by Marie Harte
An hour later, while Lara stitched him up and complained about not being qualified to tackle split skin and possible infection, he tried not to look at Foley, who fussed like a mother hen.
“Shit. My mother, Cyn, Ivy—they’re going to blame me for letting you get like this.” Foley paced. “And that conversation from before, we never finished.”
“Not now, Foley.” Sam groaned and drank more whiskey. “Thanks, Johnny.”
Behind Lara, Johnny stood watch. “No problem. Want some more?”
“He’s had enough,” Lara snapped and turned her mean eyes on Sam. “Now, unless you want me dragging your ass to the hospital, no more alcohol. And stop moving.” She glared at him.
He glared back but said nothing else.
Foley, damn him, talked for him. “So Louise fucked you over, again. Except this time, she’s threatening people you care about.”
“She always does that.” God, he wanted to sleep for a week. Besides being tired, the needle Lara was dragging through his side freakin’ hurt.
“So what’s different?”
“I told her to shove it. That I was done.”
“Good for you.”
“Yeah?” Sam growled. “Well now you’re going to pay.”
Johnny looked from Sam to Foley.
“How’s that?” Foley asked, not sounding as concerned as he should.
“She’ll start badgering Del, trying to get you fired. Cars you’re working on will show up with scratches in the paint, slashed tires. Your tools will go missing. Shit will stop working. And she’ll fuck with Eileen. Yeah, that’s right. The wedding, her real estate deals—Louise will screw with all of them. And Ivy.” He swallowed hard, the sting of her loss too recent to bear. “She’ll fuck with her business. Ruin her job at the massage place. That’s Ivy’s job, man. Louise is good at making accusations. Shit. She’ll end up getting Ivy’s license taken away.” And then Ivy would hate Sam for ruining her life.
He never should have pursued her.
“All this because you said no to Louise for what?” Johnny asked quietly.
“For everything. No more trying to help her. Her threats about Foley and Eileen went away years ago. But I’m tired of her always telling me shit. Always talking down to me. I’m just done. I told her that. That I had someone who actually did love me.” He sighed. Ivy. He looked at Foley. “She followed me to town, man. She’s here, threatening to fuck with people. I know Eileen will be okay. She’s got Jacob, and she’s a tough broad.”
Foley gave a forced smile. “Hell yeah.”
“And she can’t do too much to you now that you’re all happy and shit with Cyn. I mean, if she even looked sideways at Cyn, Cyn would eat her alive,” Sam continued.
This time Foley gave a real smile. “You got that right.”
“But she can hurt Ivy. And she’ll do it.”
“Hurt her how? With a gun?” Lara asked, pausing in her stitching.
“No,” Foley answered for him. “By screwing with her reputation, pulling stupid crap at the shop. Breaking a few windows, small stuff like that. Why didn’t you ever tell us she was holding that over you? I thought you helped her because you felt guilty or something. Like you owed her.”
“I do. I mean, I did.” He’d been with Louise for so long because of what his father had done to her. And all the sacrifices she’d made to raise him. But for Ivy, he’d wanted to cut Louise off, to finally be free of her negativity.
“So this is about Ivy?” Lara shook her head. “Man, you guys are always so dumb.” She pulled particularly hard before tying off her thread.
“Lara,” Johnny admonished. “The guy’s hurting. Go easy.”
She frowned at Sam. “Look, Sam, if it were me, and Johnny was having all these problems because of me, I’d want to know. Because if he were going to do something stupid”—she paused, and her eyes narrowed—“something like dump me to protect me, I’d nail him so hard in the balls he wouldn’t walk right for weeks.”
Johnny put a protective hand in front of his crotch. “Hey now, that’s not necessary.”
Foley chuckled. “Yeah, um. Could you two give us a minute?”
Lara stood, kissed Sam on the head, and muttered under her breath as Johnny and she left the kitchen.
“Is that what all this is about? You indenturing yourself to Louise for life so her hatred can’t hurt us?”
Sam shrugged.
