by J. Saman
Are they getting married or something? I didn’t see a ring on her finger.
“Whatever the case with her and Craig, I don’t think she’ll give in to you again.” That’s Claire, and as always, she’s unhelpful.
“You do know that you’ve been my friend longer, right?”
Claire shrugs. “I like her more. She’s fun. When I grow up, I want to be her sister, Sophia.”
“I know, right,” Kate says, slapping Claire’s arm playfully. “Sophia is freaking awesome. I can’t wait to see her again. I’m so happy Ivy moved back.”
“Traitors. All of you,” I point at the people that I previously referred to as my friends.
“I’m still on your side,” Ryan offers. “And who knows, maybe third time’s a charm for you two.” He’s teasing me and it’s annoying, but he’s also right. I have so much ground to make up with her, and that ground has turned into Mount fucking Everest now that she’s with someone. Not just someone—a pediatric surgeon who she works with and is, according to Claire, sex on legs.
I may just be screwed here.
Why didn’t I make her see me that day? Any of those days? Why did I allow her to walk away without talking to me?
“You really think I’m done?” I ask no one or everyone or myself.
They’re all silent, and though we’re in the middle of a crowded bar, I feel like I could hear a pin drop.
“But things are different now,” I persist, trying to convince no one or everyone or myself.
“Are they, though?” Claire says. “I mean, we still don’t know dick about you, Luke, and I think that was the crux of the problem the last time, if I recall.”
“Why are pasts and histories so important to you women?” I point at Claire and Kate, and even Lyla who is silently watching all of this. “For that matter, why can’t you ladies just be happy in the present? I mean, you’re all about knowing every damn detail about a man’s past, and once he spills that, you’re all about the goddamn future. Where is this going? What does this all mean? Shit, just be happy in the fucking moment!” I slam my hand on the hard high-top table with a little more force than I intend, causing some of the drinks to slosh and spill. “Sorry, I’m just aggravated.”
“Listen, Luke,” Claire says, moving until she’s right in front of me and I’m forced to look down and meet her dark blue eyes. “Not all women are like that. Personally, the last thing I want is someone’s story, but I think I’m unique in that. I still can’t imagine how you all go after relationships with outstretched arms like they’re the end all and be all. But Ivy is like that. And if you want a relationship with her, a real one, you need to be willing to give her all of you. Because that’s what people do when they’re in love and shit.” Claire turns to Ryan and Kate looking for backup. “Am I right here? You two are my relationship compass, and you’re all about the sharing of stories and feelings,” Claire says that last word in an acerbic tone.
“You’re not wrong,” Ryan says calmly, his eyes blazing into mine.
“I pulled back. I managed to get myself out, well, partially out. But I’m out enough that I can be with her. Why can’t that be enough?”
“Maybe it is, but maybe it’s not,” Kate says. “But it’s still going to be something hanging over your head no matter what. I don’t know your past, but I don’t need to. If you love Ivy, if you want her the way you say you do, then you need to trust her.”
“I know.” I sigh, just a little defeated, and a lot sick with the idea of fessing up.
It was something I had hoped I could build up to slowly or not do at all, but something tells me Ivy won’t even consider me again unless I’m willing to lay it all out there for her. Unless I do give her everything and let her pick. And then there’s a real and distinct possibility that she won’t pick me.
“Love sucks.”
“Right?” Claire snorts. “That’s why I don’t entertain that emotion. It’s nothing but trouble.”
“Not for everyone, Claire,” Duchess Kate says, maybe a little hurt by her best friend’s words as she rubs a tender caress over her enlarged belly. “Love can be painful, and sometimes, indescribably awful, but avoiding it all together?” She shakes her head.
“Whatever, I’m a lot younger than you love-struck fools, and maybe when I’m old, I’ll be there too.” Claire turns back to me, giving me her full attention. “Luke, man the hell up. Stop being a pussy and go after her ready to do battle and hand her the keys to your . . . whatever the hell you call that thing.”
I run a hand through my short, slightly prickly hair.
“You guys suck, you know that? What’s the point of having friends if you’re not going to lie to my face and tell me that everything is going to be fine? I mean, what the fuck?”
They snicker and smile, but I’m sort of not joking here. Sort of anyway.
I leave the bar and my friends who think I’m an asshole for wanting to go after Ivy and do something I should not be doing. I hack the GPS on her phone and find out where she lives.
Okay, so maybe I am an asshole. In my defense, I felt guilty as shit about it, but there is no way I could ask Claire or Kate where she lives. But I promise to use my powers for good and not evil.
I’m repeating history a little too closely here.
Especially since it’s now dawn and I’m sitting in the doorway of a building across the street from her new apartment. Or rather her and Craig’s apartment. Yeah, that was bitten out, get over it.
But this is exactly what I did after the night I saw her again at Kate and Ryan’s dinner party. Only this time, she lives in a high rise. These buildings aren’t really my type. I get people are all about amenities, but the cookie-cutter layouts, small accommodations and nosy neighbors don’t do it for me.
I like my space. I like my private space.
So why am I here?
Because I couldn’t sleep, of course.
