FALL INTO FOREVER

BETH HYLAND

For my wonderful family.

chapter one

When I am silent, I have thunder hidden inside.

~ Rumi

Ivy

I’m standing in the bathroom of the biggest party off campus, but I don’t have to pee. I grip the edge of the counter and try not to hyperventilate. I gasp for air, but all I can manage are a few shallow breaths. It’s like my brain knows I want to scream, but it won’t let me take a deep enough breath to make a fool of myself.

Don’t cry. Don’t freak out. It’ll only make things worse.

I can vaguely hear my old therapist admonishing me to change my affirmations from negative to positive, but right now, under these circumstances, that’s totally impossible.

Pinching my eyes shut, I drop down in front of the sink cabinet and tap my head against the wood. Not hard, but hard enough. I’m hoping it’ll help me think of what to do.

One. Two. Three.

The wimpy part of my personality wants me to climb inside the tiny space under the sink, fold my head to my knees, and wrap my arms around my shins.

I want to hide. Disappear.

The new me, the person I’ve sewn together with the parts I want to be, is unraveling at the seams, the threads joining them suddenly weak and brittle. I read this dystopian book once where people were actually constructed from parts of others who were unwound. That’s me right now. A disjointed, incomplete person. Take a piece away—I won’t notice. Take two. It doesn’t matter.

Classic heavy metal blares from downstairs and rattles the floor beneath me. The front door slams over and over as more students come and go. There’s talking, lots of laughing.

They’re the kind of people who don’t have a bunch of shadows hiding inside them. People who can have fun. People whose only challenge on a Friday night is what to wear to an eighties theme party.

If only that were me.

I may look like I belong with them, but deep down inside, I don’t. They don’t live with secrets and forgotten memories like I do.

My shoulders feel heavier than they did before. I tighten my hold on the countertop to keep from falling backward on my butt.

Come on, Ivy. Get a grip. You can’t stay here all night.

For the first time since coming into the bathroom, I notice that the toilet seat and lid are up. I’ve always had this irrational fear that I, my cell phone, or my keys will somehow fall into a toilet bowl if it’s open. I force myself to stand, reach over with my foot, and kick it down.

The noise jolts me, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My reddish-brown hair hangs in limp waves past my shoulders, the corkscrew curls all but gone now. Twin tracks of mascara are running down my cheeks. I don’t recall actually crying, but it’s obvious I have been. How long have I been in here, anyway?

I turn on the faucet to wash my hands and splash my face with water. Maybe that will help.

My stomach clenches with revulsion when I see the only towel in the room. It’s dirty and hangs crookedly on the rack over the toilet, limp and damp from use. Soap scum coats the sink and drain, even though you can tell someone tried to wipe it off with something. Probably that towel. A bar of Irish Spring sits in a waterlogged soap dish with—um, sick—a curly black pube clinging to the top.

No splashing my face with water. I turn off the faucet.

Someone pounds on the door and I jump. My gaze darts to the latch below the knob. Should it be turned to the left or the right? I did lock it, didn’t I? The crystal knob rattles, but the door doesn’t open. It’s still locked.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Come on. Hurry up.” It’s a guy, but I’m pretty sure it’s not him.

I don’t answer. Maybe he’ll go away. I need more time.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Not when part of the past I thought I’d left behind is playing quarters in the next room.

At first I couldn’t figure out why he looked so familiar. It took me two, maybe three seconds to figure it out. He's taller. More filled out than the last time I saw him. And he has a bushy beard that he didn’t have before. But I guess that makes sense. Lincoln Falls High has this tradition where all the senior guys who play a sport grow facial hair. Or, I should say, they try to grow facial hair. Some of them shave it off at the end of the season (thank God, because I hate beards), while others keep it all year long and look like the Duck Dynasty dudes in their Senior Prom pictures.

Maybe I can leave without him seeing me. I’ll open the door and hustle past the room where I saw him. My hair is long and thick enough that if I pull it over one shoulder and lean forward slightly, it’ll cover the whole side of my face like a curtain. If I’m lucky, I can be outside in like, twenty seconds, and then I’ll text Cassidy that I want to leave.

My heart rate has dropped from the about-to-have-a-heart-attack-and-die mode to just the really-freaked-out mode. Taking a deep breath, I reach for the door handle. My palms are sweaty, so I wipe them on my jeans and notice the teal polish on my toes.

Crap. Cassidy convinced me to wear these three-inch heels tonight because, paired with my skinny jeans and this cute teal H&M top I borrowed from her, I looked hot. (Those are her words, not mine.) Now I’m regretting that I let my vanity listen to her, because I won’t be able to run very easily. I slip them off and hook one finger under the back straps. Standing on my tiptoes, I try not to think about the skanky tile floor touching my newly pedicured bare feet.

Someone pounds on the door again. “Hey, Rickmeister, do you have a key? I think some chick’s in here getting sick.”

I just about jump out of my skin. And my bladder shrinks. I’m not saying I pee my pants, but I almost do.

“No fucking way,” another male voice answers. “Not another one.”

There’s more pounding and the door handle rattles again. My heart is seriously about to leap out of my chest right now. I take a step backward. The countertop presses into my butt.

“Hey, you in there, unlock the door.” This is a different voice. Which means there are at least three of them. There’s probably a crowd forming.

There is no way in hell I can go out there now. Everyone will be looking to see who locked herself in the bathroom and possibly puked her guts out. And by everyone, I mean him.

What are the chances that Chase’s brother Aaron would show up at PSU? And why now—just when I was really feeling like my life was getting back on track, and my past was in the rearview mirror?

But maybe what I’ve put together here is just a joke. A house of cards, ready to topple over in a light breeze.

No one from Lincoln Falls goes to school here. That’s one of the main reasons I picked PSU. He’d better not be a current student here. Surely I’d have seen him before now, right? Plus, my mom would’ve heard that Aaron was here and told me. Wouldn’t she?

But then, if she thought it would lead to another so-called meltdown, maybe she’d just say nothing and hope it wouldn’t come up. She’s always had a close personal relationship with her friends Denial and Avoidance.

I glance desperately around the room, looking for some options. The shower curtain is clear, so it’s not like I can pull it closed and hide in the tub. Which, if I’m being truthful, is a stupid idea anyway. Speaking of stupid ideas, there’s a door that I’m pretty sure is a closet, but I open it anyway.

Yep. A closet. Full of shelves. Nowhere to hide.

The window above the toilet is open a few inches and doesn’t have a screen. But more important, if I stand on the toilet lid, I’m pretty sure I can pull myself up and climb through. It occurs to me that this is an old house and windows in old houses are notoriously sticky.

I push on it. The window slides open easily without even squeaking.

If that’s not a sign I’m meant to do this, I don’t know what is. I mouth a silent prayer of thanks.

A blast of frigidly cold ocean air hits me in the face. Not realizing I’d been holding my breath, I let it out slowly, inhaling and exhaling a few more times. I feel slightly less trapped.

But now what? It’s dark and I can’t see much. I could step out and literally fall to my death.

And then I remember seeing guys on the roof when we came to the Christmas party here last month. Two of them were singing carols with a megaphone, while others threw beads and hard candy, like they were on a parade float. A piece hit me in the shoulder when a few of us were walking around outside. I hesitated, because I’m a serious candy freak, but kept walking when I realized it was butterscotch. I hate butterscotch.

To make a long story short, the roof has a lot of flat parts.

Careful not to touch the towel, I step onto the toilet. If half-wasted guys dressed like nuns and priests can walk on the roof of this house, surely it can’t be that hard.

* * *

Two hours earlier…

When things don’t go the way you planned, something needs to change. Hoping a situation will magically get better without doing anything different has gotten me into a lot of trouble. I once heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of mental health “issues,” so I’m sensitive to stuff like this.

“What?” Cassidy yells above the music, leaning closer and cupping her hand to her ear.

“I think we should leave.” I blow into my bare hands. It didn’t occur to me to bring gloves.

She rolls her eyes and gives me an exasperated look. “It’s not that cold, Ivy. Besides, we just got here.”

My roommate and I, along with a bunch of other people, are standing on the covered porch of the huge old house. With the rain coming down in sheets, we’re waiting to get into the first big off-campus party of winter quarter. Everyone’s huddled together trying to stay warm and dry, talking and laughing about what they did over the Christmas break. None of them look as cold as I feel.

“Yeah, twenty minutes ago.”

You have to be on the list or vouched for in person by someone who lives here. Guess they think that’ll stop the cops from busting them. But Cassidy’s cousin forgot to put our names down, which we didn’t find out until we got to the front of the line, so we’ve been waiting for him to come get us. Cassidy doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, even though her family used to live in Hawaii up until a few years ago. As a transplant from California, I haven’t built up my cold weather calluses yet. It’s like going barefoot for the first time in the summer. It hurts until your feet toughen up.

“I’m developing a serious case of frostbite. I think it could be fatal.” I let my teeth chatter for effect.

Cassidy puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “Don’t be so lame. It’ll be worth it once we get inside. Trust me.”

I hope she’s right. Although I’ve been to a few parties since I started at Pacific State University in the fall, they’re not really my thing anymore. But since I don’t have a lot of homework yet, I couldn’t use that as an excuse not to come with Cassidy.

The guy and girl at the sign-in table are wearing mullet wigs. “Welcome to the FA Eighties,” the dude shouts to the people next in line. “Name please.”

Two guys in PSU baseball caps and high school letterman jackets step forward. I can’t tell if they’re still in high school (which would be weird) or if it’s just part of their costume.

“What does FA mean?” one of them asks.

“Fucking Awesome Eighties,” the sign-in dude says without looking up from the pages. He makes a check mark next to their names. The girl hands them each a red plastic cup and they head inside.

The guys who live here are known for throwing outrageous themed parties. The one last month right before the break had a “religious” theme. I say that in quotes because, apart from the costumes—Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Moses, Buddha, druids, even a pope—it was far from saintly. At least you don’t have to come in costume, because I’m not really the cosplay type.

The opening guitar riff from “Back In Black” pierces the night air. Cassidy lets out a little squeal, puts her hands on her knees and starts to shake her butt.

“Oh my God!” My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “Are you crazy?” Is my roommate seriously starting to twerk? If so, I am sooo disowning her. She’s not even buzzed—this is the normal Cassidy. I glance around. People are staring, not quite sure what to make of her either.

“Come on,” she says, trying to get me to dance with her.

I hold up my palms. “No, no, and no. I think you’ve got your decades mixed up.”

Undeterred, Cassidy continues to dance, and sure enough, a few others join her. I step back and watch, shaking my head. Cassidy is one of those self-assured people who doesn’t think twice about doing something totally crazy that draws attention to herself. I guess that’s what makes her so fun, even if she mortifies the hell out of me sometimes.

A girl from my humanities class last quarter is right next to me, laughing. I can’t remember her name. Kako, maybe?

“Is that your roommate?” she asks.

“Yeah, she—”

Kako starts taking pictures with her phone and I lose my train of thought.

“Are you…going to post those?” I ask warily.

“What?” Kako yells, not taking her eyes off the phone display.

“Online. Are you going to post those pictures online.”

“What?” she repeats. “I can’t hear you.”

I look around and realize that others are doing the same thing. When Cassidy makes devil horns and sticks her tongue out at someone taking a picture, I know I’m overreacting. I just need to relax. Not everyone is as concerned about online privacy as I am.

“Never mind.”

After the song is over, Cassidy comes back, laughing and out of breath.

“Nice,” I tell her. “Very classy.”

“If you’d joined us, you’d be much warmer now. You need a drink, Ives. A serious one. As soon as we get inside, we’re going straight for the keg.”

They call this place the White House, because it’s, well, white, and it’s a mansion. Someone’s grandma lived here until she moved to a nursing home a few years ago. It’s basically like a frat house for the grandson and a bunch of PSU guys, without the rules or the social obligations.

Cassidy catches me checking the time again. “Would you just relax? Tate said he’d be out in a minute.”

“You sure he’s not dogging us? Maybe he doesn’t want to corrupt his sweet, innocent cousin.”

She makes a face at me. “I’m sweet, but hardly innocent.”

“Tell me about it.” I lean against the pillar and cross my arms. “You’d better not be texting me another XOX tonight. I spent way too long in the TV room the last time. I ended up watching a bad sci-fi movie on Netflix with those two guys who live on the third floor, and I really don’t feel like doing that again.”

“I told you earlier Will was coming over. It’s not like you didn’t have any warning.”

“Five minutes is ample warning?”

“Try thirty.”

“Ten. Maybe. And that’s being generous.”

“Okay, fifteen.”

You can’t win with Cassidy. She hates losing an argument. “Whatever. The point is, you didn’t give me much time to make other plans.”

“He’s not here tonight, anyway. He went home for the weekend.” Something in her voice doesn’t sound quite right.

I frown. “Will went home? Why so soon?”

She pretends to be examining her nails, but I can totally tell she’s not. “We only Skyped once during the break.”

“Just once in four weeks? I figured you guys would be talking every day.” They were getting pretty damn serious toward the end of last quarter. Will even spent Thanksgiving with her family.

“Yeah, so did I. But every time I texted him, he said he was busy and didn’t have time to talk. It was really…weird. I think he might have hooked up with his old high school girlfriend.”

“Why do you think that?” I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned this before now. Maybe that’s why she insisted on coming to the party. She needs something to keep her mind off the fact that Will might be cheating on her.

She shrugs. “I wish you did some kind of social media, Ivy—then maybe I’d know if I was being paranoid or not. Over the break, I stalked him online and…”

Stalked?

I’m suddenly boiling hot with this scarf around my neck. I tug on it to make it looser. “What? So I can…stalk…him, too?”

“I want to know what you think. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I mean, he can be friends with an old girlfriend without wanting to hook up with her again, right? Maybe that’s all it is.”

“I suppose it’s possible…”

“But not probable,” she finishes for me. Her shoulders sag.

I don’t want to go all negative on her and agree, but I think she’s right. Why else would Will not want to talk to her during the break? Before I can reply, a string of obscenities erupts from inside the house, followed by a few loud grunts. Sounds like an argument has just gotten physical.

The two people at the sign-in table jump up in unison. “What the hell?” the guy says, stomping toward the door. “If it’s one of those high school kids, I’m going to be so fucking pissed.”

“They’re letting in local high school kids, but they make us wait outside? That is sooo lame.”

“Maybe it’s someone’s little brother and his friends,” Cassidy says. “Ryan visited me my freshman year and got so sick at a party that he puked on my neighbor’s bed and passed out in the men’s bathroom. The RA found him in the shower at six in the morning, wearing leopard-print underwear and nothing else.”

I laugh. “Poor Ryan. What kind of a big sister are you?”

“He was supposed to be staying in my friend Steve’s room, but he wandered off.”

The music stops. Now we can really hear the fight. I’m envisioning someone getting slammed up against the wall and furniture being knocked over.

We press our faces up to the glass next to the front door. It’s frosted and all we can see are a bunch of shapes. But the shapes are—

Cassidy and I jump out of the way just as two guys come crashing through the door and fall at our feet. Instantly, people from inside and outside the house crowd around us.

“Are you fucking crazy?” The guy on the bottom is trying to wriggle free. He’s the smaller of the two. Wiry, with long arms and legs, he flails against his opponent, but the guy on top is much stronger.

From this angle, I can’t see the stronger guy’s face, just his broad back and shoulders. His black T-shirt stretches tightly over tattoo-covered biceps. I wouldn’t be surprised if the shirt had a graphic on the front for an MMA gym, because this guy is definitely tough. None of the smaller guy’s punches seem to be having much of an effect on him.

Grabbing fistfuls of the skinny guy’s shirt, the stronger guy hauls him to his feet. Dark hair hangs over his forehead, obscuring his face. He reminds me of a wild animal, ready to rip out this guy’s throat. I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if he let out a growl right now.

“Oh my God,” a girl behind me whispers. “That’s Jon Priestly.”

“Which one?” her friend asks. “I’ve never actually seen him in person before.”

“The hot one, silly. The one beating up that other guy.”

Jon Priestly? I take a closer look. He’s obviously someone well known at PSU, but I’ve never seen or heard of him. Maybe he’s one of the football players. He definitely looks like one. Unlike the tiny college I transferred from, which was basically an extension of high school, playing at a Division One school like PSU is a big deal. Many of the players go on to play professionally.

“Get the fuck out of here,” the guy named Jon is saying.

“But it’s not my fault. Brick said—”

“I don’t want to hear your lame-ass excuse, Chris. You’re done.” He points toward the road. “Out.”

I have no idea what this Chris guy did, but since he’s the weaker of the two, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. I’ve seen anger like this before and believe me, it’s not fun being on the receiving end. In fact, it’s terrifying. I clasp my hands together to keep them from trembling. I’m so close to what’s going on it’s like I’m a part of the action with the anger directed at me.

My head throbs as bits and pieces of another fight flash in my head.

No. Don’t go there. You can’t.

I rub my temple, aware that I need to shut it down quickly, otherwise I’ll end up with a debilitating migraine—one that could last for days. Not good at the beginning of the new quarter. The medication I take does help, but I only have one or two pills left.

“Ivy, are you okay?” Cassidy whispers, her eyes wide. She’s looking at me like I’m the one who just got beaten up. My face must be ash white.

“I’m fine,” I mutter. With the crowd pressing in around us, it’s not like I can easily turn around and leave, anyway. I continue watching, even though I don’t want to. When you mix alcohol and male egos together, the resulting cocktail is often a bloody and violent fight.

Chris adjusts his baseball cap, angling it backward. “God, you are so fucking uptight, Priestly. I said I’d get it.”

“You’re too late. Your promises don’t mean shit anymore.” Jon’s tone is knife-edge sharp. I wouldn’t want to cross him.

“That’s not true,” Chris is saying. “I—”

Jon jabs a finger at him like a weapon. Chris jumps backward, just out of reach. Scratch what I said about him looking weak. The guy is small, but he’s wiry and quick. The fight isn’t as one-sided as I thought.

“You owe a bunch of money,” Jon says. “And the fact that you didn’t pay when you said you would has caused a lot of problems. Problems that someone like you couldn’t begin to understand.”

“Seriously? You need to relax. It’s not like you can go to the Bahamas on three hundred bucks. Besides, I never said I wasn’t going to pay. I said I was good for it and I am. But it’s going to have to wait till next week, when my dad puts money into my—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jon holds up his hands. “You’re using your daddy’s money to buy weed? Does he know he’s funding your extra-curricular activities?” He’s looking at Chris like I look at someone who’s hawked up a loogie on the sidewalk.

Cassidy and I exchange glances. So this fight is about weed. Jon sells it and Chris buys it. Neither of us smokes weed, but we’ve both tried it—a fact I learned about her on the second day we met, along with a bunch of other details that usually take weeks for strangers to share with each other. Like the number of guys she’s slept with (five). She’s lactose intolerant and gets diarrhea if she eats dairy. Also, her mother made her get one of those under-the-skin birth control implants right before she left for college because, in her mom’s words, “College is one big sex-fest.” We had a good laugh about that.

