by Max Monroe
“F-bombs mean business in my book,” he retorted, but his smirk was still intact. “Now, put on the charm and show these small-town folk what it’s like to be in the presence of a celebrity.”
Good Lord. I didn’t like the sound of that. I didn’t want the people in this community to see me as some entitled actress who thought she deserved the red carpet rolled out wherever she went. I wanted them to see me. I wanted them to understand I had taken on the role of Grace because it was important and I cared.
But I didn’t have much choice in the matter because Sam was already in action.
I slapped a smile on my face, frail as it was. Jesus. Was I really about to go over there and talk to people who probably hated me?
Grandpa Sam’s driving hand on my back was an undeniable answer.
Yes. Yes, I was.
God help me.
Given the circumstances, I’d been in a relatively good mood as I arrived at the farce of a birthday party Grace’s family threw for her every year.
I’d always hated these things—the false happiness, the “celebration”—the reminder that Grace would never, in fact, turn a year older. It seemed like an exercise in masochism to me, to confront her mortality and the cruel end to it, with a party every year, but I’d promised myself I’d be more open-minded this time around. I’d take her family’s obvious benefit from holding it to heart and try to understand the positives from their point of view.
My truck coughed as I switched off the engine with a turn of my wrist, and the whine of the hinges sang as I shoved open the door with a booted foot. I’d done my best to dress for the occasion in an outfit of jeans and a black flannel button-down shirt. It might not seem fancy, but Grace had told me she liked the way I looked in it on more than one occasion, and I thought honoring that would be in line with the event.
It made me remember her, it made her feel present, and it made me feel slightly protected from having an outburst by making her castigation seem vivid and current.
I could hear her coaching me to be calm, to smile more, to let go of the wrinkle between my eyes before it stays there forever, and enjoy.
Sure, she hadn’t been easygoing in the end, when her obsession with the Cold-Hearted Killer and her best friend Bethany had taken over the entirety of her ambition and drive, but before that—before terror had found Cold—she’d been the light to my too often dark.
With slow and steady strides, I made my way to the door of Muldett’s, the only banquet hall in town and the yearly location for Grace’s party. It was an obvious choice, seeing as she’d insisted on having her parties here when she was alive too.
It wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but it was the best attempt at fancy our town had to offer. And Grace had wanted fancy. The decorations, the food—she’d wanted it all to be something special. A birthday isn’t meant to be like every other day, she’d always told me. It’s got to be special, cherished. She’d always laugh then. It’s got to be something that keeps you interested in having more, even when you’re pushing eighty and wrinkled like a prune.
Hand on the cold door handle, I snapped back to the present and pushed it open. The room was big, but you could hardly tell for all the people overflowing it. There were familiar faces and ones I only saw once a year. People chatted in small groups while munching on food from paper plates, and kids ran through the legs of adults and played.
I’d only been inside for twenty seconds tops when Grace’s mother’s eyes caught my own and lit with a smile.
Mary Murphy was the epitome of poise. She handled hardship with the same graciousness as prosperity, and she was always the first to make me feel welcomed. I jerked my chin up in greeting and tried to thaw the hard set of my jaw along with the chill in my bones from the wind.
But it was still overwhelming.
This was still hard. Despite pep talks, despite good intention, despite time and effort—when I thought of Grace and all she could have been, I still hurt.
The coat on my shoulders felt suddenly claustrophobic, and the closet on the front left of the room called its respite.
I took it. Without thought or pause, I weaved through the crowd and pulled the sliding door open. Outerwear bloomed and mushroomed in the newly open space, and a quick survey revealed the lack of empty hangers. Not much for fashion or care of clothes, and more than ready to be rid of the stupid jacket, I balled it up and shoved it onto the shelf above.
If I could have found another way to stall, I’m sure I would have, but a tap on my shoulder signaled my alone time was officially over.
I turned slowly, my breath held in limbo between my mouth and my lungs, unable to escape or settle. It wasn’t maintainable, I knew that, but maybe if I passed out, someone would drag me out of here and I wouldn’t have to face it again until next year.
