Chasing Ivy (Oak Hill, #1)

by S. J. Sylvis

  But the truth was… I couldn’t argue.

  She was right.

  Kip wasn’t good enough and neither was I. Hell, I had a girlfriend and here I was, only concerned about Ivy.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I snapped my head over to my brother. “Don’t let her go home with him, because if she’s going to be with someone… it shouldn’t be a fucking, doped-up walking STD.”

  My brother gave me a knowing grin and tipped his head down, as if complying with my demand.

  I watched him walk away and then I took the beer I’d ordered and chugged it, all while Max and Becca drilled their stares into the side of my head. I didn’t speak another word to either of them. Instead, I stood up and walked out of the bar, not even looking back in Ivy’s direction. I knew if I did, it would only end badly.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ivy

  I hated getting flowers. I knew I was an enigma. Bright, iridescent roses were delivered to me today by a young delivery boy, and while all the older women awed and oohed at the flowers gracing my desk at work, I was rolling my eyes.

  Eric was like a little gnat. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He had called me several times since I’d moved back to town and I had ignored every single call.

  The truth was, I was still overly pissed (and a little hurt) that he broke up with me on such a whim and now, I was even more pissed that he was filling my inbox with unnecessary text messages and leaving me voicemails out the ass.

  Like, hellllooo. I don’t have time for your stupid “I miss you” texts and “Call me back, baby” voicemails. I was too wrapped up in my depression regarding Dawson.

  Even the thought of Dawson made me bitter.

  I hadn’t seen him since the bar the other night, and that was torturous enough. He took one look at me and then left. Like he couldn’t even stand the sight of me.

  That went really well with my barely-there confidence.

  The only good thing was that Breanna wasn’t with him and I really did end up having an okay night with Emmett and his friend, Kip. Although Kip was a bit handsy, we still had a good time. I danced with both of them and they bought my dinner and all my drinks, so that made up a little bit for the hurt I’d felt when I locked eyes onto Dawson.

  He looked angry.

  I wasn’t sure if he was angry because of what happened the other night or if he was angry because I was sitting with his brother and Kip. I doubted it was the latter, because how could he possibly be angry when he had a girlfriend?

  Beats me.

  I was huffing and puffing, carrying my enormous bouquet of nausea-inducing roses up my front stoop. I put them down on the porch and reached inside my purse for my keys.

  No one would be working on my house tonight. Mr. Lanning had called and said they were waiting on a part for my bathroom, which was finally getting some TLC. The part wasn’t scheduled to get in until the following week.

  The night after Dawson told me we couldn’t be friends was the last night he’d worked on my house. He sent back the other men the following day, and the disappointment made me eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s. This is how the night went:

  Me: I need ice cream because I’m depressed over a boy I used to be best friends with, who no longer wants to be my friend at all.

  Also me: You’re borderline lactose intolerant, don’t do it.

  Me: I’m depressed.

  *eats pint*

  Me one hour later: Why the fuck did I do that? Now I’m depressed and harboring a fatality-inducing stomachache.

  Yeah, so I was basically pathetic. Whatever.

  Just as I was putting the key into the lock on my front door, I heard footsteps behind me. I quickly spun around and my sister appeared out of thin air, her usually bright and happy face pale and drawn.

  “Mia? What’s wrong? I didn’t think you were coming until later?”

  I looked around for her 1999 Honda and saw it across the street. My brows furrowed as I met her solemn-looking face again.

  “Mia, you’re scaring me.”

  Mia didn’t even make a peep. She walked up my broken steps and took my wrist in her sweaty hand and started to drag me down the steps. I tripped, but her grip on my arm held me upright enough that I didn’t completely fall.

  “Mia. Stop!” I yelled, but she didn’t comply. Her grip only hardened on my arm.

  I was honestly scared and at a loss for words. My stomach twisted, thinking something terrible had happened.