Foley punched him in the arm, hard enough to leave a bruise over the other bruises darkening there.
“Hey. What the hell?”
“Idiot. Seriously. What are you thinking? Cut the cord, dude. Mom and I will be just fine. But if you ditch Ivy, only the best thing to ever happen to you, all because of Louise?” Foley got down in his face. “Then you’re a bigger pussy than Goodie.”
Sam glared. “I’d hit you if I could without tearing my stitches.”
“Great. Fight back.” Pause. “Pussy.”
“Damn it. You don’t understand. She’s toxic, man.”
“Do you love Ivy?”
Sam stared up at the ceiling, not liking the emotional bent of the conversation.
“Do you, jackass?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“So act like you have a pair and fight back. I’ll back you. Mom will.”
“So will we,” Lara yelled out.
“Shh. We’re not supposed to be listening,” Johnny said in a superloud whisper.
“Christ.” Sam rubbed his aching head. “What am I supposed to do?” He wanted to fight for her, but his mother still had that ace in her hand—knowledge of where Sam had come from. His stupid birthright and a lifetime of making him miserable. Every time he hoped and reached for the mother who’d been nice to him, he got this Louise. The acidic, screeching witch.
His phone buzzed, and Foley grabbed it out of his hand before he could read it.
“Ah, you want my advice?” Foley’s eyes widened at what he read. “Go home and be with Ivy before your mother gets there.”
“What?” Sam stood, swore at the pain in his entire body, and wobbled on his feet. He would have fallen if Foley hadn’t caught him.
“Come on. I’ll drive.”
Chapter 19
Ivy waited at Sam’s, worried and feeling foolish. But she needed to talk to him. Sex had probably not been the best way to show him how they connected, but she hadn’t been able to think past wanting him to feel better. And sex had definitely eased some stress from him.
But as the hours passed and she waited for him, staring at her phone for any word, she wondered if she’d done the right thing. He meant so much to her. He had to know she wanted him as more than a lover.
She texted him to let him know she would be waiting for him when he came home.
She sat on his couch, thumbing through the channels on his huge TV.
The door opened, and she stood, hoping he’d talk to her.
But Sam didn’t stand there.
Louise did.
The angry woman let herself inside without closing the door. “So. You’re still here.”
“You’re Louise Hamilton, Sam’s mom.”
“No shit.” Louis sneered. “And you’re the latest slut throwing herself at my son.”
Ivy studied her. Louise wore jeans and a leather coat, neither cheap nor flashy-expensive. Her long, dark hair lay in waves around a face that could have graced magazines, she was that striking. She definitely had that heroin-chic look going for her. Yet despite her obvious good looks that even drugs couldn’t tarnish, everything about the woman felt ugly.
“Why are you so angry?” Ivy asked, feeling surprisingly sorry for the vengeful woman.
“Why are you after my son?”
“I love him.”
Louise snorted. “Right. You just love his cock and his money.�
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“He’s not rich. And he’s not the most charming man I’ve ever met,” Ivy said calmly. “But he’s the most decent, the sweetest man I’ve ever known. Why can’t you see that?”
Louise fumed. “He wants nothing more to do with me because of you. Are you that desperate that you can’t see he has other responsibilities? It’s not all about you, bitch.”
“My name is Ivy. And it’s not all about you either, Louise.”
The woman, incensed, came at Ivy, her fingernails poised as if to scratch Ivy’s eyes out.
But Ivy refused to be intimidated. “Really? You’re going that low? Scratching me? Heck, Louise. I’d rather you punched me instead. Don’t lower yourself to stereotypes.”
Louise paused. “What?”
Ivy sighed. “What’s this really about?”
“I told you.”
“No. Your son does everything you want when you want it. You blackmail him to be at your beck and call with threats to ruin his friendships. Who does that? Do you love him at all?”
“He’s mine.” Louise thumped her chest. “My son. I carried him. I gave birth to him. I raised him—”
“Sounds to me more like Eileen and Foley raised him,” Ivy said, taking a shot in the dark. From what little Sam had told her, Louise hadn’t done much good for him. “Eileen gave him food. Eileen gave him clothes. Foley looked out for him. What did you do? Drugs?”