My friends’ ugly words have been playing in my mind on repeat, and that made me restless and had me hacking shit, which led me here. I’d love to say my activities weren’t illegal, but I’d be lying and that is something I don’t do.
Hey, we all have our limits.
Is omitting really the same as lying? I mean, that’s sort of a fine line, right? I think I’ll walk on the side that says omitting really isn’t the exact same as lying.
So here I sit on freezing cold steps without the luxury of a bench, waiting for the sun to fully rise—it’s scheduled to anyway—and once it does, I need to find Ivy.
I told her I’d see her again today and she didn’t tell me no.
To me that’s an invitation.
Does that make me creepy as hell?
Probably, but when you’ve got nothing going for you, you grasp at whatever you can.
And I’m grasping.
I can’t let her go again. I just can’t. I need Ivy more than I need anything or anyone else in my life, and though I’ve fucked up a time or two or six, I’m determined to make it right.
I decide that I’m not going to stalk her–okay, I may already be doing that–but I decide I’m going to text her and ask her to meet me for breakfast at a coffee shop around the corner so we can talk. And even though it’s early as hell, I do that and then I wait for her to wake up and respond.
It’s mercifully dry, but it’s not all that warm yet, so I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jacket and wait, but I don’t end up having to do that for very long. But my response is not in the form of a text message. No, before the sun is fully up, Ivy is walking out of her building, looking around like she’s expecting someone to jump out of the shadows at her.
What are you willing to bet that someone she’s looking for is me?
She’s not dressed for work. In fact, she’s not even in comfy clothes or pajamas, even though it’s barely five in the morning. She’s wearing tight-as-sin jeans, leather boots and a leather jacket.
Holy fuck, is my girl going for a ride?
Before consc
ious thought catches up with me, I’m running across the desolate dark street in her direction. I’m wary of startling her, so I call out and she freezes, slowly turning to face me, not all that shocked to see me.
“I was hoping to avoid this,” she says with a hint of annoyance.
“But you know me too well,” I respond, stopping my little jog once I’m a foot or two away from her. It’s dark out, not quite pitch black, but the street lights are still on and they’re definitely the only light we can see each other by.
“What are you doing here, Luke?” She sounds tired. Possibly with me or possibly from lack of sleep while she stayed up all night thinking about me.
“Do I really have to explain that or can we just bypass that nonsense where we pretend I don’t stalk you in a positive, healthy, non-threating way?”
Yeah, it’s there. That small twitch of her lips that says I can still make her smile. I could live off of that for years, making her smile.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says. I ignore the aggravated edge in her voice.
“Sure you do,” I say confidently. “You just don’t want to want to talk to me.”
“Right, clearly your ego has remained unscathed in the year since we’ve seen each other.” Ivy turns on me, suddenly full of rage that seeps from her pores as that perfect control she normally exudes slips away. “The real issue is,” she holds up a finger halting herself like she just remembered a point, “let me amend that, one of the main issues here is that we wouldn’t even be talking, you wouldn’t even be standing here, if I hadn’t run into you at the pub last night.”
I’m shaking my head the entire time and this just seems to piss her off more.
“How can you shake your head? How can you stand there and deny that?” She wants to hit me or slap me or shake me, or do something violent. I can see it in her eyes. That fire, all that pent-up angst, tells me that she’s still mine.
No one can make you this crazy unless you love them.
“Because last night was not the first time I’ve seen you.”
“Bloody liar!” she yells, and now she does shove me. I can see the hurt I’ve inflicted, rippling off in waves. It crumbles any charm and bravado I was trying to hold onto. It crumbles everything because hurting Ivy breaks me.
I grab hold of her hands, locking them against my chest before I manage to pull her into me. She tries to fight me off, struggling like hell.
“Stop fighting me, Ivy, and listen to what I’m telling you.”
“No. I don’t want to hear a word. I hate you. I wasn’t mad at you before, at least not really, but now?” She shakes her head, blinking back tears that say love and not hate. “I hate you.”
“I’ve been to Boston three times in the last twelve months to see you. I realize that’s not a whole lot, but I was there.”
“Then why did I never see you there?” Her tone is incredulous, and maybe a little hopeful, but it sounds more like she’s hoping I’m lying. Ivy does not want to love me. Ivy wants to hate me because this sort of hate is so much easier than love.
“Because I suck at life, Ivy.” For some odd reason this makes her stop squirming to look at me. “I went the first time a month after you left. I couldn’t stand it anymore, being apart from you, so I went. But nothing in my life had changed, so I didn’t even see you, because I knew I’d get on my knees and beg, and that wouldn’t be good for you. The second time was about six months after that, and that time I did see you, but you obviously didn’t see me. I camped out at the hospital and watched you walk in, but you were in a rush and looked anxious. I got a call and had to leave.”
“None of this is all that compelling.”