“Lee,” Jeremy murmured as I turned, his voice easing the tension in my shoulders ever so slightly. Jeremy and his wife, Liza, I could handle.
“Hey, Jer.” I took his hand in mine and shook it while giving him a stiff grab to the other shoulder. Liza shook her head at our very “bro” greeting and shuffled Jeremy out of the way to get to me.
With two delicate hands on my shoulders, she got up on her toes and put her soft lips to my cheek. I took her affection willingly, clinging to the closeness. I didn’t allow many people to get close these days, especially women, and I certainly didn’t invite them to stay in my personal space once they were there. I fucked occasionally, but I did it remotely, and I did it with strangers from another town. I didn’t need sad eyes and knowing looks making me feel anything. When I fucked, the only feeling I wanted was in my dick.
Funny how the last time you fucked was before Ivy Stone rolled into town, my brain whispered, and I fought the urge to grimace at my traitorous thoughts.
Yeah, I’d been in a bit of a dry spell lately, but I didn’t need nor did I feel like trying to understand why. Especially, now. It was definitely not the time or place to contemplate that kind of shit.
I didn’t need to be an expert to know I was messed up, but fuck, getting close to someone sounded like signing their death certificate. It was all I knew, all I could remember, all I had to hold on to. I couldn’t protect Grace, I couldn’t go back and change anything, but I could sure as hell do my best to protect the rest of them.
Too bad Ivy is making that task feel impossible.
Silently, I chastised my own thoughts and wished my brain had an actual off button.
“I expected to see you this weekend,” Liza said with a smile. “The girls have been asking for you ever since your babysitting beauty parlor.”
I nodded at her and tried on a repentant smile. It wasn’t one I utilized often, but for Liza and Jeremy, I could try. “I know. I’ll try to come by soon. Work’s been busy.”
She eyed me warily, trying to read the level of my honesty and the red in my eyes. I knew she worried about me, but surprisingly, I hadn’t been making all that many visits to the bottom of a bottle recently.
Jeremy wasn’t nearly as concerned with being subtle. “I haven’t been getting late-night phone calls lately. You haven’t been driving, have you?”
Bristling at his insinuation seemed hormonal and basic, but I squashed it down. I owed this guy my life, several times over. I figured that also meant I owed him an explanation.
“Nah. Haven’t been drinking too much.” I decided to leave out the fact that one night I had. One night, I’d gotten out of my mind, and a little nothing of a woman with red hair and fierce green eyes had stepped up to take care of me.
Jeremy’s smile was just as oblivious to those details as he was. “Good.” He grabbed my shoulder and squeezed but gave my eyes a reprieve. “That’s real good.”
“Yeah, well…” I said and then allowed myself a little laugh. Jeremy looked nearly startled at the sound. “Apparently, it turns me into even more of a bastard than I normally am.”
Jeremy smirked. “Not true. You’re a sweet drunk. Always telling me how
much you love me and shit.”
I shook my head with a grin and looked to my boots before giving him my eyes again. “For now, I’m gonna give not being any kind of a drunk a try.”
Liza grabbed my hand and started to drag me away from the corner and the closet and safety. “I’m sure your liver thanks you. And so do I. Now I can concentrate on getting Jeremy to go down—”
“Do not finish that statement,” Jeremy interrupted, and I nearly covered my ears.
“What?” Liza mocked innocently. “I was going to say go downstairs to get me chocolate cake in the middle of the night.”
“Sure, you were.”
Liza cocked an eyebrow at her husband saucily. “I didn’t say anything. But if you’re thinking something else, Jeremy Thompson, maybe you need to do something about that.”
Jeremy turned to me for support, and I held up my hands. “Hey, don’t look at me.”
He huffed a little, annoyed that I’d ignored the bro-code, and turned to the room. I followed his gaze with my own, surveying the people with a small smile on my face.
And then it faded.
Jeremy and Liza, good friends from way back and privy to my many moods, sensed it and stayed silent.