Louise flipped her off. “Fuck you. What the hell do you know? I was thirteen years old when I got pregnant with him.” Louise leaned forward. “You know how? Do you know what Sam’s daddy did to me? He was a twenty-two-year-old convict who liked to rape teenage girls. And guess what? I got pregnant.”
Ivy had wondered about Louise’s young age. “I’m sorry, but—”
“But nothing, bitch. I was raped. I had a baby. At fourteen. It hurt, and I had nowhere to go. No one to help me.” Louise dashed the tears in her eyes. “He was so cute, my baby boy. I loved him. But he started looking so much like that piece of shit. He has Cody’s eyes, his size. God, he looks just like him.” Louise seemed to be looking inward, not seeing Ivy at all. “I raised my boy by myself. No help from anyone. And when that fucker went to jail for raping and killing another girl, I was glad. He died in prison. Did you know that? Did precious Sam tell you that?” she spat. “Prisoners hate pedophiles more than anything. More than cops even.”
“I’m so sorry, Louise.” Ivy felt for the woman. “But that didn’t mean you could punish your son for it. He was innocent.”
“He’s a man.” Louise shook with fury. Or from drugs. Ivy couldn’t tell. “They’re all assholes.” She cried in earnest. “But he’s my son. The only thing I got. And you can’t take him from me.”
She darted at Ivy, but this time Ivy was ready. She made a fist the way Sam had taught her, and then she let it fly.
To her shock, she hit Louise in the cheek, and the woman stumbled and fell on the couch.
“Oh my God.” Not sure what to do, she stared at Louise, who was groaning.
“Damn, girl. Nice shot.” Foley entered half carrying Sam. He wore a big grin, so she had a bad feeling he’d heard and seen too much.
“Louise. Fuck.” Sam shuffled to the couch, far away from his mother, and sank into it. “Go home.”
“Sam, wait.” Ivy helped Louise stand, not surprised when the woman ripped her arm away.
“I’ll sue your ass. I’ll make you wish you’d never met me or that piece of shit.” She nodded at Sam. “And you, Foley. You dumbass. You’re done. I’ll find you, your whore, your mother, and I’ll—”
“Shut up,” Ivy yelled in her face, feeling a warped pity and fury that this woman continued to act so cruelly. “Look, bitch,” she said to get her point across. She poked Louise in the chest as she talked, reinforcing who had the floor. “Enough. You’re done. Whatever you think you have on Sam, you don’t. I love him. He loves me. What happened to you was tragic. What you did to Sam to make up for it was worse. You’re abusive, bitter, and just pathetic. He said he’d be there if you got help. Well? Get help! Stop threatening everyone. Stop blaming the world, and Sam especially, for your tragedy.” Before the woman could speak, Ivy said in a loud voice, “Yes, you were raped. We all heard it. We all know. That’s awful. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But enough already. Sam’s not to blame. You aren’t either. And we sure aren’t,” she said of herself and Foley. “I’m going to tell you this one time. Leave him alone unless you’re going to apologize.”
“For what?” Louise snapped, sullen, sunken in on herself.
“For doing to him what was done to you,” Ivy said.
“What?”
“His father raped you, took something from you. Just as you took Sam’s childhood from him. He deserved better than a mother always blaming him for something out of his control.” She poked Louise hard enough to bruise her own finger. “He didn’t ask to be born. You made that call. Too late to take it back now. But the abuse, it stops here. He’s not your bank. He’s not your keeper. He doesn’t owe you jack shit.” She stopped poking the woman before she lost it and punched her again.
“You know what?” Louise steadied herself on her feet and glared at them all. “You want him so bad? You keep him. I’m done,” she shrieked, and tears coursed down her cheeks. “No more.” She hurried to the door, then turned and watched Sam.
Ivy saw him looking at his mother, so dejected it hurt her deep inside.