  She pulled me down the rest of the street in the one direction that I hadn’t gone yet. I avoided it at all costs.

  Its name came into view on the bright green street sign and I planted my feet firmly on the ground.

  “Mia, no,” I tried to say, but she dragged me even further, ignoring me.

  My feet were aching in my black work heels, but I knew I couldn’t take them off because she would probably just pull me along even harder.

  Once we rounded the corner of my old street, I felt my insides turn to mush. Everything I’d eaten that day threatened to come up and although it was far from hot outside, I was full-on sweating.

  My heart rapidly beat in my chest because I knew we were headed to my old house, the one that burned down and probably had some other stupid house in its place.

  I avoided it like the fucking bubonic plague. I couldn’t stomach seeing another house standing upright, growing happy children with parents who weren’t gone.

  My eyes clenched as soon as Mia stopped walking.

  Her distraught voice had me peeling them open in an instant. “Look. Just look.”

  I slowly rose my head, preparing to swallow bile, and what I saw was so much harder to actually take in than what I’d expected.

  Greif struck me so hard that my hand involuntarily went to my stomach. It clenched and turned in such a vicious way that I felt like an actual knife was cutting into me. Goosebumps broke out along my arms.

  What stood on my street, in the same place that my home once stood… was a house that looked identical to mine.

  Even down to the white siding and navy blue shutters. Almost everything was the same, except for the vehicle in the driveway.

  That’s when my heart and tears fell simultaneously.

  A blue GMC Sierra with a logo on the side reading, “Lanning Construction” was parked in the concrete driveaway.

  A muffled cry came out of my mouth and Mia was instantly there, wrapping her arms around my body.

  I had to get away. I had to get away before Dawson saw me standing here like a complete lunatic, losing her mind.

  Every single scar on my heart was suddenly aching. Memories flew at me from every angle and not only did that hurt, so did the fact that Dawson was there at the house.

  Does he live there?

  What the hell is this? Some twisted version of The Notebook? Was he about to walk out of the house with a handful of letters? Professing his love for me?

  Doubtful.

  I somehow managed to get myself together and grabbed my sister’s hand and dragged her back all the way to my house.

  Once we reached the security of the porch, we sat down on the steps in silence.

  I was trying to sort through my thoughts, but the only thing I could focus on was the how. How had my house been rebuilt? Did Dawson do it? Did Lanning Construction do it? And when? And why?

  So many questions.

  “So, I take it you didn’t know?” Mia asked, finally breaking the silence.

  A choppy laugh fell out of my mouth. “Trust me, if I knew… you would have known.”

  “Who the hell built our house exactly the same? That’s kinda creepy.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. Mia didn’t know much about Dawson and I, and I supposed that now would be a good time to fill her in. She was an adult, so that awkward “I’m kind of trying to be your mom,” thing didn’t really apply any longer. We’d talked about guys before, and sex – and although our relationship in the past was mostly me
trying to be a good guardian for her, attempting to make up for the shitty hand we’d been dealt, we’d grown out of that phase and now were more like best friends.

  So for the next twenty minutes, I told Mia everything. From the kiss Dawson and I shared, many moons ago, all the way to our last encounter at the bar. She didn’t seem surprised, which unnerved me. Maybe I wasn’t quite as good at hiding my feelings as I thought.

  “So, like… did he build that house for you? Was that his truck?”

  I breathed out a bundle of air while unstrapping my heels. I wiggled my toes once they were free and placed them back down on the cool concrete. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “I bet he did.”

  I scoffed. “Doubt it. He basically hated me for leaving without saying goodbye. He didn’t really understand the situation until a few weeks ago, and I highly doubt he built it in that time.”

  Mia’s dark eyes met mine and they twinkled, as if she knew something I didn’t.

  “Are you going to ask him?” she asked.

  I shrugged, scanning all the pretty bronze and crimson leaves littering the ground below us.