“Who cares where I get the cash? Am I right?” With a cocky expression, Chris looks around at everyone, flapping his arms like a football player trying to incite the crowd for the next play. I can’t tell if anyone is agreeing with him or not. He turns back to Jon. “I said I’d pay and I will. Money is money.”

Jon shakes his head, his eyes flashing with anger. His whole body is tense and flexed, his hands balled into fists. A few black leather bracelets are stacked around one wrist. Either that, or it’s one long cord that he’s wrapped around and around. I tear my gaze away. I have a thing for guys who wear man-jewelry, but I definitely don’t want to be jonesing for this one.

“You’re even more pathetic than I thought,” Jon says through clenched teeth.

“You need to chill. What’s one more week? The bitch is loaded.”

Jon’s punch is lightning fast. It hits the guy in the face and knocks him into the porch column next to me. I try to jump away, but the sea of people is as solid as a brick wall. Blood splatters, making a fan pattern on my cute white jacket. A few people in the crowd scream, including me.

Jon glances up, and for a split second, his gaze locks on mine. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. All the oxygen has evaporated from the surrounding air as well as from inside my lungs. It’s like I’m the one who’s had the wind knocked out of me, not his opponent.

I’ve never seen eyes like his before. So vibrant. So stunning. You’d expect someone with hair as dark as his to have the dark eyes to match, but his are a pale, crystal blue. Like cut glass lit from within. And right now, they’re icy shards, freezing me in place.

It takes me a moment to catch my breath, for the blood to flow into my fingers and toes again. By that time, his attention is back on the guy he just hit.

Chris touches his mouth and nose. His hand comes away covered in blood. “What the fuck, Priestly? You broke my nose.”

“Actions have consequences,” Jon says. “That’s one of them.”

“I can’t believe you actually broke my nose.”

The way he says it makes me wonder if they hang out or might have been friends at one time. Guys are weird. They can be best friends one minute, then beat the crap out of each other the next.

Gingerly touching his nose, Chris mumbles under his breath, “You’re such a fucking loser.”

Jon lunges forward again and grabs him. The crowd parts as he drags him down the steps like a rag doll. Away from me. I can finally breathe again.

Once they’re out on the lawn, he gives the guy a hard shove. “You promised to pay, dickwad. Or didn’t your daddy teach you that? Stella’s not running a charity. Now, get the fuck out of here before I break something else.”

A low murmur runs through the crowd. “Stella?”

“Who’s Stella?”

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”

“Yes, he does.”

“No, he dumped her.”

Chris lobs a few more parting insults, but when Jon starts after him again, he storms across the lawn with as much swagger as he can muster. He jumps into a shiny black Beemer parked halfway down the driveway and floors it. Gravel sprays in a wide arc, hitting a few nearby cars. I’m glad I parked around the block. Even though I have a POS car, I’d have been pissed if it got pelted with rocks.

Jon rubs his bloody knuckles as he turns back to the house. “Party on,” he says, and everyone laughs.

The music returns, and people are laughing as they line up again to get inside. It’s like the fight we witnessed was just a blip—a rock breaking the surface of the water, making a momentary ripple. I wonder if stuff like this happens all the time at the White House. No wonder the place has a reputation.

Jon stops to talk to a group of girls standing at the foot of the porch steps, their faces turned up to him like he’s some sort of rock star. Yeah, he must be on the football team.

“Are you okay, Ives?” Cassidy repeats her earlier question. “And your jacket. Ugh.”

I plaster on a smile and try to sound lighthearted. “Well, that was interesting. Does that happen often?” I take off my blood-splattered jacket and hold it by the loop in the collar. “I’m fine. But I don’t think this is.”

“Yeah, that sucks,” the girl behind her says. “I hope it comes out.”

Cassidy agrees. “Maybe we can dab it with water once we get inside.”

It’s a two-hundred-dollar North Face jacket that I bought at Nordstrom Rack for seventy-five bucks of my own money. It’s really cute. Slim, like a shell, not bulky but very warm. I’ll be pissed if it’s ruined. “That’s what I get for wearing white, I guess.”

It pains me to say that. Growing up, my mom never let me wear anything white, saying it stained too easily and that I was too messy. Even in high school, she bitched about me buying anything completely white. Seriously, white shorts are the cutest, but no, I didn’t have a pair. So when I first went to college, I went on a white shopping binge. Skirts, shorts, jeans, tops.

I’ll probably need to call her for stain removal advice. I’ll tell her I got a bloody nose or something, which wouldn’t be that much of a stretch. After the accident, I was getting them once a week or so. Then again, I don’t want her worrying about me. That would be worse.

Jon’s coming up the steps now, all five girls in tow, one hanging off each arm. They’re each wearing matching pink T-shirts that say something about…church? Okay, that’s weird. Must be a sorority joke. Moving aside to let his entourage pass, I lean back against the porch pillar as Cassidy talks animatedly to that girl. As soon as she’s done, I’m going to tell her I want to go. I can feel the beginning of a headache starting to form at the base of my skull already.

Cassidy stops in midsentence and stares just over my shoulder. Something strong closes around my upper arm and pulls me around. However, instead of swiveling, the heel of my shoe slips on the wet porch floorboards. As if in slow motion, I’m falling headlong into a hard male body, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I hit that muscular chest with an umph and slide cheek-first down the black T-shirt, stopping literally inches from his belt.

And the bulge below it.

Oh my God. I am so freaking embarrassed right now.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” Long-fingered hands cup my elbows and set me back on my feet. “You okay?” Jon’s voice is soft and tinged with amusement, but not cruel. Totally different from when he was talking to Chris.

“I’m…uh…fine.”

A clean scent, faintly spicy, fills my nostrils and lungs, invading my body, and courses through my veins like an illegal substance. He doesn’t loosen his grip or step away, and although my teal top has long sleeves, my skin burns where his hands are touching me. He steals away my breath, my energy, my very essence.

Without blinking, he holds me at arm’s length and lets his gaze travel slowly over my body. Every inch of me tingles. And I mean every inch. My toes. The backs of my knees. Between my legs. My belly. My ears. My scalp. All my senses are on complete overload and for a split second I feel myself teetering. If he wasn’t holding onto me, I’d have to place a hand on the pillar to steady myself to keep from falling again.

He’s a good six or seven inches taller than I am, which is impressive, since I’m five foot eight. I’m used to looking guys straight on, or at least almost straight in the eye, so it’s a weird sensation for me to crank my head up like this. He’s got black gauges in his earlobes the size of a medium-tipped Sharpie. A bruise is starting to form under his left eye. Guess he took a few blows after all.

I should say something to fill the awkward silence between us, but nothing that’s not completely stupid comes to mind. Nice right hook or Good fight don’t seem appropriate.

His expression darkens, and I’m filled with a sense of unease again. It takes me a minute to realize he’s looking at the bloody jacket I’m holding and not me.

His female entourage has had enough of this interruption and tries to pull him away, but he shrugs them off. “Go inside,” he tells them without turning around. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

One of them protests, “But—”

“Go.”

None of them look too happy, but they do as they’re told. I’m struck by the fact that I was a lot like them just a short time ago—doing what a guy wanted me to do even if it wasn’t what I wanted. This break in focus snaps me out of la-la land and I regain some of my lost composure.

They file past us into the house, and each of them gives me the once-over. I want to tell them, “He’s all yours, ladies. Don’t know him. Don’t want to know him.” Instead, I straighten my spine and try to ignore my body’s insane physical reactions to this complete stranger. I can’t let a guy like him affect me this way. Not only does Jon Priestly sell drugs, he’s also got a violent temper. If I were in the market for a boyfriend right now, which I’m not, I’d pick a smart, sweet, law-abiding guy any day of the week.

“Your coat,” he says, frowning.

I shrug, pretending it’s no big deal. Part of me is afraid of him, but the rest of me is utterly fascinated. Who is this guy? He’s wild, almost primitive. And I’m too weak to resist. If he pushed me up against this pillar and kissed me right now, I might—just might—be stupid enough to kiss him back.

Geez, Ivy, you’re better than this. You’re not that stupid. Not anymore.

My inner voice is right. Why am I attracted to boys who aren’t good for me? I’m so disappointed in myself, I can hardly stand it. You’d think that after what I’ve been through, I’d be smarter than this. Obviously not. If I could slap my face right now, I totally would. No more guys with tempers. No more guys with cocky attitudes who think they’re the shit.

“Come inside. You can clean up there.” He makes a move toward the front door, assuming I’m going to follow him inside like an eager puppy.

Well, you know what? He’s wrong. I’m not interested in how he’s going to help me. I may be a fool, but I’m not stupid. Any hesitation on my part, any little opening, and bam, a guy like him will force his way in. And I don’t need that.

“No. That’s okay. I’ll wash it when I get home.”

Some girls may find a guy like Jon exciting and charming. Some are even naive enough to want to date them. But guys like him can harbor dark, dangerous secrets. Secrets you don’t want to know or be involved in. How do you think they got this way in the first place? It’s best to follow your head and stay as far away from them as possible.

Trust me when I say this: Guys like Jon Priestly are nothing but trouble.

chapter two

There was a dawn I remember when my soul heard something from your soul.

~ Rumi

Jon

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed when Tina comes out of my bathroom, wearing only her bra and underwear. A few minutes ago, she cornered me on the stairs as I was heading up to my room to chill out, and, well, I’m not a saint. The party is still rocking, but I’ve got to be at work in about an hour, so it’s not like I can hang around and drink, anyway. I don’t know about you, but being the only sober guy in a house full of drunk-ass college students isn’t my idea of fun.

Tina tosses her things on my desk chair. “I’m so glad I ran into you. It’s been waay too long since we hooked up. I need my JP fix.”

“I thought you were dating someone. Didn’t it work out?”

She shrugs and glances at her phone. “I was, but I got bored.”

“Boring can be good, you know.” I kick off my boots.

“Yeah…maybe when I’m thirty and I’ve popped out a kid or two.” She quickly types a text and starts to set the phone down, but it chimes and she picks it up again.

She and the other girls from her sorority were wearing those matching shirts when they came in. I make a mental note to tell Kelly at the station that neon pink was a good idea. It makes them easy to spot in a crowd…and easy to avoid if I don’t feel like being swamped. Most of the time, I like the attention. It feeds my inner narcissist, the part of me that craves people hanging on my every word and action. But I can only take so much of it. And for some reason, I’m not into it tonight.

I flex my hand. It’s still sore from hitting Chris. God, what an asshole. I fucking lost my shit when he started mouthing off, but I can’t say that I regret it. I’d do it again in a second. For him to say that three hundred bucks isn’t a big deal shows he’s never had to decide between eating lunch or putting a couple bucks’ worth of gas in the tank.

Besides, your word is your word. Doesn’t matter if you think the person you owe is loaded or not.

Tina sets down the phone. “Sorry about that.”

“As long as it’s not your boyfriend, wondering where you are.”

“I told you, we broke up,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It was Ali and Hanna. I said I was busy, but that I’d meet them downstairs in about twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. I’ve become a twenty-minute rebound fuck for bored chicks. Great.

As she passes my desk, she runs a finger slowly along the edge and peers at me from under her lashes. Okay, so she’s trying to be seductive, I get that. But why? It’s pretty obvious we’re going to be fucking in a minute, so why bother?

She fans out a handful of condoms like a deck of cards. “What color? I’ve got red, blue, orange, purple, and green.”

“I don’t care. You pick.”

“Jesus, Jon.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You act like you’re not even into this.”

She’s right, but I’m not about to admit it. After all, I do want to get laid. I just don’t want to deal with all the bullshit leading up to it. “No, I am.”

“Really?” She comes closer, frowning. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.” But the instant I say it, I know it’s a lie. And I’m not just talking about the fight with Chris.

You know when you glance at the sun, then close your eyes and still see the image on the back of your eyelids? That’s what happened to me with that girl on the porch. Ever since I saw her staring at me, I can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe it’s the torment behind her eyes that calls to me, making me want to know more. It’s like she knew all of my secrets at a glance—what I’m feeling, what I keep hidden from everyone. Logically, I know that’s impossible. Only a handful of people know the truth about me, and one of them is dead.

And yet, I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me…like she was seeing straight into my soul.

Normally I don’t let myself get distracted or derailed by a pretty face. When you’ve been around as many as I have, external beauty isn’t all that memorable or interesting.

Take Tina here, for instance. She’s got a great smile and a nice body. We’ve been hooking up off and on since we met last year. But if she told me she was dropping out of school and moving to Europe, I can’t say it would bother me all that much.

“Then why aren’t you undressed yet?” Tina says. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

The smell of Jack Daniels on her breath is strong. I hadn’t noticed it before. Either she just took a swig of a pint she’s got in her purse or she’s drunker than I thought.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Ignoring me, she grabs the buckle on my belt and gives it a tug.

I push her away. “Can you just answer the question?”

She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Enough, but not too much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to discern whether she’s BSing me or not. I may be my father’s son, but I’m not a total asshole. “How much?”

“Do you want me to recite the alphabet backward to prove it to you? Jesus. Did you change your mind and you’re looking for an excuse to get out of it? Because we can—”

Okay, she seems sober enough. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want to be with you. Got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” At least that much is true.

Don’t get me wrong. Tina’s hot, but sex isn’t an emotional thing for me. It’s fun, sure, but once it’s over, it’s over. Besides, I prefer hooking up with a girl at her place. That way, I can go home when I’m done and not worry about pretending I like to cuddle.

I pick the green condom from the deck. She lies back on the bed and tears open the packet. When we’re done, I’ll take a quick shower, then head back downstairs to see what the guys are up to. I’ll have just enough time to eat something, then jump on my motorcycle and head to the campus radio station. I usually don’t work Friday nights and definitely not White House party nights, but the station manager had a family emergency and I agreed to cover for her at the last minute.

As we have sex, my body goes into autopilot. It feels great, and like I said, Tina is hot, but my mind is focused elsewhere.

She moans against my neck and rolls her hips beneath me. Her hair itches my nose, so I turn my head aside without breaking my rhythm.

“Yes!” Her nails dig into my skin. “Oh my God, yes.”

I speed up my tempo. I’m almost there, too.

Just then, the door opens behind me. Damn. I thought I locked it when we came in.

“Occupied,” Tina calls out, laughing, as if we’re in a motel room and the maid is knocking.

The door slams shut before I can see who it is. It’s not the first time someone’s barged in on me having sex. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.

* * *

Ivy

I’m not sure what planet I thought I lived on when I decided to climb out the second story bathroom window—certainly not one with a strong gravitational pull—because the ground is waaaay further down than I imagined it’d be. It’s obvious now that the guys I saw last month got on and off the roof by going back through a window.

I’ve been up here for a half hour, maybe longer, trying to find a way down. I crawl crablike across the wet surface. My theory is that if one limb slips, three others are still making contact. You know that flat part I remember seeing? It turns out to be not very flat after all. Whoever said desperate times call for desperate measures knew what they were talking about, because I’m bordering on sheer desperation right now.

At least it’s not still raining.

Someone shouts from the front yard. I’m pretty sure it’s too dark for anyone to see me back here, but I’m not about to turn around and find out. I just want to get down. If I live, which I’m seriously starting to wonder about, I’ll go sit in my car and wait for Cassidy.

I reach for the branches of an overhanging tree. If I can grab it, maybe I can spider-monkey down the trunk.

“Hey.”

I freeze. Someone has spotted me. Crap, crap, crap. How in the hell am I going to explain this? Glancing around, I see no way out of the situation. But now there’s laughter coming from the same direction. Good. It’s just random people partying. No one’s seen me after all.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Okay, I can’t let myself get distracted like that again. I need to get off this roof ASAP before anyone does see me. Stretching out my arm, I reach a little further until my fingers brush against one of the thinner branches. I’ve…almost…got…it...

“What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me?” It’s the same voice. And, oh my God, it’s eerily familiar.

I jerk my head around and almost lose my balance. Throwing my weight backward so my center of gravity is away from the edge, I end up flat on my ass. My hands, feet, and knees are covered in dirt and moss from the roof. Might as well make it my butt, too.

A guy with a messenger bag crisscrossed over his chest is standing on the ground below me. It’s too dark to see his face, but at least I know it’s not Aaron. This guy is much taller.

“What the hell are you doing?” he repeats. “Are you crazy?”

I bristle. What’s it look like I’m doing? Reading? Tanning?

I rub my hands together, brushing off the dirt. “Getting some fresh air,” I reply flippantly.

He must think I’m a legit crazy person. Which, if I’m being honest with myself, I pretty much am. No sane person would be doing what I’m doing right now.

“You’re going to kill yourself.” He glances behind me, probably looking for an open window, but he’s not going to find one. The one I climbed through is on the other side of the house, beyond where I almost broke my neck trying to get past the two dormers. “How did you get up there, anyway?”

“Just go away and leave me alone.” The last thing I need is to answer a bunch of questions. The roof appears lower at the next corner, so I shift my shoes to my other hand and start to make my way over there.

“Wait! Wait!” In one swift motion, he ditches the messenger bag, only it turns out it’s not a messenger bag. It’s a guitar case. “You need to slowly turn around and go back up there. Think you can do that for me? I’ll go inside and open up one of those windows.”

He sounds like a psychiatrist trying to talk a jumper away from the ledge. “What are you? Some kind of wannabe fireman?”

“I’m just trying to help you,” he says slowly, enunciating each word carefully, as though he wants to make sure I understand him.

“Then lean on that tree so I can reach the branch.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “And then what? Watch you fall and break your neck? ’Fraid not.” Holding up his hands like an invisible force field that will make me stay put, he calls over his shoulder toward the street. “Hey, I need some help back here.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, dropping to my belly, trying to ignore the fact that the front of me is getting wet. The last thing I need is for anyone else to see me up here. Especially Chase’s brother.

Somewhere around the front of the house, a car door slams and an engine starts up. I lift my head in time to see the red glow of taillights heading down the driveway.

Cursing under his breath, he turns his attention back to me. “I don’t trust you not to try to get down on your own if I go for help.”

Does this guy have a Clark Kent complex or what? “I can take care of myself.”

He takes a few steps toward the house, disappearing from my line of sight, and I hear rattling under the eaves beneath me. I don’t dare lean over the gutter to see what he’s doing.

“Can you kneel down and swing your legs over?”

Hope leaps in my chest. “Did you find a ladder?”

“No, a trellis, but I think it’ll hold you.”

I crawl to the edge and peer over. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s right under the eaves here,” he says, pointing.

Great. It is Jon Priestly. The guy from the front porch. The second-to-last guy I want to see.

“If you dangle your legs over, I can reach up and help you get a toehold.”

I consider it. I really do. But twelve to fifteen feet seems much farther up when you’re looking down. “I can’t.”

“Why not? I’m right here. I’ll make sure that—”

“I’m afraid of heights,” I blurt. I’m sure he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing on a roof if I don’t like heights. Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder that myself.

“Are you kidding me?” I can hear the frustration in his tone. “Wait here.”

It sounds just like the order he gave the pink T-shirt chicks when he told them to wait for him in the house. Just my luck that he’d be the one to see me up here. I guess the only thing worse would be if he were Aaron.

“You’re not going inside, are you? I mean, I kind of don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

“I’m just going to look for a ladder. Don’t move till I get back.”