“Yeah, I know that. Neither is the last time I went. It was about a month ago.” This makes her eyes widen in bewilderment. “But by that time, some things had changed. Some big things. And I thought, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t ruin your life if you took me back. But then I saw you standing in the lobby of the hospital with a tea in your hand in front of that crazy ball pinging thing they have there. You were smiling down at kid who looked sick, and her parents were talking to you with big smiles on their faces like you were the answer to their prayers. So I watched you and you seemed happy—so fucking happy. I knew if I approached you with my bullshit, you wouldn’t be so happy anymore, and I chickened out.”
“I was happy, Luke. I am happy. And I don’t want you messing with that.”
That hurts like hell to hear. Not that she’s happy, I rather enjoy that, but the me messing with her happiness part. That thought sucks and I won’t do that. I won’t. But maybe there’s a middle ground here that I’m missing.
“Do you love him?”
She stiffens, and then realizes that she’s still in my arms and extricates herself from me quickly, pushing off of my chest like I have the plague or something. Ivy doesn’t even look at me when she responds, her eyes are focused on the yellow pool of light on the ground from the street lamps, her arms wrapped protectively around her waist.
“Craig is not what you think he is. He’s a wonderful man and I care very deeply for him.” It sounds like a standard answer. Like she’s rehearsed this over and over again in front of a mirror.
“Do you still love me?” I wince as the words leave my mouth because I know what’s about to come next from hers.
Her eyes flash up to mine and sure enough she says, “No.” And it’s an emphatic no, definitely not rehearsed. But maybe it’s a little too emphatic? Maybe she’s trying to convince more than just me when she says that?
Here’s hoping, right?
“I really do need to leave.”
She runs off into the predawn darkness without another word and I let her go, because even though I’m hoping she didn’t really mean it, it still kills me to hear.
Chapter 25
Ivy
“I can’t believe you told him you don’t love him,” Sophia says through her laughter. It’s a big laugh, so it takes her a little extra time to get the words out.
“Why not?” I ask just a little indignant. I was rather proud of myself for saying it so boldly without the slightest hint of a warble.
“Because luv, you’re the biggest pussy I know when it comes to confrontation, and I just so happen to know a lot of pussies.”
“Ugh, Soph. I did not need that visual.”
“Maybe not, but it’s still all true.”
I sigh, as I switch lanes on I-90 heading toward Issaquah where my parents live.
“All that aside, none of it matters. I’m done with Luke Walker, and it would be nice if he got the memo.”
Sophia snorts. “Who the bloody hell says memo? No one uses memos anymore when there’s email and text.”
“You really are missing the point today,” I huff, just a little exasperated. I was hoping for some good, old-fashioned sisterly support and I’m getting none.
“No, I’m not. I’m proud of you for telling him that, but I’d be even more proud if you meant it.”
“You’re not helping. I’m almost at Mum and Dad’s. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Aces. Tell them I love them and all that good rubbish. Ring me later.”
“Right. Bye.” I press the button on my steering wheel to end the call and then a few minutes later, I’m pulling into their driveway.
My parents moved to the States after dad lost his job back home while I was a teenager. Sophia had just moved here to attend university, and I think my parents took that as an omen to follow. We originally moved to northern California, but after I moved to Seattle for medical school, they came as well. They’ve been happy since, but considering the house is clad in Australian flags, AFL team Carlton jerseys and old cricket paraphernalia, I’d say they miss home more than they let on.
I don’t knock or ring the bell, I just turn the knob and enter. Mum yells at me if I don’t consider this my home as well. I missed them while I was away. They did come out to Boston to see me once, but it wasn’t nearly enough.
I’m glad to be back in Seattle.
I loved Boston, but this place is home for me. So now I’m a board certified emergency medicine attending physician in the Emergency Department.
“Mum? Dad?” I call out, but I hear the telly on in the back room, blasting what can only be football, so I head in that direction.
“Oh. Good, you’re here,” Mum says as she rounds the corner before I reach the kitchen.
I give her a big hug and kiss her cheek. “I’m here.” I smile.
I look a lot like her. Her eyes are bluer than mine, but we have the same light brown hair. She looks tired. My dad’s illness has been rough on her, mainly because she doesn’t like to leave him all that often but needs to work too. She teaches at a local elementary school.
“How’s Dad today?”
Mum waves me off, “He’s fine. You know him.”
I nod, but hate that answer.
My dad had surgery for a hernia repair about three months ago, and for some unexplained reason, the whole insult to his body threw him into stage four renal failure. They’ve tried medications and the like, but nothing seemed to help. Now he’s on dialysis as well as the transplant list.
I offered him one of mine since I’m a match, but he refused. I told him if he didn’t receive a new kidney in the next six months, I wouldn’t give him a choice.
My dad is bloody stubborn, so it’s been an ongoing battle between us.
“Did he go for his dialysis today?”
“He did, but don’t pester him anymore about the transplant. He’ll spit the dummy and I don’t want to hear the two of you go on about it.”
“I won’t upset him. Promise.”
She smiles, patting my cheek tenderly. “Oh, that bloke is here. That one you tossed all that while back?”
“Bloke? What bloke?”
Please tell me it’s not him. Please tell him it’s not him.
My mum narrows her eyes at me like I should already know and I hate that, because of course I do.
“Luke. He’s watching the football match with your father.”