In the center of the room, a crowd around her that only started to fray on the fourth row deep, Ivy Stone, Hollywood starlet, was holding court. Her smile was on full blast, and her fame glowed all around her. This wasn’t the woman who’d started to infiltrate all of my carefully crafted layers—this was the woman who helped create them.
The vision of her, in all of her celebrity glory, felt like a punch straight to the gut.
Which persona of hers, I wondered, was the truth, and which was the lie?
“What the fuck?” I whispered harshly as she took out a pen and signed a napkin for Grace’s uncle Phil.
Jeremy put a hand on my chest to stop my forward momentum. I looked down at it in surprise. I hadn’t even realized I’d started moving.
“Relax, man. They’re excited to see her. She was obviously invited.”
“It’s fucked,” I snarled back. “This party isn’t about her.”
What was she doing? I mean, she had to know this party was meant to bring all of the people who had loved and known Grace closure. To bring them peace. To let them remember the far too young woman they’d loved so much.
Not turn into some goddamn autograph session to boost her ego.
Couldn’t Ivy see what she was doing might as well have been a goddamn slap in the face to Grace’s memory?
Sadness and confusion and anger flooded my veins. I felt like I was seeing some sort of mirage. Signing autographs? Taking selfies with fans? In the middle of a fucking remembrance party? She might as well have gone straight to the cemetery and spat on Grace Murphy’s grave.
This version of Ivy Stone had me questioning everything I thought I knew about her.
“And it’s not about you either,” Jeremy reminded me. “If you want to express your dissatisfaction, do it later. Quietly. Don’t make a scene.”
I nodded, my thawed jaw hardening so quickly back to frozen. It’d felt good for the minute and a half I’d relaxed. Like I could breathe. Like letting the pain in my jaw ease had also eased the pain everywhere else.
Fucking lot of good it had done. Now, my anger felt doubled. I was mad for the showboating she was doing instead of honoring Grace, and I was mad at her for ruining my good mood. It seemed she was the root of my problems these days, and even though I might have forgotten that important fact for a little while, I’d do fucking well to remember it now. Especially, after seeing this.
Liza widened her eyes at Jeremy as I seethed, I could see it out of the corner of my own, but I didn’t stick around to see more. Instead, I turned on a boot and headed in the other direction. Straight to the bar.
I was on my second glass of Jack when Jeremy joined me. He’d taken his time making an approach, giving me my space to get my head in order, but apparently, my pardon had been revoked.
“How about we have some water?” he asked. No segue, no gentleness. He was nearly as tired of my bullshit as I was.
I nodded. The movement was forced—stiff, even—but I knew it was the right thing. The last thing Grace’s family needed was me coming in here and getting so drunk I dishonored them and their daughter. Not to mention, the fucking mess I’d make for myself.
Chief Pulse stared at me intently from the other side of the room, and I’d noticed Dane getting closer and closer as the minutes ticked by. Evidently, I needed a babysitter.
What a sad fucking showing.
I shoved the remainder of my glass of Jack at Jeremy, and he took it without delay. He knew not to squander an opportunity I’d offered. The more I drank, the less amenable I’d be to rational thought.
Ivy was still flitting, perhaps even oblivious to my presence. I could hear her voice as she floated around the room from one person to the next, but I denied myself the satisfaction of looking to see. I knew it would only fire me up again, and I was trying to calm down, for fuck’s sake.
Why does she have to make me feel so much?
“Looks like Ivy is falling for Grandpa Sam,” Jeremy remarked casually. And just like that—I looked.
Sam Murphy was a flirt if I’d ever met one, regardless of his age. He’d been that way since he was a teenager, at least, according to legend, and I suspected he’d be the same until the day he died.
Misplaced, misspent jealousy brought me to my feet.
Really, Levi? You’re challenging the elderly now?
I sat back down. But I watched.
Ivy tossed her hair from side to side completely unconsciously as Sam made her laugh over and over again. The apples of her cheeks pinked with the exertion, and her toned arms crossed over her stomach in an effort to stop the ache.