“Promise?” Wow. I sound like such a baby.

“I promise.”

The sound of laughter interrupts us, and I freeze. Three girls stumble through the gate, then stop to lean over a low hedge. Their arms are around each other’s waists, making it hard to tell who is holding up whom, but it doesn’t look like they see us. Good. I hope Jon has the sense to keep his mouth shut.

“Hold Tina’s hair back,” one of them commands.

“I can’t. If I see it or hear it, I’ll get sick, too.” This one hiccups.

A low rumbling moan comes from the one I’m assuming is Tina. Without any more warning than that, she pukes her guts out into the bushes.

I did not just see that.

“Eeeew!” The hiccupping one gags and then she loses it, too.

Oh my God, this is so disgusting.

One of them curses. Another one laughs. “Water. I need water.”

“I saw some bottled water on the porch,” the non-barfing friend says. “Come on.”

The three of them stumble arm in arm back the way they came.

“You’re not going to sympathy vomit too, are you?” Jon’s taken a few steps back from where he was standing a moment ago. Did he think I was going to blow my cookies on top of him?

I drop my hand, which was clamped over my mouth to keep me from laughing during the puke-fest. I can see why he’d say that, but no, I’m not going to get sick. “Wow. That was really gross.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. At least you were farther away. I pretty much had a front row seat.”

“I’m sure my bird’s eye view wasn’t much better.”

“Listen.” His tone is impatient. “I can’t be late for work, but I’m not leaving until you’re off the roof.”

What kind of job starts this late at night? Given what I know about him already, do I even want to know?

He moves in the direction of the gate. “I’m going to go get—”

“Do not go inside!”

He pauses before responding, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me, but thankfully, he doesn’t ask why. “Okay, but will you stay put if I go look for that ladder?”

As if I have anywhere else I can go. “Yes.” I glance toward the front of the house for the umpteenth time. “Hurry.”

Less than five minutes later, he’s propping a ladder against the eave. That first step, when I swing my legs over the edge and blindly try to find the top rung with my bare foot, is the hardest. My heart is racing, my hands are sweaty, and I seriously think I’m going to fall to my death.

“I’ve got you.” He grips my ankle and guides my foot to the metal rung.

As I inch myself down, strong hands grip my calves, then my thighs, then my waist. If I slip, I’m pretty sure he’ll catch me. It’s amazing what having a safety net will do for your confidence.

“That’s it. Keep coming.”

When I step from the bottom rung and onto the grass, I breathe a huge sigh of relief that I’m not dead or seriously maimed. But now I need to face my embarrassment.

“You made it,” he says from behind me. “Good job.”

I take a deep breath, steel myself, and turn around. And for the second time tonight, I’m looking straight into the eyes of Jon Priestly. The tattooed guy from the fight. The guy with the female entourage. The guy I’m pretty sure was banging some chick in an upstairs bedroom when I was looking for the bathroom. I’m not sure I could be any more embarrassed right now.

Underneath his unzipped black and gray snowboard jacket is a faded concert T-shirt. He must’ve just taken a shower because his dark hair is damp and he smells like herbal body wash.

A million butterflies flit around in my stomach and my mouth goes bone dry. Forget what I said earlier about facial hair and clean-cut guys. The guy standing inches away from me is hot.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” My voice is thin and reedy.

In the dim light, his pale blue eyes are sparkling with amusement, like it’s an everyday occurrence for him to rescue girls stranded on rooftops. Either that or he can read minds and knows exactly what I’m thinking.

But there’s something else. Sure, he’s dangerous and nothing but trouble. Anyone can see that.

The problem is that I am finding myself way too attracted to Jon Priestly, and I can’t afford to make any more stupid mistakes in my life.

That’s when I realize I am anything but safe.

chapter three

Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.

~ Oscar Wilde

Jon

When something inconvenient happens, you don’t expect it to change your life. An empty gas tank. An expired carton of milk (which is a real bitch when you forget to check the date and you take a swig directly from the container). You do what you need to do and move on. But sometimes a minor inconvenience kicks events into motion so that everything in your life changes, leaving nothing the same.

If I hadn’t agreed to fill in for a co-worker at the station tonight, I wouldn’t have been going to work. And if I hadn’t been going to work, I’d never have been on this side of the house where my motorcycle is parked. And if I hadn’t been on this side of the house, I wouldn’t have seen the girl on the goddamn roof.

At first I assumed someone else was with her. I mean, these parties can get pretty crazy and it’s not the first time I’ve seen people up there. But when she almost fell and no one came to help, I knew she was alone.

She either didn’t hear me yelling at her or was too drunk to care, because when I burst through the half-open gate into the back yard, she was reaching for the branch of an overhanging tree.

And now I’m looking straight at the girl I’ve been trying to find all night. Only this time, we’re alone, and she’s got mascara running down her cheeks. Her reddish-brown hair, which looked soft and wavy earlier, is tangled with bits of leaves and twigs.

What the fuck happened to her between the porch and now? Too many beers? Is she high? I hadn’t pegged her as a party girl when I first saw her, but this chick’s a mess. I’m not exactly sure why this bothers me, but it does. I thought— Fuck. I don’t know what I was thinking.

She turns slightly, and the light from a window falls across her face. I’m mesmerized by the color of her eyes, which instantly reminds me of the pictures of Ireland’s rolling hills in a book I got for Mom when she was sick. The thing was too heavy, so I held it for her and read aloud about various cities, castles, and places of interest. Like the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge joining a tiny scrap of a vivid green island to the mainland. She always wanted to go there.

I try to swallow, but my throat has just gone tight.

Even though this girl isn’t smiling, her eyes tilt up as if she’s about to. That’s got to be frustrating when you really want to convey to people that you’re pissed off. No one would ever believe you.

“What were you doing up there?” I don’t smell much alcohol on her breath, but then she’s probably a lightweight, unable to have more than a drink or two.

“I was just leaving.” She puts a hand on the tree trunk to steady herself and brushes off the bottoms of her feet.

“And you couldn’t use the front door?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “Careful. Those are crushed oyster shells in the flowerbed. They’re sharp.”

She jumps back like she just saw a snake.

“You’re not driving, I hope, because I can find you a ride home.” Didn’t she come with friends? Maybe I should bring her to the station. Depending on where she lives, Kelly can give her a ride when she leaves.

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She looks at her phone. “My roommate will be out here in a minute.”

Why the hell would she be up on the roof if she’s not wasted? And why the makeup running down her face? It’s true that she’s not slurring her words or acting confused, so I’m not sure what’s going on.

“Where’s your coat?” I ask, remembering the bloodstains.

“Good call.” She fires off another text. “I’ll have her grab it on the way out.”

“Tell her to leave it here. I’ll have it cleaned.” I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Even though I’ve never taken clothes to the cleaners in my life, Mom used to take her designer shit there, gifts from the guys she dated, so I know they can clean just about anything.

“That’s okay,” she says, trying to give my jacket back to me. “I was going to—”

“Take it. I feel terrible about the blood and everything. It’s the least I can do.” As I situate my jacket back on her shoulders, I catch a whiff of fragrance. Not perfumey, but simple and uncomplicated. Vanilla, I think. From her hair. It’s…nice.

I grab my phone from my back pocket and hand it to her. “Put in your number and I’ll call you when it’s clean.”

She stares at the screen, then darts a glance nervously toward the house.

The realization hits me upside the head. She was on the roof to get away from someone at the party. Someone she’s afraid of. The makeup running down her face isn’t because she’s drunk. It’s because she’s been crying.

I flex my hands, trying to ignore the pain in my knuckles from the fight earlier. I’m going to pound the holy living shit out of the guy who did this to her. If there’s one thing that makes me lose my shit faster than anything else, it’s when a guy mistreats his girlfriend. There’s no fucking excuse for that. Having seen it way too many times with my mom and her messed-up love life, I have zero tolerance for it.

Like I said before, I’m no angel. Maybe that’s why I can easily spot an asshole.

“Where the fuck is he?”

Her eyes widen. “What? Who?”

“Your dickwad boyfriend. I’m going beat the shit out of him.”

She looks confused. “I…I don’t understand.”

“That’s why you were out on the roof, isn’t it? To get away from him?” I have an overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms and protect her from the jackass who did this to her. No one should be allowed to make this girl feel as if her only option is to climb out on a roof to get away. She could’ve fucking fallen.

Her expression softens as she looks at me. “No dickwad boyfriend,” she says quietly, taking my phone. Her fingers inadvertently brush against the palm of my hand, sending electricity shooting up my arm. “But thank you for…for wanting to beat the shit out of someone for me. That’s really…sweet of you.”

No boyfriend at all or just not a dickwad boyfriend?

“Then why were you up there?” Despite what I originally thought, it not like she got wasted and ended up on the roof in a drunken stupor.

She drops her gaze, turning her attention to my phone. “I’d rather forget about it, if you don’t mind.”

In other words, none of your business.

But...I want to make it my business. All those years looking after my mom have taken their toll. She had supremely bad judgment when it came to men and made a shit-ton of excuses for them—whether it was a current boyfriend or an ex-boyfriend. Including my father. She never went after him for child support or had anything bad to say about him. When one of his songs would come on the radio, she’d get all teary-eyed, but she’d never change the station. I was the one who had to do it.

So I’m telling you, this situation has asshole boyfriend written all over it. “An ex?” I ask, probing for an answer.

She glances away and blinks a few times, and for a moment I’m thinking she’s going to say yes. I’m prepared to go back into the party, find out who he is, and introduce his face to my fist.

“No,” she says, surprising me. “My ex isn’t in there, either.”

I could’ve sworn… I study her for a moment. She sounds truthful enough. “Okay, but why—”

“Do you think we can just drop it?”

Her words jolt through me. End of subject. No more questions because she’s not going to give me any answers. “Yeah, fine. No problem.”

“Good.” She hands my phone back.

I shift my weight to the other foot and check to see what she entered. I can’t help but smile. “Ivy. How perfect for a girl I found on the roof of an old house. No last name?”

She stares at me for a moment before answering. “Does it matter?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, how many Ivys do you know, anyway?”

“None. You’re my first. But am I supposed to remember you as Ivy, the girl on the roof? Or just Ivy on the Roof? Or are you like Bono or Slash and only go by your first name?”

There’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “It’s Ivy McAllister.”

“Is that M-A-C?” I ask, spelling out the letters on my phone. “Or M-C?”

“Wow, all these questions. Are you always this inquisitive?”

“Only with things that matter to me.”

Her eyes meet mine for a half-second before she quickly glances away. “It’s just M-C,” she says quietly.

Just? I can tell already that there’s nothing remotely insignificant about Ivy McAllister.

I enter her last name into my contacts and confirm the spelling. “Since we’re introducing ourselves, I’m Jon Priestly.”

She makes no move to grab her phone and enter my info. “Yeah, I know.”

My chest swells with pride. While it doesn’t surprise me that she knows who I am, I love it just the same…until I realize she doesn’t ask for my number in return. Why? Is she too shy?

As I mull over other possible reasons, I notice that her scarf doesn’t cover her chest. It draws my eyes like a magnet and I exhale slowly. Her teal shirt dips low in the front, revealing a hint of a teal lace bra. Must be her favorite color. It just may be my new favorite—

Damn.

I try not to let my gaze wander lower, I really do, but perky nipples are pointing straight at me through her thin shirt. And like I said earlier, I’m not a saint. Not even close.

* * *

Ivy

Just because Jon helped me off the roof and loaned me his jacket doesn’t mean he has free rein to be a douche. He lifts his gaze and his eyes meet mine. Busted. He doesn’t even look the least bit guilty that he got caught, either. I glare, hoping to shame some manners into him, but he doesn’t act embarrassed. In fact, is that a smile?

But if I’m being perfectly honest, Jon Priestly isn’t exactly knight-in-shining-armor material, so the fact that he was blatantly staring at my chest shouldn’t surprise me. I watched him beat the crap out of a dude, learned that he sells weed, and if I’m not mistaken, I accidentally barged in on him having sex with some chick upstairs when I was looking for the bathroom. He’s no hero. Not even close. He’s more like a villain with a few redeeming qualities.

It reminds me of a family trip to Disney World where we took a picture under the sign pointing to the parking lots named Heroes and Villains. My sister Rose stood under Heroes and I was under Villains. When given a choice, I’ve always been attracted to guys who aren’t good for me.

“So you think you’ll be okay?” Jon’s acting like he’s not in a rush to leave, even though he said he’s got to get to work soon.

His jacket starts to slip off my shoulder. I hoist it back up with an awkward shrug. “Yep. I’m fine. Thanks.”

Someone rattles the gate, and my heart jumps. Instinctively, I take a half step toward Jon. I didn’t make all these sacrifices just to have Chase’s brother catch me here now. The gate swings open on creaky hinges.

It’s Cassidy and a girl I don’t recognize. Not Aaron. Relief gushes out of me in one big whoosh.

“There you are,” Cassidy says, marching toward us like a woman on a mission. “I’ve been looking everywhere.” She says everywhere with a few extra syllables for emphasis or dramatic effect (take your pick). She’s holding a red cup and wearing a plastic lei. I’ll have to give her a hard time about it later. Given that she’s from Hawaii, wearing a tacky fake lei is practically against her religion.

“I texted you that I was outside in the back.”

Cassidy’s eyes rake over me. “You look like shit.”

I suddenly remember the mascara streaks and the fact that I’m barefoot. Yeah, I’m sure I look completely pathetic.

“This hasn’t been the best of nights,” I say, trying not to think too much about my bathroom freak-out.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. But thanks to him, I’m doing better.”

And just like that, she looks at Jon. Not that I’ve forgotten him or anything. His warm presence is heating up the whole left side of my body, blocking out the cold ocean breeze.

Her gaze slides over the two of us and then she breaks into a know-it-all grin. The kind that says she knows what’s really going on. “Not the best of nights, huh?”

I know exactly what she’s thinking and that would be a big fat no. I do not look like this because he and I just finished, quote unquote, a screw-fest in the back yard, or because I gave him a blow job.

“How’s it going?” Jon doesn’t seem to notice that my roommate is studying him like he’s a prize horse and she’s a judge at the state fair. Or maybe he does and he likes it.

“You’re Jon Priestly, aren’t you?” She must not have heard those girls behind us during the fight on the porch. Either that, or she’s had too much to drink and just forgot.

He nods. “That would be me.”

The girl with Cassidy gasps. She’s almost as tall as me, with teased blond hair and a super cute body. I’ve always thought that legwarmers, tights, and fingerless gloves look really stupid (you should see the pictures of my mom and her friends in junior high school back in the eighties), but she really pulls it off.

Cassidy introduces herself. When her friend doesn’t jump in right away and continues to stare at Jon, she adds, “And this is Sara.”

Sara’s eyes are as round as dinner plates. “You mean the ‘church is now in session’ guy?”

Jon gives her a panty-dropping smile. At least, it makes my panties want to drop. And by the looks of it, same with Sara. This makes me slightly irritated, for some reason.

“The one and only,” he says.

“Oh my God. I recognize your voice now,” she gushes. “I totally want one of those shirts those girls were wearing tonight. Where can I get one?”

The shirts about church? Was that what his entourage was wearing? I try to remember just what they said. Parish or Parishioner, I think. I don’t get it. I glance over at Cassidy for help, but her attention is focused squarely on Jon.

“Check with the station. They just ordered a bunch.”

“I loooove you—I mean, your show,” Sara says, laughing. I can almost hear her thong sliding past her hips. Seriously. I’ve never seen anyone swoon before, but that’s pretty much what she’s doing.

“I love it, too,” Cassidy chimes in.

Clearly, I’m the only one who’s clueless here. I sure wouldn’t have pegged this guy as belonging to one of the religious groups on campus. If that’s the case, then someone has a lot of sins to confess on Sunday morning. Cassidy goes to Mass sometimes, but she’s not what I’d call very religious.

“What are you guys talking about?” I ask. “What church?”

“Seriously, Ivory,” Sara says impatiently. “Don’t you listen to KREX?”

Ivory? I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Jon makes a coughing slash choking noise as he tries not to laugh, too. I poke his leg with my bare toe.

He gives me a fake hurt look that says, Whaaat?

And I give him a fake mad scowl that says, The only person allowed to laugh is the one whose name gets butchered.

I turn to Sara. “It’s Ivy,” I tell her calmly. “So…what’s KREX?”

“The Sounds of Pacific,” Cassidy says in an announcer’s voice. “It’s PSU’s student-run radio station.”

That explains it. “I don’t listen to my car radio very often. It doesn’t get good reception.”

Sara rolls her eyes, like she’s talking to the most clueless person in the world and can’t take it anymore. “Everybody live-streams it on their computers or through the app.” She holds up her phone and shakes it. “I can’t believe you don’t know that.”

I try to ignore how incredibly rude that is and turn to Jon. “You’re on the radio?”

He nods. “Once a week.” He touches his finger to his palm and quickly lifts it, which I immediately recognize as sign language for once a week. I narrow my eyes at him. He knows ASL?

He grabs his guitar case and slips the strap over his shoulder. “My show’s on Tuesday. I’m filling in for a friend tonight.”

“What do you do?” I ask.

Before he can answer, Sara barks out an unflattering laugh. She thinks I’m an idiot to ask such a stupid question. I quickly review the conversation in my head, wondering what I missed. I do have a tendency to miss stuff when I’m stressed out.

“Hello? Aren’t you listening? He’s got a radio show.”

Scratch what I said about her outfit. You can’t think someone looks cute when you’re really starting to dislike her.

I was willing to let the other stuff slide, but I’ve just changed my mind. “He could have a sports show. A talk radio show. A religion show. A politics discussion show. Or maybe a pop psychology show where people call in for advice on how to deal with jerks.”

Sara looks me up and down and seems to notice my sorry condition for the first time. “So what were you guys doing back here, anyway?”

“True, Ivy,” Jon says, ignoring Sara’s question. “And the station has shows like that. Mine happens to be on indie music, where I spotlight various local bands. I’m filling in for Alice, who hosts a jazz show tonight, so we’ll see how her listeners react to my playlist. Could be interesting.” Given his thorough answer, he doesn’t seem to think my question was ridiculous. “I do a few interviews, but I mainly just play music. I don’t do much talking.”

He gives me a pointed look as if to emphasize that there’s another meaning behind his words. It takes me a moment to figure it out. My roof situation is a private matter that will stay between the two of us. He’s not telling. If I want to answer Sara’s question, that’s my business, not his. Warmth pools low in my stomach as I think about keeping secrets with him.

I flash him a grateful smile. “Cool. I’ll have to tune in.” Then, without thinking, I sign, Thank you.

His gaze drops to my hands and he smiles, confirming my guess that he knows ASL. Did he take it in high school like I did? “I hope you do.”

I may be able to dodge Sara’s questions, but once we get back to the dorm, I fully expect to be drilled by Cassidy. I’ll need to lie to her, but unfortunately, I’ve never been very good at faking it.

Suddenly, Chase is in my head again.

I can tell you’re not into this, Ivy. You’re going to have to try harder than that. There. That’s a girl. Much better.

