Igniting Ivy (The Men on Fire Series)

by Samantha Christy

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “Back in July, when I came to the flower shop and you said something was wrong but that I had to talk to her, why didn’t you tell me then? Hell, why didn’t anyone tell me? It’s been almost six months and you were all okay going along with this? Even when you knew I loved her? I know she still has feelings for me. I could see it in her face at the coffee shop the other day.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says. She motions over to Eli. “We all are. But she’s my sister. I have to follow her wishes. But the jig is up now. So go talk to her.”

  “No. She can talk to me if she wants. But she won’t. I know she won’t. She’s gone through too much trouble pushing me away.”

  “Bass, don’t close the book on this. Everyone wants her with you. The question is, do you? Do you want her if she’s carrying another man’s baby?”

  I laugh halfheartedly. “I think I’ve asked myself that a thousand times over the past two months.”

  “So, what’s the answer?”

  I toss back a shot that one of the guys left on the table. Then I get up. “It’s been nice seeing you again, Holly. I hope you all enjoy your evening.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Ivy

  I sit and stare at the guitar in the corner of my bedroom. I still play sometimes, just to feel closer to Dahlia. But every time I do, I can’t help but think of Bass. I think of him playing his guitar and then of him holding me in his arms as we strum chords together. I wonder if he ever thinks of me when he’s playing.

  I will myself to get out of bed, knowing I can’t lie here forever. The anniversary of her death has come and gone. And the world didn’t end. I’m still here. I didn’t jump off a bridge.

  The baby kicks me in the ribs. I love it when he kicks. It lets me know he’s alive. I still use the fetal Doppler a lot. It comforts me to hear his heartbeat when he’s sleeping. Still, the nagging feeling I get tells me something is wrong. My doctor says I worry too much. She’s done a half-dozen ultrasounds to check for kidney abnormalities. And although she hasn’t found any, she won’t come out and say the baby will be healthy. Because nobody knows for sure that he will be.

  I remember being pregnant with Jonah. I remember being so happy every time he kicked. Eli and I would sit for hours, poking my stomach and then laughing when Jonah would poke back. We made a game of it, trying to guess which body part he was using to poke us. I remember naming him and making all kinds of plans. And then one morning, he just never kicked again.

  That was the second worst day of my life. I’ve been through eight anniversaries of the day Jonah died. But unlike Dahlia’s death, I have no favorite blanket to comfort me. No scrapbook of drawings. No pictures.

  I was young and naïve when I was eighteen. The chaplain at the hospital urged me to allow the hospital photographer to take a picture of Eli and me with Jonah. With a dead Jonah. I refused, thinking it was morbid and unnecessary.

  Oh, how I wish I had that picture now. All I have of Jonah is the framed hospital document of his tiny footprints. And although the vision of his little, lifeless body is burned into my memory forever, it’s getting harder to remember what his face looked like. Did he look like me? Eli? Dahlia? I remember him being this perfectly-formed tiny human with ten fingers and ten toes. They let me hold him before taking him away. But Eli never did. I think I remember him touching Jonah’s face, but he refused to take him into his arms. Just like he refused to watch Dahlia die.

  A tear runs down my face as I cradle my belly thinking that I might have to go through losing a third child.

  I finally get up, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way to the bathroom. I still wear Bass’s shirt to bed every night. It’s far too tight in the belly and will probably never regain its shape, but just like Dahlia’s blanket, it’s how I hold onto that little piece of him.

  After my shower, Holly tells me what a comfortable, sunny day it is outside. She says she’s going for a run. I check the temperature and see just how nice it is, so I put on my boots and grab my coat and head out the door.

  I walk down the block, inhaling the cool December air as I enjoy the warm sun on my face. I look at all the Christmas decorations lining the streets and in the storefront windows. I had promised myself I would do better at Christmas this year, but I’ve yet to make a single purchase.