  “Maybe, if I ever get a chance. I don’t think we’ll be speaking much anymore.”

  Even as I said it, I could feel my heart deflating.

  My sister snickered. “Okkkkayy.”

  “What?”

  She only shook out her brown, honey-colored hair. “Nothing.” Then she paused, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I miss them still, ya know?”

  A small amount of pain slithered around my heart. “I do, too. Everyday. It’s been six years but somehow, one little reminder makes it seem like yesterday.”

  Mia nodded her head, looking out at the desolate street. I studied her profile, the way her button nose turned up slightly and the way her long, pretty eyelashes curled upward, making her eyes appear even brighter. Even though Mia and I shared the same pain of losing our parents, I still felt even worse for her.

  I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the motherly instinct that I took over the second my parents passed away, or maybe I’d just grown to recognize someone else’s pain before mine, but it made me feel empty and lost.

  Like I was back to being that scared fifteen-year-old, with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  Alone.

  Mia turned her head to mine, locked onto my eyes, and let out a small sigh. “Enough of this sad shit, I’m starving.”

  I laughed. Mia had always been one to use food as a buffer. Food makes everything better, she’d always say. I mean, she wasn’t wrong.

  “Mia Marie, when was the last time you had a decent meal?”

  She rolled her eyes, her normal smile creeping back along her face. “I’m in college… my meals consist of snack cakes and copious amounts of coffee.”

  I groaned. “Well come on, I’ll make you a hearty meal.”

  She snickered. “I can’t remember you ever making a hearty meal that wasn’t boxed mashed potatoes and canned vegetables. Please tell me you remember when you tried to make Uncle Timothy and I a meatloaf one night…” she snickered again, which really just turned into a fit of laughter.

  I couldn’t help but laugh along with her and it felt nice. It felt nice to laugh after being in such a strange and unnerving situation – one that I was going to try and forget. Although, I had no idea how I was going to forget that there was a replica of my old house down the street, and the person living in it was someone who wouldn’t leave my brain, no matter what I did. No amount of Ben and Jerry’s could take the sting out of Dawson’s words…not even when accompanied with a massive stomachache.

  I swiftly got to my feet and opened the front door with Mia still laughing and going on about how my meatloaf tasted like feet, and then that’s when I heard it.

  It sounded like a waterfall.

  My first thought was, did I leave the faucet on? Which didn’t make any sense because even if I had, the men who were over at the house taking a few last-minute measurements of the pipes (according to the voicemail I’d received earlier from Mr. Lanning) would have turned it off.

  I’d assume. But you know what they say when you assume something.

  When I fully opened the door, my mouth fell to the floor.

  The very, very wet floor.

  “Holy fuck!” Mia yelled. I couldn’t even yell at her for using such a dirty curse word because I was frozen.

  My entire house was full of water. Like, not just a little bit damp… there was water everywhere. It covered the tops of my feet when I walked in. Water poured over my toes and crept out onto the porch. The weather strip at the bottom of the door had been keeping it inside.

  I quickly ran into the living room, dropping my purse on the porch first, and went straight to the bathroom. Water was spraying everywhere.

  It hit me in the face so hard that I had to take a step back to catch my breath. It was like walking up to a spewing fire hydrant, spraying rapidly in every direction possible. I was soaked from head to toe and there was no fucking way I could tell how to turn the water off. The only thing I could tell was that water was squirting from an exposed pipe behind my no-longer-there shower.

  They were replacing it and had taken the old one out earlier in the week. Apparently, something had gone very, very wrong.

  I hurriedly ran out of the bathroom, dripping with icy cold water. Mia stood back with wide eyes, taking in my appearance.

  “Holy shit! What do we do?”

  Build an ark and tell people to call me Noah? I have no fucking clue.

  Instantly, I thought to call Dawson. I pulled my phone out of my bag, heart racing from stress, my bare feet squishing on my now wet rug, but then my shoulders slumped.