I blanch at the flash of memory. The same voice that spoke at our high school graduation and got a roaring ovation from adoring students, faculty, and parents.

“Speaking of which—” Jon touches my arm, jerking me back to the present. “—I really do need to go.” His thumb brushes over the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist, making all the little hairs on my arms stand on end.

I try not to let the thrill of his touch visibly show. It’s been a long time since I’ve had this reaction to a guy, particularly someone so unlike the all-American football types I’ve gone out with in the past. But then it’s not like I have the best judgment when it comes to relationships, anyway. There was that time when I made out with a girl at a party down in LA, but that wasn’t for me either. I didn’t feel as if I’d found what I’d been looking for. The girl had been sweet about it, but no, it wasn’t me.

“You’re sure you’re okay now?” he says softly, turning his back to the others.

His concern touches me. I nod, knowing that the newly formed lump in my throat will make it difficult to say anything coherent. His eyes seem to be reaching inside me, noticing all my knots and tangles. If he pulled on an end, I wonder, would it be the right one? Could he untangle me and make me whole?

Oh geez, there I go again. Having let myself get too dependent on a guy in the past has really screwed me up. Believe me, I know now how unhealthy it is to rely on someone else for your self-worth, but it’s easy to slip back into old habits. I can fix myself. I don’t need anyone to do it for me.

“Yeah, I’m good. But…thanks.”

Cassidy, in her infinite subtlety, is slightly behind him, making a bunch of wild hand gestures I don’t understand. No, she doesn’t know ASL. I flash her a WTF look.

“His number,” she mouths, her hand up to her ear like a phone. “Did you get it?”

Since I’m unsure how to convey to her that he has my number but I don’t have his, all I can do is ignore her. She’s been trying to get me to hook up with someone all year, probably because she’s been with a few different guys since fall quarter and feels slutty. (Her words, not mine.) But I’ve sowed those wild oats already and don’t plan to do that at PSU. My grades are my first and only priority.

Besides, how would it sound to Jon if I said, “Hey, I know I look like a crazy bitch crawling around on the White House roof and you’re kind of a celebrity on campus, but can I get your number so we can hook up sometime?”

That would be a big fat no. Besides, he’s seen me at my worst, and I’m not looking to go out with anyone. Plus, if that was him upstairs, he’s already got a girlfriend. The only thing I need to do is get out of here before Aaron comes around that corner with a bunch of his friends and sees me. Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl.

“Have a good night, ladies.” Jon Priestly gives my arm a little squeeze, releases it, then walks away from me and into the dark.

chapter four

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.

~ Oscar Wilde

Ivy

The ability to lie convincingly is an important skill. When you’re in high school and your parents ask where you were the night before, you can tell them you were watching a movie at your best friend’s house and they’ll assume you’re telling the truth.

Or when you’re in college and you ask if they can put more money in your account, you can explain that your textbooks ended up costing a lot more than you expected. Or that the professor changed the edition number at the last minute and the bookstore won’t buy back the two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar book you just bought.

And when a guy who scares the shit out of you demands to know whether you love him as much as he loves you, you can say yes and he’ll believe you, which will give you more time to figure out how to break things off with him.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been a good liar, but knowing your weaknesses can help you make better choices in the future.

When we get back to our dorm room and ditch Sara, Cassidy unleashes on me just as I expected.

“What the hell happened back there, Ives?”

I open my closet door and grab an empty hanger, wishing tonight had never happened. “What are you talking about?”

She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “Why were you crying? Why were you barefoot? Why are you wearing fucking Jon Priestly’s coat? What were you guys doing back there?”

“Fucking Jon Priestly’s coat? Gee, is that what I’m doing?” It’s a lot easier to be a smartass than to talk about what she wants me to talk about.

“What happened?”

Choosing to ignore her, I shrug off the jacket and give it one last whiff before hanging it in my closet. I consider a few other ways that sentence can be interpreted. “Let’s see…Jon, who is currently fucking, owns this coat.”

“Ivy, I’m serious.”

“Wait. Here’s my personal favorite. Because it smells so good and really did keep me warm, this coat is really fucking awesome.”

Cassidy huffs out her exasperation. “Okay, Macklemore, stop being such a grammar nerd. And stop trying to change the subject. Even though fucking Jon would be fun.”

For a second—maybe two—I picture him naked. He’s kissing me passionately, his muscular back and shoulders flexing under my hands because he’s—

Enough with that, Ivy. He’s not your type.

My inner voice is right. My world was almost turned upside down tonight, and I’m thinking about doing it with a hot guy I just met who probably has a girlfriend? How messed up is that?

Cassidy snaps her fingers at me. “Earth to Ivy. What. The hell. Happened.”

Okay. Fine. I need to figure out what I’m going to share with her. A partial truth is better than a flat-out lie. “I used to go out with the older brother of a guy I saw inside.”

She stares at me like I’m a trial witness and she’s on the jury. Am I telling the truth? Am I lying?

I ignore her scrutiny in the hope that she’ll just drop it and move on. Opening my closet again, I grab my plastic tote, where I keep my toothbrush and toothpaste. “Coming?”

She doesn’t move. She just stares at me. “And…?”

I pick at the corner of my tote, the part that melted when I stuck my too-hot curling iron against the plastic a few months ago. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “And I didn’t want to see him.”

She looks confused. “Why?”

“My boyfriend—my old boyfriend,” I say, correcting myself. “His brother…” My voice trails off.

You can’t undo spoken words. They are unerasable. Once I tell her, I can’t change my mind and decide that I don’t want her to know. Do I really want to do this? After all, Cassidy isn’t actually the best keeper of secrets. I recall our conversation yesterday when she told me about Michaela down the hall who had a nose job last summer. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone,” Cassidy said. “I’m not supposed to say anything.”

I clear my throat. “He…uh…died a few years ago, and I didn’t want to dredge up old memories by talking to his brother.”

Her eyes go wide and she clamps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Ivy. How horrible.”

I nod, continuing to pick at my melted tote. “I’m trying to put it behind me now, so seeing his brother unexpectedly like that…wasn’t something I was prepared for.” Which literally is the truth.

“Wow. I totally get that.”

“That’s when Jon found me. And then you showed up.” End of story. Please. No more questions.

She quietly grabs her pink Caboodle from the shelf under her raised bed. I start to relax, thinking she’s dropping the subject. And then, “How did it happen?”

I tense up again. “Car accident.”

“Jesus Christ, Ivy.” Then, like she often does when she curses, she takes out her cross pendant and gives it a kiss.

Pressing my lips together in what I’m hoping she’ll assume is a close-mouthed smile of thanks, I change into pajama bottoms and an old concert T-shirt, then head down the hall to the women’s bathroom. She’s quiet the whole time—strangely subdued and very un-Cassidy-like.

The overhead fluorescent lighting hurts my eyes, so I quickly brush my teeth and wash my face. Back in our room, I slip under the covers, shielding my eyes from the light with my hand. As soon as Cassidy puts away her Caboodle and climbs into bed, I turn out the light clipped to the windowsill near my head and feel myself relax.

I love the dark, the absence of light. It washes over everything, rounding out sharp edges and blending objects together.

“Thank God you weren’t with him,” Cassidy whispers from her bed a few feet away.

I don’t tell her that I was.

The ache at the base of my skull that I’ve been trying to ignore spreads outward, like a drop of red food coloring on a wet piece of paper. Cassidy says something else, but her voice sounds like it’s coming from inside a tin can.

The walls in my hospital room were a sickly, sterile white when I woke up. That I do remember. Something was in my mouth, going down my throat, choking me. Like the monster in Alien. It was on my face, a ridged tentacle reaching into me, and I was going to become its host. I needed to get it out. I tried to move my hands but couldn’t. I wanted to scream but there was no sound.

My head is really throbbing now. I try not to make any sudden movements as I get up and shuffle carefully across the floor to my desk and open the drawer. One pill rattles around inside the prescription bottle.

My vision is narrowing, which means I don’t have much time. Even in the dark room, I can see an inky blackness around the edges. Cassidy is talking to me, but all I hear is the sound of my pencil cup hitting the floor. She grabs my upper arm and a pill is thrust into my hand. I take it and with a hand on my shoulder, she ushers me back to my bed, tucking the covers around my shoulders like my mom used to do.

“Thanks, C,” I say weakly.

“Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything else? Should I, like, call someone?” I can hear the concern in her voice.

“I’ll be fine in the morning.” At least I hope so. “I always get this way when I think about what happened.”

“Well, then,” she says with finality, fluffing a pillow behind my head. “That’s an easy fix. We just won’t talk about it anymore. You’re here at PSU and it’s time to put your past behind you.”

I couldn’t agree with her more.

* * *

Jon

“Okay, here’s the last one.” I set the cardboard box on Stella’s dining room table, grab another cookie from the plate—still warm from the oven—and shove it in my mouth. The chewy gingersnaps are so damn good, I could eat a million of them. “Do you want any help going through this stuff?” I peer into the box. It’s filled with stacks of old pictures and books. No wonder it’s so heavy. She’d never have been able to carry it down the narrow attic stairs on her own.

Stella wipes her arthritic hands on her apron. “No, son, you’ve done enough. This is wonderful. Thank you.”

Although I’m not her son, I like it when she calls me that. Maybe it’s standard grandparent lingo, but since I don’t have any, I wouldn’t know.

I follow her into the kitchen, where she takes another batch of cookies out of the oven. The whole house smells like molasses and spices.

I pull out a chair from the small table near the window, turn it around, and straddle the seat. “Have you talked with Henry yet?” I leave off the part about him being a total deadbeat.

“I’ve left him a few messages, yes.”

“But he hasn’t called you back?”

“Not yet.”

What kind of son gambles with his mom’s money, anyway? An elderly lady on a fixed income. Now she’s having a garage sale to try to make enough to pay a few bills. I thought selling a little of her weed would help, but Chris fucked that up. I made a partial payment at the power company myself, but if Stella finds out I did it, she’ll be upset and insist on paying me back. It’s the least I can do for her, though. I’d have paid the whole thing if I had the money. If it hadn’t been for Stella sticking her neck out for me a few years ago, I’d most likely be in jail right now. Or worse.

“How are your plants doing? I can try to sell some more bud, even though this last time didn’t work out so well.”

She frowns. “I don’t want you doing that anymore. I’m sure your friend will pay me. You need to be focused on school and work.”

What she kindly fails to mention but that both of us know is that I’ve already gotten into trouble selling weed. Back in high school. And it wasn’t from the three plants she grows for medicinal use.

“Well, he should’ve gotten you the money already. He promised me.”

“I’m sure he’ll have it soon.”

She always sees the good in people. Her loser son. My loser friend. Me. It’s her fatal flaw.

The plastic bag I brought with me sits within my reach near the back door. I grab it and I pull out Ivy’s coat. “Do you think you could get the bloodstains out of this?”

Stella wipes her hands on her apron and takes it from me. “Why?” she asks, a hint of a smile on her coral-red lips. “Did you kill someone and need to hide the evidence?”

Very funny. “I...uh...got into a fight with someone and the blood sprayed all over this girl’s coat. I promised I’d try to have it cleaned.”

Shaking her head, she clucks her tongue at me. “A fight? Oh, Jonny.” My shoulders feel as though they suddenly weigh two hundred pounds. She only calls me that when she’s disappointed in me. But then, I’m good at doing that. I guess you could say I’m an expert. “Don’t stoop to their level. You’re better than they are. I know it’s hard, but…”

I don’t tell her that it was because of the weed.

chapter five

Never fear the thing you feel.

Only by love is life made real.

~ Sara Teasdale

Ivy

In the mirror, I see Cassidy lying in her bed with headphones on and her laptop open. This is her typical morning routine before class where she watches a few YouTube videos before doing anything else. I don’t know how she does it. I have to pee first thing when I wake up. She yawns loudly, not realizing how obnoxious it sounds, because she can’t hear herself.

After that disastrous White House party on Friday night, I stayed in our room the rest of the weekend, not even wanting to risk eating at the dining hall in case Aaron was checking out the dorms and the on-campus meal service. Cassidy, the sweetheart, brought me food and on Saturday night, we ordered pizza with real cheese. (She paid for it later with a stomach ache, spending the next hour in the bathroom.) Normally, she’d have gone out, but she claimed she needed to study for some big test and planned to stay in anyway. I knew she was feeding me a bunch of BS, but I appreciated it all the same.

Earlier this morning, before Cassidy woke up, I went running. With the migraine finally gone, it felt good to get out. The oppressive cloud hanging over my head since Friday night isn’t totally gone—it’ll never be completely gone—but the run helped.

I finger-comb my damp hair, trying to decide if I want to pull out the hair dryer. Since I don’t need to be to class for a while, I decide not to bother and let it dry naturally. I put on my favorite lip balm, slip a hairband around my wrist for later, and call it good.

Cassidy whips off the covers, looks at me, and frowns. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I’ve got on my favorite jeans that are fraying out at the bottom, no-longer-white Toms that are getting a hole in the toe, and a large gray PSU sweatshirt with a coffee stain on one wristband.

Obsessed with fashion and makeup tutorial videos, Cassidy wouldn’t be caught dead walking out in public like this. In fact, she’s wearing cute PJ shorts with a matching shirt that says Sweet Dreams in rhinestone sequins across her chest. And if that’s not enough, the clothes she plans to wear today were picked out last night and are folded neatly on her chair.

“No, I’m just putting this on temporarily before I slip into the Tom Ford gown I have hanging in the closet.”

“Bitch.” She stands and yawns again. “What happened to that cute top of mine you were going to wear?”

Since we’re approximately the same size, we borrow each other’s clothes all the time. It’s like having two wardrobes for the price of one. Only she has a lot more clothes than I do.

“It’s brand new with the tags still on. You should wear it first.” Besides, I just wore her teal top on Friday night.

“I don’t mind. Seriously.”

Even though Cassidy comes from a really wealthy family, she’s not snobby or pretentious. You should see their house in Portland—it’s this huge three-story mansion. I’ve never been there, but from the pictures I’ve seen of her bedroom, it looks like it could be featured on one of those HGTV shows my mom watches. All she and her mom ever do when she’s home is shop. Half her clothes here still have the tags on them. But I still don’t feel right about wearing something she hasn’t worn yet.

She grabs her phone from the charging station—a narrow shelf above her desk that her stepdad was somehow able to mount on the dorm room wall without using nails—and scrolls through her texts. “Ivy, listen to me.”

Okay, here we go. I can tell I’m about to get a lecture.

“With the new quarter, you’re starting new classes and meeting new people.”

“Yeah, and your point is…?”

She huffs. “Hello?”

“New people. As in guys?”

“Of course I mean guys. Do you want that to be the first impression they have of you?”

I fold the ribbing on the sleeve of my sweatshirt to cover up the stain, then fold the other one to match. “See? All better.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. What if you run into Jon Priestly or someone equally hot?”

I grab the brush from my desk and throw it at her. “My run this morning kicked my butt and I’m too lazy to do any more than what you see here. Besides, I’m not going to run into him, or any other hot guy for that matter. And if I do, I’ll just walk on by because I’m not looking for a hookup buddy.”

I have no intention of repeating how I was down in LA when I visited my best friend Deena. In those few weeks, I slept with more guys than I’d been with the entire time I lived in Lincoln Falls. Which sounds impressive (or slutty, depending on how you look at it) but wasn’t all that much, because there were exactly two guys in high school.

And because I know you’re curious, they were:

1) Arturo De Luca, AKA smoking hot exchange student from Italy. (Yeah, I lost my virginity to a guy with an accent, which I have to admit is way better than Deena and obsessed gamer Perry Rogers on the floor of his parents’ basement. When she snuck over to my house that night to tell me about it, I actually plucked a Cheeto out of her hair.)

2) Chase Marquette, AKA all-time leading scorer for the Red Devils football team. Blond hair, blue eyes, and totally gorgeous. The darling of Lincoln Falls. Everyone loved him. Including me, or so they tell me. But honestly, I don’t remember ever loving him.

Cassidy’s phone beeps. As she’s reading the message, I look at my face in the mirror again and decide she’s right about the mascara. Grabbing it out of my makeup bag, I put on a few coats.

“Oh my God,” she says, looking at her phone.

“What?”

She scrambles to open her laptop. “More tickets went on sale for Sasquatch. A bunch of people are road-tripping over there and camping the whole weekend. Do you want to go? I’m going to buy tickets right now.”

“Sasquatch? The music festival?”

“Yeah, it’s on Memorial Day weekend at the Gorge.” Seeing the confusion on my face, she adds, “That’s an outdoor concert venue in eastern Washington on the Columbia River. Google it. It’s really cool. They’ll post the line up in a few weeks, but in the past they’ve had bands like Mumford and Sons, The Lumineers, Vampire Weekend, and Arctic Monkeys.”

I’ve been to plenty of concerts, but I’ve never been to a music festival before. “When do you need to know?”

“Like ASAP. I fucked up and didn’t get tickets when they first went on sale. I can’t even believe they released more. If you want, I can buy them and you can pay me back.”

“How much are they?”

Her fingers fly over the keys. “Three hundred bucks and change. But that’s for the whole weekend and it includes camping.”

“For one person or is that for two tickets?”

“No, it’s per person.”

I chew on my lip as I think about it. That’s a lot of money. I’ll have to check my account to see if I can swing it. “And you need to know now?”

“Yeah. These won’t last.” Her fingers are poised above the Buy button. “If you want, I can buy them now and if you can’t go, I’m sure I won’t have any problem selling your ticket.”

“If you’re sure you’re okay with that…”

“No problem. I’m just using some of my Christmas money anyway, so it’s no big deal.” Before I can say anything else, she stabs the Buy button with a manicured fingernail. “Done.” Then she rubs her hands together gleefully, like a villain planning an evil plot. “It’s going to be so much fun.”

While Cassidy showers, I grab the book I need to start reading for Comparative Lit. The Butterfly Lovers is the Chinese version of Romeo and Juliet, written centuries ago. The textbook contains several versions of the story and we need to read all of them. Even though the paper isn’t due for a while and the stories are short, I want to get a jump start. By the time Cassidy returns, I’ve read two of them.

She changes into skinny jeans and flats and arranges a knit scarf around her neck.

“Is that new?” I ask, looking up from my book. “It’s really cute.”

“Thanks. Ryan made it for me for Christmas.”

“Your brother? He made that? Let me see.” She comes over and I examine the baby-blue scarf more closely. All the rows are even, the stitches uniform. Although it’s simple, it’s very well made. Makes me want to pull out my latest knitting project—or at least log in to Ravelry. It’s the only social network I didn’t quit. Figured Aaron and his stalkerish ways wouldn’t think to look for me in the knitting and crocheting community.

“Yep,” she says, continuing to mess with how it’s positioned. “A bunch of guys in high school first started crocheting really crazy ski caps in wild colors for themselves. Other kids wanted them, too, so they took orders and sold them. Now they make scarves and beanies, too.”

“That’s really cool your brother and his friends do that. Does anyone tease them?”

“Tease him? Ha. No one teases Ryan. No one would dare pitch him shit about anything.”

I can see that. The guy’s totally buff.