  I decide to change that right now and walk into the nearest store. I pick out some sweaters for Holly and Christina, a collection of cookbooks for Mom and Dad, and a Nighthawks jersey for Alder.

  Then I take a deep breath and go into the kids’ section.

  “Can I help you?” a young lady asks.

  “I need a present for a two-year-old boy. My nephew.”

  She smiles as she looks at my belly. “Oh, then this must be your first.”

  I don’t acknowledge her statement and I know she must think I’m a class-A bitch.

  “Well, does he like cars? Trucks? Disney characters?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure what he likes.”

  “In my experience, you can’t go wrong with machinery. I’ve got lots of choices right over here.”

  I try to get my legs to move, but they won’t. I’m stuck looking around at thousands of toys and I feel my throat swell up. I haven’t been in a toy department in well over a year. I unbutton my coat because it’s getting hot in here. The air has become thick and is weighing down on my chest. I feel like I’m suffocating.

  “Can you please just pick something for me?” I hand her three twenty-dollar bills. “Anything will do.”

  “Of course.” She nods to my belly. “Would you like to pick out something for the baby as well?”

  I shake my head as a wave of nausea courses through me. “I should probably go. I’m not feeling well.”

  She eyes the bags in my hands. “I’d be happy to have all your purchases sent to your residence so you don’t have to carry them.”

  I nod. “Thank you. That would be great.”

  I hand over my bags, scribble my address on a piece of paper, and then bolt out of the store.

  I walk around the corner and lean against the side of the building, catching my breath. I think I’m having a panic attack.

  “Miss, are you okay?” a man asks.

  His companion looks at my large belly. “Oh my gosh, are you in labor? Should we call nine-one-one?”

  “No!” I shout. “Please don’t. I’m okay, I just lost my breath for a second.”

  The man escorts me to a nearby bench where I sit down and try to calm myself. The couple stays with me until they are sure I’m not going to pop the baby out right here on the street corner.

  I shake my head at my stupidity. What if they’d called 911? Would it be Bass’s company who was called to the scene? Of course it would, his station is just a few blocks away.

  After sitting on the bench for another few minutes, I find myself getting up and walking in the direction of said station. It’s in a residential area with row houses across the street. I stand behind a tree next to the sidewalk and stare at the firehouse. The garage doors are open, making me wonder if they are always open as they were when Holly and I visited earlier this year, or if they are just trying to get some fresh air on this unseasonably mild December day.

  I see the two large trucks. What was it Bass called them? Engine and Squad? And I see an empty bay where I assume the ambulance must go when it’s not out on a call.

  And then I see him. I see Bass near the back of the garage, off to the side of the trucks. He’s sitting on a chair playing guitar. Someone walks by him and he stops temporarily to have a conversation, laughing with one of his colleagues before resuming his playing.

  I wonder if he plays outside so he doesn’t bother anyone in the house. As I recall, it was all fairly open and maybe the guitar would echo throughout. Do they know what they’re missing out on? His music is incredible. My body is begging for me to get closer so I can hear what he’s playing, but there isn’t any way for me
to do so without being seen. So I stand here, leaning against a tree, pretending I can hear him play. And I like to think he’s playing the song he composed for me in Hawaii. The one he called ‘Greene Eyes.’

  “You can go over there, you know,” a woman says, startling me from behind. “They love to have visitors. They’ll give you a tour if you want.”

  “Oh, no. That’s okay.” I turn around to face her, nodding to my belly. “I was just stopping to rest for a second.”

  “I’d say it was more than a second,” she says. “I’ve been watching you from my window for twenty minutes. It’s why I came out here.”

  “Sorry.”

  I’m not sure what else to say. Does she think I’m stalking her house or something?

  She looks at my belly speculatively, then back over at the firehouse. Then her lips pucker and her face falls into a frown. “Six babies have been left at this station this year. I suppose it’s more honorable than a dumpster.” She shakes her head in disapproval. “Just don’t leave it out in the cold, okay, miss?”