“You were such a cute little boy.” Louise shook her head and whispered, “My precious baby. And now… You’re nothing.”
She left.
Sam leaned over, burying his head in his hands. He shook, and she thought he might be weeping.
Foley looked angry enough to punch through a wall. He walked to her slowly, and she didn’t know what to expect. The huge kiss and hug threw her.
“God. If I wasn’t in love with Cyn, I’d marry you tomorrow.” He nudged her toward Sam, then moved to the door. “Need to talk to Louise myself.”
He left.
Ivy cautiously approached Sam, then stopped when he lifted his head. “Oh my God. What happened to you?”
* * *
Sam felt so confused. He was elated that Ivy had stood up for him. Ashamed everyone knew he’d been conceived as a result of rape. Even worse that he looked just like the guy. And then, the ultimate rejection from the woman he’d tried so hard, for so long, to get to love him.
Shit. He didn’t know why he was crying. But he couldn’t stop. He hurt all over. And deep down inside, he worried the pain would never end. Only anger had ever worked before to stop the pain.
Anger…and Ivy.
But would she still love him now that she knew?
“Shh. It’s okay, Sam. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” She sat next to him on the couch and cradled him to her.
The tears came harder, him crying like a damn pussy and unable to stop.
Foley returned, saw them, and left for his room. He shut the door and didn’t come back out.
Ivy stayed with Sam until he had no more tears left.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s all okay. I love you.” She stroked his hair until he fell asleep.
When he woke the next morning, he lay full out on the couch, a blanket over him, his pillow under his head. Someone was licking his face, and he hoped to hell the tongue was canine.
“Cookie?” he rasped, his voice hoarse.
He heard voices in the kitchen. It hurt to sit up, but Sam had lived with pain all his life. He slowly stood and forced himself to straighten, ignoring his many bruises, and joined Foley and Ivy in the kitchen with Cookie dancing behind him.
His best friend and Ivy stared at him in concern. “I can’t look that bad.”
“You look worse.” Ivy didn’t look too pleased with him.
Foley walked up to him
and did the worst thing possible. He hugged Sam until Sam wheezed, his ribs throbbing, and murmured, “I love you, brother.”
Shit. Sam’s eyes burned again, and he had to blink back tears.
Then the bastard pulled back, glanced from him to Ivy, and slowly backed out of the kitchen. “Ah, I need to get to work. I told Del you’re sick, so you’ve got the day. Good luck.” Behind Ivy, he made a scared face.
Ivy didn’t turn her head, watching Sam. “I can see you, Foley.”
“Hell. She’s just like Cyn.” Foley hurried to his room, then reappeared with his bag and raced out the front door.
“So.” Sam sat slowly, trying not to wince. Between Stenson’s fists and Senior’s knife, life would be full of aches for a while.
“So? That’s all you have to say to me?”
“Ivy, I’m sorry, okay?” For so much.
“Be more specific,” she snapped.
She was pissing him off.
“Hey, I tried to keep you out of it.”
“How? By making me fall in love with a moron who picks fights with four men and a knife-wielding maniac?”
He blinked. “Ah, so that’s why you’re mad?”
She stared at the ceiling as if the answers were up there. Hell, Eileen had been looking for them up there for years and never found a one.
“Talk.”
“I was upset, okay?” He’d tell her all of it. Most of it she knew anyway. “My visit with Louise was bad. I couldn’t take her shit anymore. Her name-calling and orders were enough. But she wanted me to get her drugs, and I’ve never done that. Alcohol is one thing. Drugs? Boosting her a car? Hell no.” He sighed. “Then she kept saying how awful I was, and I couldn’t help it. I bragged about you.”
“Me?”
“I told her someone loved me.” He hoped she still did. “So I couldn’t be that bad.”
Ivy sat next to him and grabbed his hand.
Hope unfurled within him, edging out the despair. “I thought about you, about all you said, and I told Louise to get help. That I’d be there for her if she did. But she didn’t want counseling. She wanted the boy who’d fucked up her life to get her some oxy.”