She eyes the canvas bag next to my bed where I keep my knitting stuff. My grandmother taught me how to knit when I was little. Although I’m not very good at it, it helps me to think I’m recapturing the person I used to be before my life fell apart.

“Next time he comes to visit, you guys could go yarn shopping together.”

I smile at the thought of a big, burly guy like Ryan in a yarn shop.

We grab our backpacks and leave the room. As I lock up, Cassidy removes the dry-erase marker from the whiteboard on our door.

“What time will you be back?” she asks.

I have to think about it for a moment. I don’t have this quarter’s schedule memorized yet. “Not till three or four.”

“I’ll be home earlier.” Back by two, she writes on the board.

We head down the hall, waving to a few people on our floor who have their doors open. Soon we’re outside and heading to the Commons. Cassidy dodges a puddle on the sidewalk. It rained earlier this morning and everything is still wet, reminding me that I should’ve put my running shoes next to the heater under the window to dry them out. I make a mental note to do that when I get back.

We enter the dining hall, then end up standing in line at the salad bar for a few minutes as we wait for a replacement batch of fresh lettuce.

“Have you heard from your mom?” Cassidy asks.

“Not yet.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

“Maybe it wasn’t—you know—his brother at the party.”

I cringe. She promised she wouldn’t mention it again. “One can hope, right?”

The fresh lettuce arrives and we make our salads. I pile on lots of feta cheese, cherry tomatoes, Kalamata olives, and pepperoncini. Cassidy, on the other hand, goes for the soy cheese, mushrooms, and garbanzo beans. Taking our trays, we spot a table with a few people from our floor. Sara and another girl I don’t know are there, too.

The memory of how she talked to me the other night—like I was an idiot—is still fresh in my mind. One of my goals when I moved here was to stay away from toxic people. Right now, she tops that list. And even though I feel strange admitting this, the way she shamelessly fawned all over Jon kind of pisses me off.

Erik, Austin, and Brina are huddled over a textbook, so I’m guessing they’re heading somewhere to study when they’re done with lunch. Marla is texting. Sara’s friend is in workout clothes, so she’s probably going to the rec center. I’ve heard they’ve got some good classes, but I wouldn’t know because I like running outside. Sara, on the other hand, is looking all Taylor Swift with her wavy blond hair, floral print dress, jean jacket, and cowboy boots. Who knows what her plans are.

Before we get there, Cassidy whispers, “Can I mention we’re going out on Friday night to celebrate your birthday?”

I scan the people sitting at the table. “Yeah, I guess that’s okay. I doubt they’re all twenty-one anyway.”

We grab our seats and sit down.

“I didn’t know you knew him,” Sara is saying to Marla. She stirs her yogurt and takes a bite.

Marla’s light brown hair is piled into a messy knot at the top of her head, complete with a pencil sticking out of the middle like a single chopstick. “So when I say he’s trouble, I’m not just blowing smoke out my ass.”

“Who are you guys talking about?” Cassidy tears off a corner of her napkin and spits out her gum.

With an exasperated look on her face, Marla shakes her head. “Oh, Sara met this guy and—”

“Ivy,” Sara says, whipping her head around to face me.

Marla jerks sideways to avoid being hit by Sara’s hair, but she bumps into Brina, knocking her arm, and Brina’s fork clatters to her tray.

Keeping my face composed, which is pretty damn hard, I look at Sara. “Yes?”

Sara continues, oblivious to what’s going on around her. “You remember the guy that me, you, and Cassidy met?”

I take a bite of salad. “Mmmm-hmmm.” How could I forget? I can still see those dangerously blue eyes staring into mine. I may even have pressed my nose to his coat a few times this weekend and taken a few big whiffs. I’m not saying I did…just that it’s possible. You know, the migraine and all.

“I went to the tutoring center yesterday and guess who I ran into?” She’s playing with her hair, pulling it forward, creating a mass of blond curls on one side. If she keeps petting herself like that, she’s going to shed hair into her yogurt.

Let me take a wild guess. “Jon?”

“Yes! And he totally recognized me. I mean, we just met and everything. Can you believe it?”

Met? Yeah, they said maybe two words to each other.

“I figured he was there to get help like I was, so I asked him what subject he was being tutored in, and get this.” She reaches over and grabs my tray for emphasis, almost knocking over my water. “He’s actually a chemistry tutor.”

Chemistry? That does surprise me. I figured he’d be into communications or marketing or something, given that he works at the radio station.

Sara continues talking like a concrete truck rolling down a hill. With no brakes. “I’m like, no way. That’s totally why I’m here. I can’t believe you’re a chemistry tutor. Is this fate, or what? He laughed, of course, and agreed with me. So I signed up on his schedule and had a private session with him this morning.” That explains the outfit. “God, he was sooo helpful. And sooo hot.” I am strongly disliking—okay—hating the way she says sooo. “I wonder if he’ll mention me on his show tomorrow night.”

“Mention you?”

“If you listened to his show, Ivy, you’d know he sometimes makes little comments about what he’s done that week. Parties, events going on, people. That sort of thing.”

Cassidy catches my eye. She does this subtle little flounce and discreetly flings her hair back. I can almost hear Cassidy say in her radio announcer’s voice, I’m tutoring this girl who has this amazing hair. I can’t wait to tutor her again. I try not to laugh, so I stab at my salad instead. A cherry tomato rolls off the plate and onto the floor.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Sara’s friend says. “Last time I listened, he was talking about some zombie run through campus. Are any of you guys doing it?”

“A zombie run?” I look up from my plate. “What is that?”

“It’s a 10K obstacle race where you’re running from zombies. If you cross the finish line and still have one flag, you’re human. If not, you’re one of the infected. It benefits some charity.”

“Ooh, it sounds fun,” I reply.

“I’m Dani, by the way.” She gives a little wave of her hand.

“I’m Ivy. Nice to meet you. Is that short for Danielle?”

“No. Um…” She clears her throat and looks around sheepishly. “It’s short for Daenerys. From Game of Thrones. My mom read the first book when she was pregnant with me. My brother’s middle name is Harry and my little sister is Isabella.”

“Harry Potter and Twilight?” Austin takes a bite of his cheeseburger.

She nods. “Kind of stupid, I know.”

I successfully spear another tomato on my plate. “Stupid? I think it’s cool to be named after characters in a book. I once knew a family whose kids were all named after the cities where they were conceived. Dallas, Aspen, Carmel, Sedona. So consider yourself lucky.”

“Oh my God, that is so sick,” Cassidy says, laughing. “Who wants to know where your parents did it when your mom got knocked up? Jesus H.” She kisses her cross pendant.

“Yeah, who wants to even imagine your parents doing it at all?” Marla says. “I sure as hell don’t.”

Dani takes a sip from her pop. “I’d be Ballard,” she says, totally straight-faced.

Austin and Erik start laughing.

“What would your name be?” she asks. I can’t tell where she’s directing the question.

Austin shrugs. “Seattle. I think.” Erik doesn’t answer.

I look around the table. “I’d be Hollywood. Florida, that is. Not California. Top that.”

Cassidy snorts. “I’d be Polly. Short for Kaanapali. I was born in Hawaii.” She elbows me. “Polly and Holly.”

“Will you guys stop?” Marla holds up a hand. “This is disgusting.”

Cassidy points a finger at everyone at the table. “Listen. No one better get pregnant while they’re going to school here. Because I’d seriously die if one of you named a kid College View.”

Everyone laughs.

“Speaking of conceptions and birthdays,” Cassidy says, a big smile on her face. “Ivy’s birthday is on Friday. She turns twenty-one, so we’re going to the Hardware Store Pub to celebrate. You guys should come.”

“Happy birthday,” a few of them say.

“Sweet,” Dani says. “I’ve got a fake ID, but it’s not very good. Do they check?”

Austin starts to answer, but Sara interrupts him.

“Hey, guys.” The whole table looks over at her. That’s when I realize she hasn’t told us her city name yet. I wonder if it’s funny or lame. “Do you know if Jon’s running in it? I’m not a runner, but I can be.”

We all stare at her as if she’s just unzipped her clothes to reveal an alien underneath.

Has she not been listening to the conversation? Dani glances over at me, eyes wide, biting her lip. She’s trying not to laugh.

Cassidy does nothing to hide her irritation. “Running? What are you talking about?”

“The zombie race,” Sara answers. “Is he running in it, do you know?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Cassidy kisses her necklace.

“Just don’t get any ideas about him, okay?” Marla scowls at Sara. When Sara doesn’t respond, she adds, “I’m serious.”

“Ideas?” Sara flips her hair again. “I have lots of ideas that involve him.”

“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” I’m almost positive I walked in on him having sex at the party. And the fight I witnessed had something to do with a girl named Stella.

“Try fuck-buddy,” Marla says. “The guy’s a total player. Slept with the slutty chicks in high school and now he’s working his way through the sororities.”

“Sounds like you,” Erik says to Austin.

Austin gives him the finger and takes a bite from his second cheeseburger.

Marla ignores them. “But that’s not all. He’s been in a lot of trouble. Got arrested a few years ago and kicked out of high school for doing some seriously bad shit.”

“Trouble?” Sara asks.

“Yeah. Stealing. Selling weed. Got arrested and went to juvie.”

My curiosity gets the better of me. “And you know this how?”

Marla repositions the pencil sticking out of her bun. “My friend’s cousin knows him.”

“I’m surprised he got into PSU if he’s got a record,” Cassidy says skeptically.

“Maybe his parents are rich and got him off,” Dani says.

Sara is smiling. She’s liking that explanation. Wealthy parents, hot guy, potential trust fund.

“I doubt it,” Marla says. “I don’t care that he’s on the radio now and is really popular. He’s bad news, Sara, and you should stay away from him.”

I don’t know Marla well enough to know if she’s the kind of person who embellishes stories or not. “Maybe he pulled his shit together.”

“Whatevs, Ivy. You go ahead and think that, but the guy’s trouble.” Marla takes a bite of her quesadilla. “Plain and simple.”

I don’t hear the rest of what she’s saying as I stare into my half-eaten salad with unfocused eyes.

Chase’s brother used that same phrase when I ran into him at the Stop and Shop after the accident. It was the beginning of my downward slide.

Cornering me in the back next to the beer refrigerator and the popcorn machine, Aaron leaned in close. “He loved you, Ivy. Plain and simple. The two of you were meant to be together. It’s too bad you were so fucking stupid you couldn’t see what a great guy he was.”

I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.

chapter six

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

~ William Shakespeare

Ivy

The Fine Arts building is located on the far end of campus. It takes me a little longer to get there than I thought it would, because when I came through the Quad, I ran into a few people I knew from a class last quarter. They were sitting on the edge of the fountain and talking about what they’d done over winter break. I hung out for a few minutes and misjudged how long it would take to get here, so I had to hoof it and now I’m a little sweaty. I’m glad I’m scrubbing and not wearing one of Cassidy’s new tops.

Through a cluster of leafless trees behind the building, cars whiz by on Monroe Avenue, the road bordering campus. On the other side is Greek Row, with its stately old mansions and covered porches. I catch a glimpse of the church steeple on the corner of Monroe and Sprague and cringe. It’s the same one I saw from the roof of the White House.

“Returning to the scene of the crime?”

I jump at the sound of the deep voice to my left. I turn slowly, as though I’m in a dream. At first all I see is chrome and leather. I blink. And then…

There, not more than ten feet away from me, Jon Priestly is straddling a motorcycle.

My jaw practically drops to the ground as I watch him swing a leg over the seat. He’s wearing dark glasses, a worn leather bomber jacket, faded jeans with a rip in the right knee, and a pair of scuffed black boots.

I have a major moment of amnesia, having no idea what he just asked or what I’m doing here. I quickly clamp my teeth together to keep from saying something that will make him think I’m a total dork. About the only thing I do remember is my name, and honestly, that’s a little iffy right now.

How did I not notice him when I was walking over here? Am I completely blind? How unaware of my surroundings am I that I didn’t notice…this? Had I seen him, I totally would’ve gone around to a different entrance or at least been prepared for what I was going to say.

He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, icy blue eyes squinting at the sudden light. My stomach tightens. I don’t know about you, but I secretly love when a guy removes his sunglasses to talk to me instead of leaving them on. Makes me feel like he truly wants to see me and have me see him.

His cool gaze slides over my body, giving me the sensation that he’s inches away rather than feet. My heart does a rollercoaster drop, thudding straight to my knees. Maybe that’s why he took off his shades. He wants me to see him checking me out.

Oh God.

I’m suddenly and painfully aware that I look like I’m on the verge of utter homelessness. I shift my backpack to my other shoulder.

And then I remember what Marla said about him. Arrested? Kicked out of high school? A player? I can totally see it.

My cheeks are on fire and so are the tips of my ears. I’m glad I’m not wearing a coat, otherwise I know I’d be sweating. At least my sleeve with the stain is still rolled up. I run my tongue over my teeth to make sure I don’t have a piece of lettuce stuck somewhere. I’m not sure if I’m embarrassed because I look like a slob (I’m seriously cursing myself for not listening to Cassidy) or because he’s so damn sexy.

Who am I kidding? It’s both.

Keep calm. Act normal. He’s just a guy. “Hey, Jon.”

“What brings you here?” The low timbre of his voice shoots straight to my core.

I try my best to ignore the sensation. He grins, and that’s when I notice that one of his eyeteeth is slightly crooked. It occurs to me that imperfect things are much more interesting than perfect ones.

It feels like it takes me a year to collect my thoughts. I debate whether or not to thank him again for his help on Friday night. But if I say nothing, it implies that it was no big deal. A topic not worthy of bringing up. A non-issue. Yeah, right. As if I could ever forget what happened. “I’m just—”

“What up, bro?”

I breathe a huge sigh of relief as two guys approach us. I’ll use that as an excuse to break away and get to class.

But before I can move, Jon is suddenly right next to me, his hand on my arm, like he knows that I’m planning my escape. A niggling of panic shoots from out of nowhere and skitters along my spine. I tense.

He must sense my discomfort, because he frowns and lets go of my arm.

“Hold on, okay?” His breath whispers across my cheek. It smells spicy sweet. Like he just ate a cookie.

I really should keep going. Class is about to start and I don’t want to be late. There’s nothing stopping me, but my Toms are rooted to the concrete at the base of the steps leading into the building.

He turns to his buddies. “Heading to class, then I’ve got to run to the station for a few minutes. How about you?”

“Heading home,” the tall one says, pointing to one of the frat houses. He’s got a painful looking pimple lodged between his cheek and his nose. “We’ll just be hanging out. Swing by when you’re done.”

“Will do.” One of Jon’s arms is slightly stretched out toward me, his fingers open, as if to say he hasn’t forgotten about me. Or that he doesn’t want me to go on without him. “We all set for Saturday?”

The short guy rubs his hands together and grins. “Almost.”

Must be another party.

I don’t need to hover around while they discuss their wild weekend plans. “Catch you later.” Turning on my heel, I take the steps two at a time.

I enter the building without looking back, and the door whooshes shut behind me. It feels good to simply walk away because I want to. To leave without being stopped. The sign for rooms 110 to 116 directs me to the left and I head that way.

“Ivy, wait up.”

Boots hit the wood floor behind me.

Jon comes up next to me, matching me stride for stride. “What class are you going to?”

I don’t look over. “Photography.”

“Right on,” he says, as if—

Hold it. My eyes widen and my step falters. “You, too?”

“What are the chances that Ivy on the Roof is in one of my classes? I’d say that’s fate, wouldn’t you?”

I almost choke. Fate? Ivy on the Roof? Is he making fun of me?

My slight chagrin turns to irritation. Sara said they talked about fate at the tutoring center. Does he think girls like that kind of crap? That we can’t see right through a super-lame pickup line? At least some of us can. One thing’s for sure. The last thing I need are people who believe in fate and destiny, whether it’s a cutesy pickup line or not. That BS is fine in movies and song lyrics, but in real life, not having the free will to make your own decisions is suffocating, smothering, and really freaky.

I stop in front of room 116 and reach for the door. “Fate seems to follow you everywhere.”

His hand gets there first, brushing mine in the process. Even though I pull away quickly, the echo of his touch sends a spark of awareness up my arm.

“You sound skeptical, like you don’t believe in the inevitability of certain things happening.” He steps aside for me to enter. There’s an alcove and another door that leads into the actual classroom.

Maybe the guy does have a few manners, but then I remember how he checked out my chest the other night.

“You mean like being in the right place at the right time?”

“Yeah, sure. Or the opposite. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And no matter what you do, there’s no fucking way you can change what’s going to happen.” A shadow flickers behind his eyes.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it. But I don’t believe in fate. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. Fate, if you can call it that, is what we make ourselves through our own actions.”

His dark expression disappears, replaced by a wide grin that spreads across his face. It takes me by surprise. What did I say?

“God, that was so fucking cool.”

I frown. “What was?”

“You quoted Terminator 2.”

“I did? The movie?”

“Yep.”

I raise a brow. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s unlikely. I’ve only seen the first one.”

“You paraphrased it, but that’s one of the themes of the film. Fate isn’t set in stone. We can change our future no matter how impossible we think it might be right now.”

Change my future. That’s what I’ve been trying to do. It’s the reason I’m here at PSU in the first place. However, considering what happened this weekend, I have my doubts that I’ll ever be able to completely shake my past. Not unless I do something drastic. Like join a convent and move to South America. But even then, it’d probably find a way to haunt my dreams.

The instructor isn’t up front yet, and people are still standing around talking, so we’ve still got a few more minutes.

My tongue is as dry as if I’d been chewing on a bath towel. I reach for the water bottle tucked into a pouch on my backpack and take a drink. “And you believe that?”

He shrugs, a faraway look in his eye. “I don’t know. I guess I hope it’s possible.”

Me too.

Changing one’s future does come with a huge price. I know that better than most. If I believed in fate and destiny, I’d be in Lincoln Falls and Chase would still be alive.

* * *

Jon

The photography classroom is one of the smaller ones, with maybe forty or fifty students in the class. Rather than individual desks, there are rows of long tables and chairs like you’d find in one of the chem labs. The prof is walking to the front of the class, so Ivy and I need to find our seats.

That Terminator quote was so fucking cool, even if she didn’t do it on purpose. I spot a couple of empty seats in the back. She turns toward the front instead, but all I see are single chairs.

I hesitate and consider sitting separately. She can go up there, I’ll sit back here, and that will be that. When class is over, I’ll gather up my crap and slip out. After a few days, these routines will become habits, and Ivy will just be a cool girl I talked to a couple of times. I do still have her coat, though.

Don’t let her go.

She waits as a few students brush past us.

“Nice talking to you,” she says, throwing a glance at me over her shoulder. That’s when I notice the tattoo on the nape of her neck. It’s a small Chinese character that you wouldn’t see when her hair is down. I didn’t peg her as the type to have ink. I wonder what it means.

The problem with Ivy is that what little I know of her intrigues the hell out of me. When I got off my bike in the front of the building and saw her walking toward me, my heart lurched in my chest. It’s not often that a girl surprises me the way she does.

No, I don’t want to sit apart. I want her beside me for the next hour. Maybe she’ll want to get something to eat afterward.