  I gasp at her insinuation. “I’m not leaving my baby there. I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

  “Oh.” She nods in understanding. “I see. The baby daddy is a fireman.”

  I shake my head sadly. “No, that’s not it. I’m sorry. I should go.”

  “Good luck, miss. Whatever you decide.”

  As I walk away, I look back at the station one last time. That’s when I see Bass standing in the driveway in front of the trucks, staring at me. We lock eyes for a second. Or maybe a minute. Or an hour. I’m not sure how long it is because time stands still.

  He looks at me differently this time. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s almost the same way he used to look at me when we first met—like he feels sorry for me, but at the same time, like he wants something from me. Something more.

  I surmise that I’m just imagining things. He said he’s done with me. He thinks I’m married. And it’s for the best really. He’s better off being as far away from me as he can be.

  I can’t stand here any longer without wanting to go over to him. So I do the only thing I can. The thing I’ve excelled at for the past five and a half months. I walk away.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I’m proud of you, little sister,” Holly says on her way to the shower.

  I stare at all the Christmas presents I wrapped that are now stacked high on our kitchen table. I stopped at five more stores on my way back from the firehouse. I had to do something—anything to get my mind off the man who was staring into my soul.

  I think I’ll tell Holly that we should get a tree. I know she hasn’t brought it up because she’s afraid it will upset me. But what nobody seems to understand is that remembering Dahlia and Jonah isn’t the problem—it hasn’t been for a while—not since Hawaii. It’s the fear of history repeating itself that keeps me up at night. And causes panic attacks in toy departments.

  I stand back and look at the mess I’ve made in the room. Pieces of wrapping paper are all over the floor. Bows, tags, tape, string—they litter the room in colors of silver, red, and green. Dahlia would be happy. She loved Christmas. In fact, she’d probably sit in the middle of the mess and wrap herself in the scraps of paper. And then I’d unwrap her and pretend to be surprised and tell her she was the best gift I’d ever gotten. And it would be true.

  Then the oddest thing occurs to me. I wonder what happened to Dahlia’s stocking. We didn’t hang stockings last year—at least I didn’t. I never bothered to ask my family what they did. I spent the entire day in my apartment dreading Mom, Dad, Alder, and Holly coming over to dole out the obligatory presents before they left and I could go back to being a zombie.

  Holly said they put all Dahlia’s stuff in storage. Maybe it’s time for me to go through her things. Because standing here, thinking about Christmas—it just feels wrong without having her stocking here. In fact, I think I’ll make one for Jonah, too.

  There’s a knock on my door. I look around at the messy room, knowing that with my huge belly, there is no way I can tidy things up quickly. But I doubt the kid delivering my dinner will mind too much.

  When I open the door and see Bass, I freeze. Immediately, dread washes over me. I glance down at what I’m wearing. His T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants.

  When I look back up at him, I see that he’s doing the very same thing. His eyes are glued to the T-shirt he gave me in Hawaii.

  “I, uh … was wrapping presents,” I say, as if that explains why I’m wearing his shirt.

  I roll my eyes at my stupidity.

  “Can I come in?”

  My stomach flips over at the sound of his voice. The low, sultry timbre of his words that I’d forgotten just how much I loved to hear. Of course, maybe it wasn’t my stomach flipping. It could have just been the baby kicking.

  I back up and move to the side, not finding any words to say that won’t make me sound even more awkward.

  He walks in, paces around the room, and then nods to my left hand. “I know you’re not married, Ivy. In fact, I know Eli is engaged to another woman.”

  “What? How?”

  Holly walks into the room, ready for her night out. Bass motions to her. “Because I ran into them on Friday.”

  My jaw drops when I look at Holly. She doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. “Why didn’t you tell me, Hol?”

  She grabs her purse off the table. “You two need to work your shit out,” she says. “I’m leaving.”

  “Holly.” I stare her down.