  My phone was dead! Oh, my God.

  Shit.

  “I’ll be back,” I yelled, running down my concrete steps.

  I knew that if someone had seen me running down the street in a see-through blouse and skirt sticking tightly to my lower body, bare-footed with stringy, wet hair, they’d probably call the police.

  Or a psych ward to come collect me and throw me in with the loonies, but I truly didn’t know what to do and I knew he would.

  I rounded the corner to my old street and zeroed in my gaze onto the blue truck that was still parked in the driveway. My heart lifted.

  Praise!

  I didn’t have time to hesitate as I climbed the familiar porch stairs. I didn’t have time to absorb the pain that I’d felt when walking along the wooden porch and up to the navy blue front door that looked exactly like the one I’d opened and closed so many times in my youth.

  Oh, but I definitely had time to worry that Breanna would answer the door.

  I knocked anyway. No, wait—I didn’t knock; I frantically pounded my wet fist on the wooden door.

  It opened quickly. Dawson stood there wearing only jeans. Let me reiterate that: Dawson stood there wearing only jeans. There was something mouthwateringly edible about an attractive man in dark blue jeans, no shirt, and bare feet. I praised God again, for the beautiful sight.

  The dark jeans hung low on his hips, just below those lick-worthy abs that I just knew he’d have, and then my eyes traveled down to the bottom of his pants, where his bare feet stood out. I licked my lips. Literally. The sight of him snatched words right out of my mouth. In fact, the sight of him snatched any other thoughts right out of my brain. When I finally brought my eyes (that no doubt had “fuck me” written all over them) to his, he locked onto my face for a split second before raking his own eyes down my body. They moved so slowly that I felt like time had stopped.

  A distant throb ached between my legs and my mouth went dry. My heart squeezed in my chest and I was instantly turned on. One look from him and I was drowning in a puddle of swoon.

  Wait, that’s water.

  Oh! My house!

  “Need a towel?” he asked in that overly cocky voice that I hadn’t heard since we were teenagers.

  “My house…”
I shook my soaked hair, still unable to put a proper sentence together. “Water.”

  His dark brows furrowed and he bit his lip. The blank expression on his face told me that he had no idea what I was mumbling about.

  I grabbed his hand, ignoring the stupid, giddy feeling inside my body and pulled him towards my house. We basically ended up jogging our way over there, me pretending that my feet didn’t hurt from running on the sidewalk and him questioning what the heck I was doing.

  “Ivy, what’s going on?” he demanded the second we got to the bottom stair of my porch.

  Mia was sitting on the porch, completely content with the fact that my house was literally flooded. It was actually almost funny.

  “Ivy!” Dawson said again, but I just pulled him up further into my house.

  He muttered, “What the fuck,” as we maneuvered through the living room and down the hall.

  “Wet,” I croaked and he took in the spraying water with wide eyes.

  Dawson quickly went into action. He took in the situation calmly (unlike me) and ran out of the bathroom into my living room, intently searching for something. He found what he needed and ran over to the toolbox that the workers had left. I had told them they could keep it there instead of dragging it in and out of my house every day, and I was thankful because Dawson grabbed what I guessed may have been a wrench, and ran out the front door to my small front yard.

  I followed him briskly and watched as he lifted some lid-thing that was in the grass and lowered his long-limbed body down onto the ground. He took his one hand holding the wrench and shoved it down into the hole.

  I heard the water stop spraying instantly and I had never been more confused in my entire life. So, that’s how you turn the water off? Some hole in my front yard? Who would’ve guessed?

  I also had never been more aroused in my entire life. Dawson’s entire bare chest was glistening with water, and the way his muscles moved so languidly with the tool, I was pretty sure I’d gone to heaven. Picture Michael Phelps emerging from an Olympic pool, swishing out his damp hair, and his very toned torso shining with little beads of water. Just replace the speedo with low-rise jeans and boom – perfect visual.