Without thinking, I grab her hand. “Ivy, this way.”

Her ponytail whips in an arc around her shoulder as she snaps her head in my direction. Panic flares in her widened eyes as she stares at our joined hands.

I quickly let go. I must make her uncomfortable, because she tensed when I touched her arm outside, too. I thought I’d imagined it, but I guess not. I’m used to girls loving my attention, not being intimidated by it. What has made her so fearful of being touched? She even crawled out on a roof to get away from someone.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I point to the seats with my elbow. “Empty spots. Back here.” When she doesn’t move, I know I need to say something else, but I’m not sure what. She’s got me tongue-tied, something I don’t have much experience with. “Do you…want to sit together?”

Say yes.

She chews on her lower lip for a moment, then her gaze locks on mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. It’s as if she’s searching for something. I won’t deny it. Most girls like what they see. I assume she’s going to give in, so I give her a Jon Priestly smile.

I can almost see a curtain closing in front of her face. “I’m going to sit up front. I can see better up there. Thanks, though.”

Hold on. Did she really just turn me down? Running a hand through my hair, I watch her walk down the aisle, her thick ponytail swinging and bouncing on her back, as if she’s happy to be moving away from me. I try to conceal my disappointment as I slump down into the nearest empty seat.

She was searching for something in me and obviously didn’t find it. I fell short. An old but familiar pang gnaws at my insides. I try to ignore it, but it’s too late.

You’re not good enough, Jon. Why can’t you see that? You’ve never been good enough. You were born a loser and you’ll always be a loser.

I grab a notebook and pen from my backpack and toss them on the table in front of me, not bothering to open up a blank page. The professor welcomes everyone and says some shit about how this class can change the way we look at the world around us.

I don’t give a flying fuck. Crossing my ankle over my knee, I pick at a frayed hole in my jeans.

I had Ivy pegged as a hot mess anyway. I’ve had plenty of those girls in my life without adding another.

chapter seven

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

~ William Shakespeare

Ivy

My fingers curl over the keyboard like claws. I’m trying to keep them from shaking. After taking my last pill, I don’t really have a choice. I have to do this.

I open and close my fists as if I’m doing some preparatory exercises before using the computer. I need to log into my old email account and get the name of the doctor here at PSU that my therapist recommended.

I take a deep breath and pull it up. I can’t believe I even remember the password.

Sure enough, pages and pages of messages from people and businesses I don’t know fill the screen, many of them porn-related. And there are dozens of invites for pages and private online groups with hurtful names.

You’ve been invited to like the page Ivy McAllister is a Psycho Whore.

You’ve been invited to the group Ivy M. Suks Big Cock N Wants To Suk Yours.

@MagicVaj_McAllister is now following you.

I experience a little satisfaction that Aaron needs to take a few basic English classes and learn how to spell—but then that’s me, the secret nerd, for you.

It was easier to abandon this email address and delete my social media accounts than to keep wading through this garbage.

I do a search for Dr. Kramer and find the message I’m looking for. His colleague and former student is named Tess Mehta. He thinks I’ll like her.

I pull up the PSU Student Counseling services website and scroll down to see if they have her listed. They do. Dr. Mehta looks to be about thirty years old, with straight, dark hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a closed-mouth smile. I can’t tell whether she seems kind and caring or judgmental.

Hands shaking, heart pounding, I dial the office number listed on the website.

“PSU Student Counseling Center. This is Addison. Can I help you?”

Addison? It sounds like the name of a student. Is the receptionist’s position a work-study job? How can I explain to a student that I need to make an appointment with a shrink? What if she asks what the nature of my call is? It’s not like I can say I have a sore throat and need to see the doctor.

In order to make an appointment, I’ll have to state my full name. Probably give her my student number. I don’t want people to know who I am, and that I have “issues.”

And what if we have a class together? This Addison chick will know me, but I won’t know her. What if she’s a grad student and she types up Dr. Mehta’s notes? Don’t tell me that’s highly unlikely—it’s probably not even possible given medical ethics and everything—but my brain keeps going there. Who says fears are rational? Addison could sit in the back of my Comparative Lit class and point me out to her friends. “That’s the girl I was telling you about. She’s a fucking psycho. She thinks she may have killed her boyfriend, but get this—she’s got amnesia and can’t remember if she did or not.”

And then the rumors would start all over again. And the harassment. But this time from someone other than Aaron and his friends.

“Hello?” Addison says. “Are you there?”

I can’t do this.

I stab the End button, toss the phone on the bed, and wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. I’ve got a good thing going here at PSU where no one knows the real me, and I’d like to keep it that way.

chapter eight

I once had a thousand desires, but in my one desire to know you,

all else melted away.

~ Rumi

Jon

There’s a big crowd of students at the Hardware Store tonight, so I’m lucky to get a booth. I don’t bother to look around for Kelly, Reese, and James, because they texted me a few minutes ago saying they were just leaving Kelly’s house.

As I slide in, two girls stop abruptly at the head of the table. A dark-haired girl with her hands on her hips gives me an angry scowl. “We saw it first.”

Before I can tell her that I’ve been waiting at the door to see if anyone was going to take it, her friend comes to my rescue. Great, it’s one of the students I’m tutoring.

“Oh my God. Jon.”

“Hey, Sara.”

Her face lights up even more that I remembered her name. “Are you here by yourself?” I start to answer, but she keeps going. “Can we share the table with you?”

Her boldness is borderline rude. “I’ve actually got friends coming. Sorry.”

Her face falls and her friend looks even more pissed off.

I look around. It is one of the big corner booths, though, and the place is packed. Chances are slim that another table will open up soon, especially since the band is getting ready to play. “Is it just the two of you?”

“We’ve got other friends here.” She points over her shoulder. “But they don’t want to sit. I was going to order something to eat, so I wanted a table.”

Is she talking about Ivy? Here at the Hardware? I jerk my head in the direction she’s pointing, but don’t see her.

I wish I could put my finger on what it is about Ivy that I can’t seem to shake.

“There’s probably room, then,” I tell Sara.

I assume that the two of them will sit on the opposite side of the booth, so I don’t move over. Her friend does, but Sara doesn’t. She slides in right next to me. I have to shift away to keep my arm from touching her.

“So, is Ivy here with you?”

With a big huff, Sara crosses her arms over her chest and dramatically rolls her eyes. “She’s supposed to be, but I haven’t seen her. It’s her birthday and one of the girls brought cupcakes.”

It’s Ivy’s birthday today? Now I’ll have an excuse to talk to her. I frown. Since when do I ever need an excuse to talk to a girl?

If anyone doesn’t look twenty-one, it’s Sara. She probably has a fake ID. “So I see you didn’t wear your Material Girl garb again.” She looks at me, a blank expression on her face. “Your Madonna look,” I add for clarification. Still nothing. I try again. “Your eighties costume from the party?”

“Oh.” She laughs. I’m still not sure whether she gets it. “No, but I do have this.” She unzips her hoodie and pushes out her chest at me. The word Parishioner is emblazoned on the neon pink T-shirt that’s clearly one or two sizes too small. “I’m your biggest fan,” she says proudly.

Great. She sounds like the stalker from Misery. I force a smile, but it’s hard because my face feels like stone.

Some guys might enjoy having girls show them their tits like this. I don’t. It reminds me too much of the women my father is attracted to.

“Uh, thanks.” I raise my hand and get the waitress’s attention. She nods. A pitcher of beer can’t get here fast enough.

“Great show on Tuesday,” Sara says. “Friday, too. When I got home from the party, I tuned in and listened to you in bed. They should have you do that time slot every weekend. I could listen to you talk all night.”

“Thanks,” I say absently as I watch the band finish setting up. There’s a cello. Interesting. “But if they did give me the Friday night time slot, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

She laughs. Only when she moves a little closer do I realize that she thinks my remark was meant to be flirty.

After a quick sound check, the band starts playing a strange mashup of hip-hop and folk/country. At first I don’t think I like them, but the cello player, a guy, is insanely talented and the lead singer, a woman, has a cool vibe. I’m tapping my fingers on the table top, watching everyone dance and before I can say no, Sara is pulling me onto the dance floor. We dance just the one song before I notice our pitcher of beer has arrived. “I’m parched,” I say, and head back to the table.

After downing half a glass, my salvation finally arrives at the door. I wave Kelly and the guys over.

Kelly and I met at the station, where she does the books. She’s an accounting major, and the job will look good on a resume. Reese is an engineering student who just got an internship this summer at a civil engineering firm in Portland. And then there’s James, my best friend. He dropped out of school for a while after his dad died, so it’s good having him back.

“Glad you guys finally decided to show up. I’ve been feeling like a loser, so these ladies took pity on me.”

We slide over and the three of them sit down. James reaches for the pitcher and does a waah waah fake cry of sympathy.

“Fuck you, Brettner.” I finish my beer and hope they’ll introduce themselves. And they do. I don’t want to make it look like I’m with Sara and her friend any more than it does already.

“Blame her for being late,” Reese says, inclining his head toward Kelly. “We got to her place on time.”

Kelly scowls and pushes her red hair behind her shoulder. “What? I can’t help that Dr. Bastion scheduled a test on Monday and all the beginning accounting students are freaking out. I had to stay late at the tutoring center and go over the material with like seven different students. I texted you, Reese. You could’ve come here without me.”

He leans over and nuzzles her neck. “I’m not complaining. I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“Yeah, but I do.” James rests his arms on the vinyl seat back and surveys the crowd.

Kelly gives him the finger and kicks him under the table. Only she misses, and her shoe connects with my shin.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“There’s a test in Bastion’s class?” Sara’s eyes go wide.

She’s just catching that now? I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

I hold up the empty pitcher to get the waitress’s attention again. Juggling an armful of plates on the other side of the busy bar, she nods at me.

“I like these guys,” James says, watching the band. “Who are they?”

“Yeah, I do, too.” I grab the flyer that’s sandwiched between the mustard and ketchup. “They’re called Shoo, Gretchen.”

James laughs. “Great name.”

I make a mental note to approach them after this set. Depending on when they leave town, maybe they’d want to record a live session at the station before they head back. PSU students appreciate indie music that doesn’t fit into a particular mode, so I know they’d love these guys.

Sara cranes her neck to see the stage, then makes a face. “I don’t get it. She’s got ugly shoes.”

Kelly snorts. Reese puts his head into the crook of his elbow. And James has a hungry glint in his eye. I give him an are-you-kidding-me look. He just shrugs and I know exactly what he’s thinking.

The guy’s a total man-whore. He’s already thinking how easy it’s going to be to convince Sara to go home with him. Or if he’s really lucky, just a blow job out in the parking lot. That way, there’s nothing to deal with in the morning.

Which is fine with me. Then she’s out of my hair.

* * *

Ivy

Cassidy grabs my arm. “Oh my God. He’s here.”

He? As in Aaron? My stomach bottoms out and my first reaction is to duck behind her. I’m sure my eyes are freakishly huge right now (like those animal pictures with the Photoshop eyes, which by the way, totally creep me out). I glance around the bar, trying to locate him. I’m pretty sure my voice just croaked out, Who?

“Who do you think, Birthday Girl? Last weekend? The White House? Hot guy? The one from the radio?” I stare at her blankly. She’s talking at me but it’s like the words are stuck in a jar of honey. If I had to take a comprehension test right now based on what she just said, I’d get an F. “Ives, you’re pathetically pathetic.” She points and, like a robot, I look in that direction, afraid of what I might see.

In a booth in the corner, under a light made from a giant rusty sawmill blade, Jon Priestly is sitting with a bunch of other people.

And just like that, I can feel the color returning to my face. My stomach unknots and my jaw unclenches.

It takes precisely three seconds before realization dawns in Cassidy’s eyes. “God, I’m so sorry. You were thinking him him.” She wraps her arms around me and gives me a hug. “I can’t believe what a rotten friend I am. I wasn’t thinking.”

I feel bad that my crazy has affected Cassidy. “I forgive you. But yeah, you’re the rottenest.”

Cassidy hasn’t asked any more about Aaron. All she knows is what I told her that night after the party. I think she felt sorry for me with the migraine, so she’s not about to press me again.

The waitress is waiting for my order, but I guess I’m taking too long because one of my friends gets impatient and orders for me. It takes me a minute to realize that I’m staring across the room at Jon. He’s like one of those superconductor magnets and my eyes are made of malleable iron. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and his arms are covered in tats. Well, not entirely, not like a sleeve or anything, but he does have a few. I wonder if there’s a story behind any of them.

Marla turns to see who we’re talking about. “Jon? He and Sara have been all over each other. You should’ve seen them on the dance floor a few minutes ago. It was a Channing-slash-Jenna-slash-Step Up reunion. Seriously.”

Brina knocks her in the arm. “It was not.”

“She was totally grinding on him,” Marla counters. “Here. Check out my pics. I just posted them on Facebook.”

Brina looks shocked. “Already? Isn’t she going to be pissed?”

Marla rolls her eyes. “Whatevs. It’s not like I tagged her. Besides, she’s an exhibitionist and loves the attention.”

Cassidy grabs the phone. I don’t want to look, but I do. Jon and Sara are dancing, all right. He’s looking at the band and Sara has her impressive rack pressed to his chest.

This was supposed to be a fun birthday celebration—I’m twenty-one now. Woohoo. Cue the confetti, the unicorns, and the chocolate martinis. But the week has been a total downer.

First of all, Mom called back to tell me that, yes, Aaron Marquette is looking into going to school here to play ball. His dad thinks he’s going to play in the majors one day. Fuck me for choosing a school that made it to the College World Series last year.

A few other schools are courting him, too, so it isn’t a sure thing. Besides, PSU is a big school and it’s possible I might not ever see him, she said. But I know I’ll always be looking over my shoulder. I’ve already started googling other schools that have good graphic design programs.

“If he does decide to go there,” Mom said, “at least he’ll be there on his own. The pack mentality isn’t applicable when there’s only one.”

Easy for her to say.

I hate how she’s always trying to find a silver lining and downplaying any negative. Sometimes bad shit is bad shit. Sprinkling a little sugar on it does not make it edible.

And if that’s not terrible enough, I had car problems and spent all my extra money getting it fixed, so I had to tell Cassidy no on the Sasquatch tickets.

I grab my drink—a Buttery Nipple that the girls ordered me probably because of the name—and down it in one gulp. Yuck! I didn’t know it was butterscotch. Coughing, I grab someone’s water and try to wash away the taste. When that doesn’t work, I suck down Cassidy’s strawberry margarita.

“Hey,” she says. “That’s mine.”

“Ha ha. Too bad. It’s my birthday, bitch, and you know I don’t do butterscotch.”

“I didn’t know that’s what a Buttery Nipple was. I assumed it was figurative. Like Sex on the Beach.”

“Well, it’s not. It’s disgusting.” I spear a strawberry from the bottom of the glass and hold it out for Cassidy as a token offering for draining her drink. She does this porn star thing, licking it off the straw with her tongue, and slurps it down. “That’s sick,” I tell her.

“It’s supposed to be.”

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Without waiting to see if anyone wants to come with me, I set down the empty glass on the stand-up table and head for the neon male and female stick figures at the back of the bar.

On the way, I spy Jon talking to the band. I keep my head down, but can’t help noticing that he’s hugging an older woman who’s wearing a Hardware Store polo shirt.

I’m not really sure why it bothers me so much to see him with Sara. We hardly know each other. And when we met, the circumstances were pretty bizarre. Based on what he knows of me, he probably does think I’m the crazy girl (which, truthfully, I am) and Sara is the normal one. Or maybe he’s just into girls like her. A lot of guys are.

While I’m in the bathroom, I devise a few excuses to leave early. The one about having too much to drink because I’m not used to being able to do it legally is the most plausible.

I’m texting Cassidy as I exit the bathroom and end up stumbling straight into Jon’s arms. The same arms that were recently all over Sara. I’m not sure what it is about alcohol and misplaced jealousy, but there’s definitely a correlation. Even knowing that, though, I’m still kind of pissed.

“Hey, Ivy.”

“Hey yourself.” I don’t mean to sound so surly, it just comes out that way.

“I hear it’s your birthday.” He smiles. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” And because I can’t help it: “Did Sara tell you that while you were dancing?”

The optimist in me thinks he looks hurt. The pessimist in me knows better.

“Yeah, but it’s not what you think.”

Oh really? “So what do I think?” This should be interesting.

He smiles and there’s that one crooked tooth again. It reminds me of my recent revelation that I hate perfect things. In fact, even if you asked me tomorrow when I’m completely sober, I’d still tell you that perfect things make me want to scream.

“Are you…jealous or something?”

I shrug and try to look as if I don’t care. Which I don’t. But I kind of do. Which is stupid, I know. Even in my semi-wasted condition, I can tell you that. “Jealous? Hardly.”

Jon’s expression goes from joking to serious, reminding me of the way he looked when he helped me off the roof. His eyebrows pull together and his eyes narrow slightly. He doesn’t blink. He just stares, his gaze moving over my entire face as if he’s committing it to memory.

My cheeks heat up. My scalp tingles.

I can’t tell if I just made him mad or if he’s trying to figure out whether or not I’m telling him the truth. He puts a hand on the wall next to my head and leans in close. My heartbeat is seriously pounding against my eardrums right now—so loud that I can hardly hear.

“I think you think there’s something going on between Sara and me, am I right?”

He smells minty, like he’s been chewing gum. And soapy, like he just washed his hands. It’s cool—really cool—that he doesn’t smell of strong aftershave or cologne.

I don’t answer.

“There’s not,” he says. “I was waiting for friends and she invited herself to my table. But if you don’t believe me, check out who she’s dancing with now.”

He moves just enough so that I can see Sara on the dance floor. And yeah. She’s Channing all over some dude’s Tatum.

“That’s my friend James,” he explains. “He’s hoping to get lucky tonight.”

It certainly looks like that’s where it’s headed.

Jon turns his attention back to me. “So, do I get to kiss the birthday girl?”

At the word kiss, my gaze drops to his mouth. Forget what I said about being able to hear my heart pounding against my eardrums. I’m pretty sure it stopped beating altogether just now. His bottom lip is fuller than his upper lip, and I wonder how it would feel moving against my own.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?” God, that sounds lame. I blame the Buttery Nipple.

He flattens his other palm on the wall next to my head, caging me in without touching me. His elbows are slightly bent. If I wanted to, I could slide down a few inches, dip under his arm, and be free. I don’t want to, but it’s nice having that option.

His breath is warm on my cheek, making a few loose strands of my hair stick to the lip balm I just applied. He reaches up and, with a feather-light touch of his thumb, gently strokes them away. My lips part. I shiver. Even though we’re in the back of a crowded college dive bar, it feels as if it’s just the two of us.

“Say yes, Ivy.”

Are you kidding me? I want him to kiss me. And it’s not just the alcohol talking. A completely sober me would want the same thing.

I nod.

He’s looking at my mouth, his nostrils slightly flared. “I want you to say it, though.”

I think the butterflies in my lower belly just guzzled a whole case of Red Bull.

“Yes, Jon, I want you to kiss me,” I say breathlessly, aware that I’ve given him more than the one-word answer he was probably expecting.

