurts out, “Wait—What?”
Bloody. Fuck.
“Kids learn to tie their shoes at four, yeah?” Shit, I don’t know. I mean, I know me Lily Blake is a little genius, but the tying the shoes, dammit that was a tough one.
I had bloody hell trying to explain that to her.
Ivy cuts her eyes towards me, before speaking and anxiety spikes me heart rate, “No. While I’m sure your shitty excuse for the shoe part is valid, that is not the topic I’d like to discuss. May I ask, is Lily the name you thought up, because she was ours and there’s a fuck ton of lilies around your old house in Ireland and my name is also a flower, or are you calling her that because it is her legal name. That is the highlighted story on the news ticker of this conversation. And you, Ryker David Killian have three seconds to speak. Now, speak.” She growls the last few words.
“I told ya what her name was a month before you had her, Ivy love. And I’m the one who named off the reasons why that was her name, slurred as me words may have been and as drunk as me tongue was that spoke them, I remember them all the same. That’s her name.”
I call it, The Art of being Vague.
“That’s her name. It’s always been my name for her, too,” she smiles as she whispers.
Our conversation is mostly kept on the lighter side of things for the remainder of our meal. Between catching me up on stories of her mum and dad, and her brother, Rome, we talk about Lucky’s and her job at SMI.
Me eyes scan over her as she tells me about the odds and ends of SMI and Lucky’s easy merger.
She looks so bloody beautiful right now. So bloody beautiful.
She’s filled out in her cheeks. Her face doesn’t look as gaunt as it did when I laid me eyes on her for the first time in five years at Where the Ivy Hides. God, I felt sick when I saw her at first. She couldn’t have weighed more than eighty pounds wet and wearing boots, and her face was damn near colorless. But you couldn’t tell me cock that. Nope, he wasn’t listening. As soon as me lungs pulled in a deep breath of Winter bloody Ivy, you couldn’t tell me cock shit. Took everything in me that night to not tear that bloody see through dress of hers from her body in shreds where she stood outside the dining area.
Damn the weight loss and the pain in her eyes. But thankfully I found the control to not fuck her where she stood.
She looks healthy. And I do catch fleeting traces of happiness cross her face when she speaks about her family.
The problem is, I have a suspicion that in order to gain access to more than just Ivy’s curiosity, I—at some point, am going to have to share more angles of the truth with her.
Where the Ivy Hides Page 14