Before I knew it, my feet were under me again, but this time…they moved.
One foot in front of the other and a swing in my arms, I matched the tempo of her laugh until it overwhelmed me.
I had a feeling the power of it would overwhelm anyone at this distance, though. Genius that I was, I’d stopped barely a foot away.
“Levi Fox!” Sam shouted, pulling me into a hug before I could spend any real time surveying Ivy’s surprised face. I patted Grace’s grandfather gingerly on the back and then stepped away to a safe distance—from everyone. “How are you, son?”
I nodded, letting the bob of my head fill in for the words I couldn’t say. Verbally, all I managed was a grunted “Good.”
“Do you know Miss Ivy?” he asked, smiling so big I thought his face might split in two. She’d obviously won him over beyond his normal flirting.
She answered for me when the words seemed lodged in my throat. “We’ve been working together. So, yes, Levi and I know each other well.” Her voice was too kind, and I hated how easily it settled into my chest.
Unbidden, a flash of our bodies grinding together paralyzed my mind and numbed my lips. I knew the feel of her, the taste of her, and she knew the same about me. But beyond that, she didn’t know shit.
I hadn’t given her the opportunity.
Grandpa Sam smiled at the false news. “Oh, fantastic! Two of my favorite people, working together to remember—”
“We don’t really know each other that well. Hard to get to know someone when you have next to nothing in common, I guess,” I cut him off caustically before he could mention Grace. I tried not to, but the bite of the mix of memory and the present was too goddamn potent.
The hurt in Ivy’s eyes at the sting of my words was even stronger.
“Uh, hi,” a cheerful voice ventured from my side. I took a deep breath and turned to face the new arrival with a statement of dismissal, but everything in me did a double take.
It was Ivy’s flesh and blood, vibrancy and beauty all over again. A hand moved over my heart subconsciously as I surveyed my sobriety. Had I had more to drink than I thought?
Ivy’s double noticed the confus
ion on my face and offered a soft smile. “I get that look a lot.” A soft laugh. “I’m Ivy’s twin sister. Camilla.”
She held out a hand for me to take, so innocuous in its intent, but two sets of eyes stared at it like it had teeth. The first set, I expected. They were my own.
But Ivy’s, they were something else altogether.
She looked…affected.
Some evil part of me saw the opportunity to take advantage.
“Hi,” I drawled, voice smooth and inviting. Her hand felt like sand in my own, rough and wrong and distinctly unfitting, but I steeled my nerves and settled on a course of action. With one half of an eye to Ivy, I smiled at her sister and treated her to a kindness I’d never shown Ivy personally. Hell, it was a kindness I’d probably never shown anyone, and I couldn’t explain the reasoning.
I just knew that the way it made Ivy fall into herself made me feel good—vindicated. Even if it made the pain inside my chest grow at the same time. She was intent to worm her way into my life, my memories—my details. She thought it should be easier for me to watch her uncover the secrets of a woman who’d been a part of me. Maybe, if I did the same to her, if I forced myself into the cracks of her vulnerability, she’d know what it felt like.
I knew it was cruel, but that didn’t mean I could stop myself from doing it.
“I’m Levi Fox,” I introduced myself. “Ivy didn’t tell me she was a twin.”
Camilla smiled, her hand still in mine. I forced myself not to let it go. “She usually doesn’t. But she is the popular one,” she said, her words meant to tease her sister. “I’m just her lowly assistant.”
I swallowed against the snide remarks begging to come out and focused. “Is that so? Well, I’ll bet you’re the nice sister. The good one.” I winked. “The prettier one.”
She blushed and looked to the ground, and like the dirty bastard I was, I took the opportunity to glance to Ivy. Her cheeks were ruddy and her eyes glassy, and Grandpa Sam had a supportive hand to her elbow. I wouldn’t have noticed him had he not been attached to her with his touch, but confronted with his presence, I couldn’t help but look to his eyes.