He groans. Sucks in a breath. Then he bends his elbows until his mouth is less than an inch from mine. I’m breathing in his air and he’s breathing in mine.

“Happy twenty-first birthday, Ivy.” Then he closes the space between us.

Jon’s a good kisser.

A really good kisser.

Did I say he’s a good kisser?

At first he’s a total gentleman, his lips soft, just as I’d imagined they’d be. My mouth automatically matches the rhythm of his. And that’s when I feel his tongue. It delves inside, sliding past my teeth, exploring, seeking out everything about me as if I am his to discover.

Forget what I said about him being a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t kiss the way Jon Priestly does.

It makes me want more. Much more. I arch into him. He presses into me.

Oh. Yeah.

It’s obvious he wants more, too.

He continues this relentless assault on me with just his mouth, kissing my jaw, my earlobes, my neck. Goosebumps and friends of goosebumps spring up along my skin.

I lift my arms to slide them around his neck, but he stops me. Instead, he takes my hands, threads his fingers into mine, and pins me against the wall like a crime scene outline figure.

Something sounds in the back of my head. An alarm?

I stiffen. He keeps kissing me.

I’m suddenly underwater, kicking my arms and legs, but going nowhere. I need to breathe, but I can’t. I’m in over my head. Stuck. Trapped.

My fingers tighten their grip on his. Pinned to the wall like this, my wrists suddenly start to ache. My nails turn clawlike as they dig into the backs of his hands.

Jon lifts his head. “Are you okay, Ivy?”

I don’t answer, because I’m not sure.

“Cuz if you’re not, we can stop. It’s no big deal.”

The butterflies in my stomach are now piranhas, and I feel as though I might get sick. I breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

He releases my hands. I rub my wrists, even though that’s not where he’s been touching me.

“Ivy?”

My lips feel swollen as I blink his face into focus. He’s frowning and his eyes are boring into mine, but he doesn’t make a move to grab me again. I test him and push on his chest. He backs up a step, putting more than a foot of space between us, and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry if I… Do you want to go back out there?”

I’m standing here, my hands still on his chest, but he’s not touching me. He’s letting me go. I can leave if I want to.

I look at him again. I mean, really look at him.

Like I said before, Jon isn’t the kind of guy I’m normally attracted to. Gauges in his earlobes. Unruly dark hair hanging over one eye. His face hasn’t seen a razor in days, and he’s probably got more tattoos and piercings elsewhere on his body that I can’t see. However, and this is a big however, anyone with a vagina, and some with penises, would agree that he’s totally hot.

So you see, it’s okay that he’s not really my type. I’m not looking to fall in love or start anything long-term. I just want a temporary bandage. Someone to help shrink the mess inside me until I can figure out how to do it on my own.

Besides, it’s my birthday, I’m buzzed, and I deserve a little fun. I’m trying to forget all that heavy shit anyway. It doesn’t exist in the new world I’m trying to create for myself.

I take a step toward him, then another and another. Until he’s the one pressed against the wall and I’m the one caging him in. Which makes me the one in control.

At first he looks a little surprised. Not pissed-off surprised, but the kind of surprised you feel when you open a present that’s not what you expect but is still really cool. He grins and there’s a mischievous gleam in his eye. He seems totally fine with the power reversal.

I relax and let my body take over.

I’m not sure how long we kiss back there, but somehow we end up on the dance floor. His hands are on my hips and my arms are above my head. I’m laughing. He’s laughing. Then he’s turning me around. Back at his table, he pulls me onto his lap and I smear frosting on his lips from one of my birthday cupcakes. Then I kiss it off.

I want him to come home with me, and I tell him so. I’m not ready for this night to be over.

He cups my jaw and whispers in my ear. “I want you, Ivy. So fucking bad. But you need to be completely sober, because afterward, when you’re lying there in the dark, I want you to know it was your choice. Your decision. No one else’s.”

I literally melt into him when he kisses me again.

“Plus,” he says against my lips. “I want you to remember everything.”

chapter nine

I can hear you best when the world falls asleep

and I open myself to the stars.

~ From Jon’s collection of lyrics

Jon

The sound of water rushing and clanging through the pipes isn’t my favorite way to wake from a deep sleep. But that’s one of the drawbacks of living in an old house with old plumbing. When someone flushes or showers, it’s really loud. Given that most of my roommates are slobs, I doubt someone’s doing the dishes or laundry. Rolling over, I bury my head under the pillow, hoping I can fall asleep again. I’m not ready to get up yet.

As I lie here, I think about Ivy. Last night at the pub, we had a great time together. I couldn’t seem to get enough of her. She made me laugh like I hadn’t in a long time. We slow-danced to the fast songs and kissed during the slow ones. Her hands guided mine over her hips while the music and crowd surrounded us.

As the night wound down, she told me to come back to her dorm room with her, saying Cassidy was a heavy sleeper. I teased her about having sex in her twin bed with her roommate just a few feet away, and told her she’d had too much to drink. She tried arguing with me, and I just about caved. God, her lips were so soft and her body curved against mine so perfectly. At that very moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to bury myself inside her and feel her shatter around me. Had she been anyone else, I know I would have.

But something different lurks in those sultry green eyes of hers. I didn’t want an alcohol-fueled hookup to change it in any way, so I stayed strong last night.

I grab my cell from the nightstand and check the time. It’s been almost ten hours since I saw her. Before I talk myself out of it, I send her a text.

Hey, Ivy on the Roof. Good morning.

It takes only a few seconds until my phone vibrates.

Hey yourself.

Are you awake?

No, I’m sleep-texting you.

Is she being a smartass or is she pissed off? She was pretty freaked out when I first kissed her, back near the restrooms. I set the phone down and rub the sleep out of my eyes. What did she think I was going to do to her, anyway? She acted fearful, almost panicky. Had she warmed up to me only because she’d been drinking?

My cell vibrates again: a smiley face.

Okay, maybe she’s not mad.

That was fun last night. Hope you had a good birthday.

Thanks. I did. At least the parts I remember. I hope I didn’t do anything too stupid.

Except for the part where you jumped on the stage, grabbed the mic, and started singing.

OMG whaaat?

Just kidding.

She texts a smiley face with a tongue sticking out.

I stretch and yawn. How do you feel this morning?

As in, am I hungover? If so, the answer is a little. But I’ll be fine as soon as I eat something.

Good.

Good that I’m hungover or good that I’ll be fine?

Haha. Good that you’ll be fine when you eat something. My stomach growls. Do you like waffles?

Okay, that was random. Is that what you’re eating?

No. So, do you?

They’re my favorite breakfast food.

I knew there was a reason I liked you.

I’ve never been admired for my food preferences before.

I laugh out loud, making it hard to text back. Guess there’s a first for everything.

Another smiley face. And a heart now, too.

I sit up in bed and check out the window. It’s not raining. What are you doing right now?

Waking up.

Good. Be ready in twenty minutes.

Whaaat?

I’m picking you up and taking you out for waffles.

Twenty minutes???? But I’m still in bed.

Then get your ass up. And wear something warm.

You mean like a sweatshirt? You still have my jacket.

Which reminds me. Hopefully, Stella got the stains out. Then wear mine. Unless you’ve given it away to the Salvation Army already.

Not yet. But I was on the verge.

Twenty minutes later, after calling Stella to tell her I’d be by this afternoon, I turn onto the narrow, one-way street in front of Ivy’s dorm. I pull up to the curb, expecting that I’ll have to wait for her, but she jogs down the steps, looking totally hot in skinny jeans, a pair of black Chuck Taylors, and my jacket.

I close my eyes for a moment, hoping I’m not making a huge mistake. I learned long ago not to let anyone in too deep, and Ivy is rattling all sorts of things inside me I didn’t know were there. But it’ll only be a problem if I let it become a problem, right? Besides, I’m an expert at keeping people an arm’s length away. I won’t get emotionally attached to her. We’re just friends. Potentially friends with benefits. And that will be enough.

“Hey.” She flips her hand in a nervous little greeting, looking my bike up and down with wide green eyes.

I hand her the extra helmet and help her with the chin strap. “Have you ridden on the back of a motorcycle before?”

“No, never. My dad would kill me.”

“Good thing he’s not here, then.”

She hesitates only briefly before climbing on behind me and clamping her arms around my waist. She doesn’t need to hold on this tight—we’re not going very far and I’m taking the corners easy—but I like the front of her pressed to the back of me, so I don’t say anything. I’m tempted to drive around the block a few times more than necessary.

We’re soon seated in a booth at the Waffle Stop, and Ivy can’t decide whether to order waffles with fresh strawberries or get an omelet. Two little frown lines mar her smooth forehead.

“Which ones are you looking at?” I lean forward, trying to read her upside-down menu.

As she angles it for me to see, a strand of hair slips into her face. Without thinking, I reach out and tuck it behind her ear. Her eyes meet mine for a moment, then she blinks and looks down at the menu.

“The sausage and mushroom omelet looks really good,” she says, pointing.

“A flavor explosion of epic proportions,” I read aloud from the plastic-coated page, slightly sticky with syrup. “Sounds pretty damn awesome. I’m not sure how you can pass that up.”

“I know. It’s a hard decision.”

I find myself staring at her as she bites her lower lip and tries to make up her mind. God, we kissed a lot last night. And I mean a lot. But I couldn’t help myself. Her lips were so soft and willing against mine. Her whole body was.

Shifting slightly, I tug on the crotch of my jeans. “Get both.”

“I may make it sound like I have a ginormous appetite, but I can’t eat all that food.”

I flick her menu. “What if we split it?”

“You like mushrooms, too?” Her slightly upturned eyes sparkle with excitement. Over a silly omelet.

I have an insane urge to kiss her. Lean over the table, put my hand on the nape of her neck, and pull her toward me. I clear my throat instead and look back at the menu.

“Yeah,” I lie. It’s not that I hate mushrooms, I just don’t purposely order them.

“Okay, perfect,” she says, clasping her hands together. “That totally solves my dilemma. I hate choosing between two really good things.”

The waitress takes our order and pours the coffee. One by one, Ivy opens up four little containers of cream and dumps them in. She stirs and the spoon makes a musical sound as it clinks inside the mug.

“Your cream-to-coffee ratio is much higher than mine.” I wrap my hands around my cup of plain black coffee.

“And you’re quite observant this morning.” She blows on the surface, then takes a sip. “Does that mean I’m slipping on the food preferences slash likeability scale?”

I hold up my fingers, indicating an inch. “Just a little.”

The sound of her laughter sends pleasant ripples through my body. When I picked her up this morning, I figured she wouldn’t be this comfortable with me after last night. I expected her to be a little more reserved, maybe even embarrassed, but she’s not. It could be because she doesn’t remember that she invited me to stay over.

Or maybe she decided she could trust me.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says.

“So tell me something, Ivy.”

She looks at me, waiting.

“Since you’re twenty-one, why are you living in the dorms?”

“Why? Is it that unusual? My roommate is, and so are a few people on my floor.”

“I’m just curious, that’s all. Most people would be living off campus by now.”

She carefully sets down her cup and plays with a few grains of sugar that spilled on the table. “Technically, I’m a freshman, that’s why. I dropped out of my old college with less than forty-five credits. Since PSU makes all freshmen live in the dorms, that’s why I’m there.”

“Did you get sick of school and decide to join the circus? Backpack around Europe with a band of roving gypsies? Get tired of living in a tent?”

She snorts, then immediately clamps her hand over her mouth. A little boy in the booth behind her turns around to stare. I make a funny face at him.

“How do you do this to me?” she says through her fingers.

“Do what? I’m just sitting here, waiting patiently for my breakfast.”

She throws a plastic creamer container at me that I try to dodge, but it glances off my shoulder and clatters to the floor. “Make me laugh at a situation that I normally don’t find funny.”

“I don’t know about you, Ivy, but joining the circus is no laughing matter.”

She groans, puts her head down on her forearms, and mumbles something.

Despite all the joking around, I wonder why she dropped out of her old college and came here. Especially since PSU is so far from home. When we were dancing last night, she told me she was from California. Did she switch majors and decided to switch schools, too? What does she want to do when she gets out of college? Why does she seem scared at times, then fun and free-spirited at others? Impulsively, I reach across the table and grab her hands. I like the feel of her touch. She doesn’t pull away this time.

“How did you end up here?”

She searches my face, her gaze reaching inside me. It looks as though she’s trying to decide whether to tell me the easy reason—the one she tells everyone—or the actual one. Her dark-fringed eyes are clear, but I see the indecision, concern. Should she or shouldn’t she?

I hope she sees safety in mine. Tell me. You can trust me.

It’s like she’s lived a lifetime of experiences already—not all of them pleasant. She’s an old soul like me, though I’m sure she’s not nearly as damaged.

She swallows nervously. “I…uh…went to a small college right after high school, but dropped out when…when something happened.”

Her racing pulse under my fingertips reminds me of a pair of butterfly wings, trapped under a layer of silk. I rub my thumbs over her soft skin.

“What happened, Ivy?”

Her shoulders sag as if they’re too heavy and she can’t hold them up any longer. “There was…an accident. A car accident. And…I was in a coma for nine days.”

I curse under my breath, squeeze her hands. “You almost died.”

She presses her lips together. “So they tell me. Good thing I don’t remember it.”

Physically, she looks fine. And I’m pretty sure I saw her running a few mornings ago. “I’m not surprised. That’s common with traumatic brain injuries.”

“The only lasting effects are the memory loss and the fact that I suddenly have a need to do creative things. Before the accident, I was probably the most unartistic person on the planet. I was going to major in something practical, like accounting or business, but now I crave something more creative.”

“Thus the photography class?”

She nods. “I’m planning to major in graphic design now.”

“I should’ve known that class didn’t just fulfill your arts credit.”

She looks up from her hands and narrows her eyes. “I suppose that’s why you’re taking it.”

“I’m like you before the accident. Uncreative with a capital U. The only things I can draw are stick figures.”

“I didn’t say I could draw now,” she says, laughing. “And what are you talking about, claiming to be uncreative? I’ve seen your guitar, remember?”

When has she seen— Oh, that’s right. I had it when I helped her off the roof. “I just play around with it. So you left your old school for PSU’s graphic design program?”

“That and…” She takes a deep breath. “I needed to get out of Lincoln Falls. I couldn’t go back to school there. I tried, but I ended up failing a lot of classes.”

I wonder if she’s got lingering cognitive issues from the brain injury. “Did you have a hard time concentrating? Because it can take a long time for the brain to heal.”

“Yes, but…it wasn’t because of the accident. At least, not entirely.”

Before she can explain further, the waitress shows up with our food, effectively ending the conversation.

Ivy cuts the omelet in half and slides the plate to the center of the table. “You pick,” she says. Then she takes a bite of her waffle, making sure to scoop up some strawberries.

I hesitate, not sure what she wants me to do. There aren’t any extra plates, and I don’t want to put it with my waffles.

She points to the omelet with her knife. “The person who divides the food doesn’t get to pick which piece they get. Since I cut it, you get to pick which half is yours.”

“How equitable,” I say with a grin.

“It prevented all sorts of fights between my sister and me when we were growing up. As the oldest, I thought I was being smart when I got to cut the doughnut or the cake and pick first, but Rose wised up when she realized she was always getting the small piece.”

“Smart sister.”

“Thanks.”

“I was referring to your little sister.” Smirking, I pour maple syrup over my waffles.

She opens her mouth to reply, but casts a glance behind her first. The little boy is still looking at us. His parents must be happy that he finds us so entertaining. Leaning toward me so the little boy won’t hear, she whispers, “A-hole.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh loudly. She can be such a goddamn smartass when she wants to be. And I totally love it.

She’s got something on her chin. I reach over and wipe it off with my thumb. “Strawberry juice.” Without thinking, I lick it off my thumb.

She drops her gaze and her cheeks redden. “Thanks.”

I section off a piece of the omelet, one that has a lot of sausage and mushrooms, and hold the bite out to her. “Here. You first.”

She looks skeptically at my fork, then back at me.

“If you’re concerned about germs, I haven’t taken a bite yet. My fork is clean.”

“I’m not worried about your germs, Jon,” she says softly.

My heart thuds in my chest as our eyes meet. I think about how much we kissed last night and wonder if she’s thinking the same thing.

“Go on,” I say, my voice hoarse. “It’s getting cold.”

“You’re not going to smear it on my face, are you?”

“I’m not five. Now, eat.”

She leans forward, takes the bite from me, and chews.

“Is it good?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Is it a flavor explosion of epic proportions?” I ask in my radio voice, quoting the menu.

“Actually, it is.” Now she gives me a bite.

Okay. It is delicious. Even with the mushrooms. “I could get used to having you feed me. Do you cook, too?”

“Not unless you do.” She looks at me expectantly. Was that an invitation?

If I said I did, would she want to cook with me? “I do sometimes. Next time, you’ll have to come over.”

“What’s your specialty?” she asks, taking another bite.

“What else? Waffles.”

As we eat, I learn that Ivy’s father owns a once-successful construction company, but business hasn’t been good, so he’s been drinking a lot. Her mother works for the local school district and is always stressed out. Her little sister Rose is a sophomore in high school.

“Enough about me. I want to know about you,” she says. “You’re a chemistry major, right? I heard you’re a tutor for the hundred-level classes.”

Sara must’ve told her, which means they were talking about me. Normally, I like being the topic of female conversation, but for some reason, it makes me feel sort of awkward. “For a few different science classes, actually. I’m majoring in applied chem.”

“That’s cool. Now I know who to call if I need help.”

“Are you taking a science class this quarter?”

She nods. “Biology 101 with Professor Weller…along with half the freshmen.”

“Yeah, his classes always fill up fast. You’ll like him. He’s a good guy. Lots of homework, though.”

“Great.” She waves her hands with mock enthusiasm, making me chuckle. “Just my luck.”

“You’ll have to come study in the science library. It’s got a good study vibe, if that makes sense.” She looks confused. I can’t tell if she thinks that’s weird or if she’s never heard of the science library. “It’s in the new building right next to the Fine Arts building, where we have photography.”

“Don’t I have to be a science major to use it?”

“Everyone assumes that, but anyone can go. It’s the best-kept secret on campus. And the coffee shop on the first floor makes the best scones. Better than anywhere else on campus.”

“Good to know. I’ll have to check it out.”

I can’t tell if she’s just saying that or if she’s really interested. Hell, why am I so unsure of her reactions to me? This is, like, basic shit. But with Ivy, it’s like I’m walking in uncharted territory. Everything is new, different.

“So what do you want to do with your Applied Chem degree?” she asks.

Should I give her my standard answer or tell her what I’d really like to do with it? Since she opened up about what happened to her, I decide to tell her the truth. “I thought about going to medical school, but I’ll probably end up working in a lab. Several biomedical companies recruit here, so hopefully I’ll land a job with one of them after graduation.”

“Medical school? You were considering becoming a doctor?”

I instantly regret saying anything. Does she think I’m joking? That I’m not good enough?

“Can’t picture me as a doctor, huh?” I try to sound casual, but I can’t hide the edge creeping into my tone. Although I’m used to people having low expectations of me, I wasn’t expecting that reaction from her, too. I’m not sure what the fuck I was thinking. Turning my attention back to the food on my plate, I stab a forkful of hash browns.