  “Ivy, I’m tired of it. Aren’t you? Isn’t lying to him exhausting? Now sit your asses down and talk.”

  She walks out the door. But Bass doesn’t sit down. He paces around again, running his hands through his hair.

  “Make me understand,” he says.

  I rub my hands over my belly. “There’s nothing to understand, Sebastian. I’m having someone else’s baby.”

  “You came to the firehouse, Ivy. And the way you looked at me there, and at the coffee shop. Hell, the way you’ve looked at me since I’ve known you. How can you look at me like that and push me away?”

  “What is it you don’t understand about me having Eli’s baby?” I say.

  “But you don’t love Eli. You love me.”

  I shake my head as if what he said isn’t true.

  “Ivy, I know you do.” He gestures to my shirt. “Look at you, you’re wearing my goddamn T-shirt even after all this time.” He rubs his forehead in frustration. “Listen, I know it’s not your fault that you were pregnant in Hawaii. You said you didn’t know and I believe you. Why are you letting that keep us apart? Do you think I can’t love another man’s child?”

  My eyes become moist and my throat tightens as I shake my head again. “It’s not that,” I whisper.

  “Then what is it? Why the hell won’t you let me in?”

  I sit down on the couch, my legs too shaky to hold me. “You can’t understand, Bass. No one can.”

  “Why don’t you try me? I might surprise you.”

  I look over at a picture of Dahlia hanging on the living room wall. “I think losing a child might just be the hardest thing anyone could ever go through. I wasn’t about to put you through that.”

  “Put me through that?” he asks.

  I nod, picking at a piece of lint on the sofa. “I knew you’d still want to be with me,” I say. “Even if you knew I was carrying Eli’s child.” I look up at him. “Am I wrong?”

  “No. You’re not wrong. I loved you, Ivy,” he says, his voice cracking. “I still love you.”

  “Don’t you understand what would have happened?” I ask. “You would have gone through this pregnancy with me. You would have put your hands on my belly every night, feeling him kick, and squirm, and get the hiccups. You would have talked to him and bonded with him even before he was here. You would have tried to name him and make plans.”

  “Him?” he asks. “It’s a boy?”

  I shrug. “I’
m not sure. I didn’t want to know.”

  “All those things you said I’d do sound like pretty normal things, Ivy.”

  “Nothing about this is normal, Bass. I’ve had two babies. Two babies who are dead now. Two babies who made me fall in love with them before my heart got ripped out. And it’s about to happen all over again. I’m not about to take you down with me. It’s not fair.”

  His face falls into a sympathetic frown. “Oh, God. Does the baby have it? Does he have ARPKD?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. There is nothing definitive on the ultrasounds. But that doesn’t mean anything. They didn’t see anything abnormal with Dahlia, either.”

  “So he or she could be perfectly normal,” he says. “In fact, odds are that he will be.”

  “I don’t look at odds anymore,” I tell him. “I don’t have the best track record at beating them.”

  He stares at me, trying to get a handle on the situation. Then he huffs in anger. “So, what the fuck, Ivy? You just unilaterally decided to cut me out of your life? You took away my choice in the matter? You didn’t even talk to me about it. You just made up lies to push me away? What gives you the right to mess with my life like that?”

  “You don’t understand,” I say, a warm tear rolling down my cheek.

  “No, you don’t understand.” He strides over and pulls me off the couch.

  He takes me into his arms and kisses me. He kisses me hard. So hard it’s almost painful. But I think it’s painful because his kiss hurts my soul. It hurts because I love him so much. It hurts because I think about him every day and dream about him at night. It hurts because it makes me remember the good times we had in Hawaii.

  His kisses become softer. They become the words he’s trying to tell me. They become the pleas I’ve been refusing to hear. I get lost in his kiss. In his silent appeal. I get lost in him. The only thing in the world that is real in this moment is this kiss. And for a second, I remember what it’s like to be happy.

  Then the baby jabs me in the ribs.