Ivy reaches across the table, her hand closing around mine, making the shredded potatoes fall off my fork. I jerk my head up, thinking I’ll see amusement or ridicule in her expression. But I don’t. Her head is tilted slightly, and she looks…interested.

“Well, that depends,” she says.

“On what?” I ask cautiously.

“First of all, you seem like a really caring person. For a guy who’s on the radio and used to talking, you’re a surprisingly good listener. Since you’re a chemistry tutor, you’re obviously smart and good at explaining things to people who don’t understand something.”

The air around me goes thick all of a sudden and the lump in my throat turns into an elephant. Except for my mom, no one’s ever thought I was caring before, and that was a long time ago. I flex my fingers, recalling how she held my hand that day, squeezing until the bones felt like they were about to crack.

“Mom, you don’t have to do this,” I kept my head turned away from where the tattoo artist was leaning over her chest. “You’re fine just the way you are. Who cares about scars?”

“You’re so compassionate, Jonny. So caring.” She grabbed my hand and held on as if it were a lifeline as the tattoo needle buzzed. “How did someone like me become the mother of someone like you?”

I swallow hard at the memory. “What else does it depend on?” I ask Ivy.

“On how accurate my first impression of you is.”

I’m confused. “The night we met, I helped you off the roof. I thought I was being a nice guy.”

“No, before that. The first time I saw you was when you were beating the crap out of some dude. Remember?”

Oh.

“So, yeah, doctor isn’t the first profession that comes to mind. Now, if you’d told me you were training to be an MMA fighter or hit man, I’d go, hmmm, I can totally see it.”

A huge weight falls from my shoulders and we both laugh.

As we finish breakfast, I hear all about her little sister’s obsession with One Direction, her rescue dog Torque (at first I thought she said his name was Dork), and her friend Deena in LA who is studying to become a voice actress.

When we get back to my bike, Ivy takes the helmet but doesn’t put it on. “About the doctor thing.”

I start to tell her that there is no doctor thing, but she keeps going.

“I do have a slight problem with it.”

This should be interesting. Instead of putting on my helmet, I tuck it under my arm. “You do?”

“If you showed up in my hospital room and said you were going to operate on me, I wouldn’t be able to think straight. For one thing, I’ve never seen a doctor who looks like you.” A mischievous glint sparkles in her eye as she puts on the helmet. “But then, maybe all big-city docs are hot and tatted up, and I’m just some clueless girl from a small town.”

Without waiting for my reaction, she climbs on the back of the bike, all confident and shit, like she’s done it a million times. Meanwhile, I’m standing here, my mouth open wide, not sure what just happened.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

I laugh and shake my head. “I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult.”

“What? I’m serious. I’d be embarrassed if a gorgeous young doctor was about to see me naked. As in, freaking mortified. I’d clutch my robe and tell you to take a hike.”

Pediatric medicine is what I’d been thinking about, not surgery, but whatever. God, I want to kiss the hell out of her right now. It’s not helping matters that she looks so damn hot straddling my bike.

I start to make a move. Fortunately, I catch myself just in time. Without the backdrop of a pub or party, a kiss in the middle of the day is way more meaningful. I’d be moving into dangerous territory, and I’m not sure I can afford to let that happen. She stirs me up inside like no one else does, which honestly scares the shit out of me. She’s too perfect, too sweet, too fun. And I’m too fucking fucked up. I’ve done bad things. Things I want to forget. She’s responding to Jon, the ‘church is now in session’ guy. The guy with all the friends. The guy who says what a girl wants to hear in order to sleep with her.

Not Jon, the foster kid who barely finished high school because he was sent to juvie. Or the guy whose own father doesn’t think he’s good enough.

No, I don’t want her to know the real me, because if she does, she’ll only be disappointed. Plus, I have a knack for fucking up people’s lives. My mere existence fucked up my mom’s.

The ride back to her dorm takes about five minutes. When we get there, she climbs off and hands me the helmet.

“Thanks for breakfast. That was fun.” Her eyes flicker up to mine but don’t linger. I know she was expecting me to kiss her back there. Or maybe she’s thinking I’ll kiss her now.

“Sure, no problem.”

The silence stretches awkwardly between us.

She takes a step backward. “See you in class on Monday?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Still wearing my coat, she turns and walks away.

Don’t go, I want to tell her. It’s early and the day is long.

Why didn’t I ask her to come to Stella’s with me? We could’ve picked up her coat and…

Just before she gets to the bottom step, she hesitates and slowly turns around. Her eyes are narrowed, as if she’s surprised I’m still here. “Have you started on that photography project yet?”

“What photography project?”

“The one with the themes.”

It sounds vaguely familiar. “When is it due?”

“Um, Monday.”

Damn. “No, not yet.”

“Do you…uh…want to work on it together?”

“Together?” My chest constricts. “When?”

She squints at the gray sky. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. If you’re not busy, we could do it right now.”

Every part of me wants to say yes. “I’m meeting someone soon, but I should be back around four. Would that work?”

“That might be too late. It gets dark around four-thirty. We could try tomorrow. Maybe it won’t be as rainy as they’re saying it will be.”

“Unless…”

Her eyes meet mine. Waiting. Hopeful?

“Unless you want to come with me.”

“To your friend’s?” She looks skeptical.

“Not a friend from here. A family friend. She lives half an hour away, down the coast. If you want, we can bring our cameras and stop on the way to take pictures.”

Her smile lights up her whole face. The cement sidewalk between us. My heart.

“Sure. That sounds fun. Give me a minute to grab my camera. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“I’ll be here.”

* * *

Ivy

Jon is waiting for me at the curb, right where I left him. I sling my camera bag over my head and give a dorky wave as I jog down the steps. Cassidy couldn’t believe it when I told her I’d just had breakfast with Jon and that we were going to work on a class project today.

“He’s totally hot and I’m thrilled for you,” she said, “but don’t let him break your heart. I was talking to this girl, Tina, last night while you guys were dancing. She was at the Hardware with another guy, but she said she and Jon have regular booty calls.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to fall in love with him. We’re just working on a project together.”

What I didn’t tell her was that I like how I feel when I’m with him. I’m not scared or panicked or confused or wimpy. When I’m with him, my jumbled-up parts aren’t the jagged pieces they usually are. And talking about the accident with him didn’t give me a headache. You know how being around toxic people adds to your insecurities and makes you feel bad about yourself? (If not, lucky you.) Well, Jon is the opposite of that for me.

Now I’m at the curb, eyeing his bike. I was fine riding on the back of his motorcycle across town, but I’m not sure about driving along a winding two-lane road way above the ocean. One wrong shift of my weight and—

“So I was thinking… What if we take my car instead?”

He pats the bike between his legs. “This make you nervous?”

I can’t tell if he means to be suggestive or if I’m just taking it that way, but my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “My camera stuff is…is kind of bulky and it might rain. I really don’t mind driving.”

“Sure, no problem. Where’s your car?”

“Over in Lot C.”

The one good thing about my car having been in the shop getting fixed is that it’s clean now. They washed it and vacuumed the carpets.

Soon, we’re winding through campus and Jon’s driving. “That way you can look for good places to take pictures without worrying about the road.” I just think he likes to be the one behind the wheel.

We stop at Coffee Addicts to get something for the road. Since we just ate, I assume we’re only ordering drinks, but Jon gets a mocha with whipped cream and a muffin. I must have an incredulous look on my face or something, because he feels the need to explain himself. “If you don’t grab the lemon-blueberry ones when they have them, all day, you’ll be wishing you had.”

“They’re that good?” I ask.

“Here, have a bite.” He breaks off a piece and offers it to me, but I puff up my cheeks, indicating I’m still stuffed from breakfast. He laughs and pops it into his mouth.

We climb back into my car and head down the road. I’m sipping on my sugar-free Red Bull Italian soda. Raspberry. My favorite.

“See? Aren’t you glad we took my car? You wouldn’t have been able to get anything to eat if we’d taken the motorcycle.”

“True.” He takes a bite of his muffin, then glances at the crumbs in his lap. “Oh, crap. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting it to be so crumbly.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Can you hold onto this for a sec?”

“Sure.” I stretch out my hand, thinking he means the muffin.

“No. Steer.”

Take the wheel? While we’re driving? I glance nervously at the road in front of us. It’s empty, and we’re not going very fast, but…

Without waiting for a yes, he starts picking the crumbs from his lap.

My heart slams in my chest. I grab the wheel and white-knuckle it, keeping my eyes glued to the road. Don’t cross the yellow line in the center. Don’t hit the white line on the shoulder.

I make minor jerky adjustments to keep it in the center of the lane. Not too far right. Or left. Keep it straight down the middle. Crap. That’s too far over.

It takes me a moment to realize the car is slowing down. I glance at Jon. His hand is on the bottom of the wheel. Has it been there this whole time? There’s a rigid expression on his face as he pulls to the side of the road and stops the car. Without a word, he gets out, brushes off the rest of the crumbs, then gets back inside.

“There.” His tone is clipped. He’s pissed, or at least irritated.

Even though I didn’t say anything—at least I don’t remember that I did—it’s obvious he noticed my overreaction. I sit back in my seat, readjust my shoulder strap, and stare out the windshield. A piece of paper, buffeted by the wind, flits past the front of my car. I track it to the warehouse parking lot to my right, where it lodges against the side of the building.

“Ivy?”

I look over at him. He’s frowning. My first thought is to apologize. I’ve made him mad. It’s my fault.

He puts a finger to my lips. “That was stupid of me. I’m sorry.”

I’m confused. He’s sorry?

“Not long after you tell me about the car accident that almost took your life, I’m telling you to hold the wheel while I brush crumbs off my lap. I just wasn’t thinking.”

He’s pissed, but at himself? I wasn’t expecting that. I give him a little smile. “That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

With College View behind us, we head toward the coast, Douglas fir trees a blur on either side of the road. The radio reception is terrible, so we’ve got my phone plugged in and I’m scrolling through my playlists.

“Tell me about your family. Any brothers or sisters?” Over breakfast, he asked so many questions about me and yet I still don’t know that much about him.

He grips the steering wheel with a casualness that makes my POS car seem cooler than it is. “I was an only child—it was just me and my mom, although I wouldn’t be surprised to learn I’ve got some half-siblings out there somewhere.”

Was? I wonder what happened to his parents. “Why do you think you could have a half brother or sister? Wouldn’t you know if you did?”

He stares straight ahead. “When your dad fucks around as much as mine does, anything’s possible.”

Present tense. So his dad is alive. I wonder if he cheated on his mom before she died or if he started fucking around a lot afterward?

From the way Jon said it, I’m guessing it happened before she died. I sit back, not sure how to respond. My dad can be a jerk, but I’m pretty sure he’s never done anything like that. I can’t imagine how Jon must feel. Betrayed? Angry? Unimportant?

“I don’t know him anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

I glance over, trying to decide whether or not he means it, but his expression is unreadable. “He sounds like a major douche bag.”

“He is.”

“And who needs that in your life, anyway?”

“Exactly.”

I close my eyes and imagine us driving away and never coming back, far from the toxic people in our lives. Sipping strawberry daiquiris on a beach somewhere. Holding hands as we play in the surf.

We exit the highway and pull into a cute little beach community. All the houses are decorated with fishing nets, glass balls, and buoys. At the end of the road, Jon pulls into the driveway of a small gray house with white shutters. As we walk to the front door, I notice that the flowerbeds on either side of the walk are filled with crushed white oyster shells. Jon knocks. It takes a few moments until we hear footsteps inside.

The door swings open, revealing a slim, white-haired woman wearing a red gingham apron. Her whole face lights up. “Jon! And you brought a young lady with you. Bless your heart.”

Jon smirks.

I bite my lip.

“This is my friend Ivy,” he says. “Ivy, this is Stella Sinclair.”

Stella? Isn’t that the name of the woman he got into the fight about? Something to do with weed?

The old woman grabs my hands, and I can’t help noticing how gnarled her fingers are. It has to be painful.

“Jon’s never brought a girl to meet me before. This is such a treat. Please, come in.” She steps aside and we walk in. “I hope you’re hungry, Ivy. When I know Jon’s coming, I make lots of food.”

“And I appreciate it.” Jon gives her a kiss on the cheek, then turns back to me. “Stella is the best cook. Everything she makes is awesome.”

Neither of us mentions that we just ate a huge breakfast.

She slaps his arm, but I can tell she loves the compliment. “Anything has to be better than what a houseful of young men can cook up. It’s really not a testament to my cooking at all. He’s got nothing good to compare it to.”

“When the guys know I’ve been here,” Jon says, “they descend on the leftovers like a pack of vultures.”

We follow her through the foyer, down a short hall dotted with family pictures, and into a cheery kitchen.

She motions for us to sit down, then proceeds to fuss over us. Soon I’ve got a glass of iced tea in front of me, along with a fragrant bowl of chicken soup. In the center of the table, Stella sets down a plate stacked with triangle sandwiches. I haven’t had a sandwich cut that way since I was a kid.

“Please, don’t wait for me,” she says. “I want you to eat before the soup gets cold. I’ve got to get these cookies out of the oven.”

I take a sandwich and bite into it. Oh my God. It’s tuna salad on steroids. “This is sooo good.”

“Told you.” Jon reaches for a second one. What the heck. I do, too.

“What’s in it, Mrs. Sinclair?”

“Please, call me Stella.” She sits across from Jon and folds a napkin over her lap. “I start with all the normal ingredients. Mayo, salt and pepper, pickles, a little dill weed. But I also add chopped jalapeños and pepperoncinis from a jar.”

I would never have thought to add all that stuff. “No wonder it’s so good.”

“How was the garage sale?” Jon asks.

She waves a hand in front of her face like she’s batting away a fly. “Just a few people showed up. I sat out there all morning and hardly sold a thing.”

I take a sip of my iced tea. Peach, I think. “If you decide to do another one, let me know. Back home, my mom, my aunt, and I used to go garage-saling all the time. I’ve helped my mom organize a few that have been pretty successful.”

“So you’re a bargain shopper,” Jon says, nodding his head. “I didn’t know that about you.”

There’s a lot he doesn’t know about me. “Yep. Flea markets. Antique shops. Love it all.”

Stella dabs her mouth with her napkin. “It just so happens, I used to own an antique shop in town. You should see my attic. It’s overflowing with all sorts of things I’ve collected over the years.”

After lunch, Jon tries to help with the cleanup, but Stella shoos him away. “I don’t get to fuss over young people much anymore, so don’t take this little pleasure away from me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jon says with a grin. “I’ll go check on your plants. Ivy, you okay for a few minutes?”

“Um, sure.”

His footsteps echo down the hall, then a door opens and closes.

Stella dries her hands on a dishtowel. “Just so you know, I grow medical cannabis. It’s the only thing I’ve found that helps with my arthritis pain.”

Cannabis? As in weed? This sweet, little old lady is a stoner? If she told me she was dating Bradley Cooper, I seriously wouldn’t be more surprised.

“Henry Senior would roll over in his grave if he knew what I was doing. He was a juvenile court judge before he retired, so he knew plenty of kids who used it. And their parents. But he’s pushing daisies and I’m here with these blasted hands and hips. Not much he can do about it now, is there?”

“How…how did you think to try it?”

“Jon was the one who suggested it. He lived with me for a short time after his mother passed. I found a pipe and some marijuana in his things and confronted him about it. He said he got it to give to me because it was supposed to help with arthritis.”

“And you believed him?”

“Oh honey, I knew he was feeding me a load of horse manure, but what can I say? I’ve got a soft spot in my heart for that young man. He’s been through a lot. So I went along with him and made him show me how to smoke it. Boy, was I surprised when the pain in my hands lessened. Not completely, but enough that I was able to start knitting again and join the ladies at the club for the daily walking sessions.”

The talk shifts to yarn shops and knitting, much more normal topics to discuss with her, and for that, I’m grateful. Until she gets up, opens a cupboard near the sink, and pulls out a Mason jar filled with tightly packed green buds. “Would you like some to take back with you? I’ve got plenty.”

I almost spit out my iced tea. “Um, no, thank you. I’m good.”

After I help her with the dishes, she empties the leftover soup into a plastic container for Jon and offers me some as well, but I tell her I don’t have a microwave in my room.

I sit back down as Stella puts another batch of cookies into the oven. “So how did you know Jon’s mom? He tells me you were friends.”

“A beautiful girl,” she says wistfully, touching her white curls. “She used to do my hair. I felt so bad for Jon, shuffled off to various foster homes after she was gone.”

My heart lurches in my chest. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for him. Not only losing his mom, but then having to live in a strange home with people he didn’t know. “No family members could take him in? What about his father?”

Stella clucks her tongue and makes a face. “That good-for-nothing piece of— Pardon my language. I know it’s not very Christian, but that man gets no sympathy from me. At all.”

“Who doesn’t?” Jon asks, striding back into the kitchen.

Stella flicks her hand as if to brush away his question. “We’re just chatting about this and that. I was telling Ivy— Oh, son, what’s all over your hands? They’re filthy.” She hands him a kitchen towel and ushers him to the sink. “Careful, I just mopped these floors. What in heaven’s name were you doing out there?”

“I noticed the gutter on the corner of the garage was clogged, so I climbed up and pulled out a bunch of leaves. There’s still a lot more gunk in there, so I’ll need to come back and get the rest of it cleaned out.”

“Thank you,” Stella says gratefully, as he washes his hands. “But you don’t need to come back to do that. You already do so much around here. Henry’s supposed to stop by this week, so I’ll see if he can clean them out for me.”

Jon shrugs. “Yeah, well, I don’t mind. Let me know if he doesn’t.”

We follow her into the living room where plastic runners cover the high traffic areas of her carpet. She wants to show me pictures of her antique shop that she keeps in a photo album on the coffee table. I stop in front of a glass curio cabinet.

“Are those Hummels?” I ask, pointing to several dozen painted figurines on the top two shelves.

Stella’s eyes light up. “Yes! You’re familiar with them?”

“My grandmother used to collect them.”

Stella opens the glass door and starts to explain the history of a few of the pieces, where she bought them and how rare they are. I glance over at Jon, expecting to see him bored out of his mind, but he’s listening and nodding his head as if he’s just as interested as I am. He even asks her a few questions.

After we look through the photo album (she had a really cool store), we stand and Jon says we need to get going.

“Don’t let me forget Ivy’s jacket,” Stella says, as we follow her back into the kitchen.

I frown. “My jacket?”

“Jon brought it by last weekend to see if I could get the stains out.”

“And did you?” He holds up crossed fingers and has this cute, hopeful expression on his face that totally cracks me up. You wouldn’t expect a guy like him to be that excited about stain removal.

“Of course.” She gives him a look as if that’s the silliest question she’s ever heard, then heads to a door that I’m assuming is the laundry room. “There isn’t a stain I can’t remove.”

“Yes!” He does a fist pump and I laugh.

Jon leans close to me. “There isn’t much she can’t do.”

“Don’t be whispering about me behind my back, young man. I’m not deaf, you know.”

I bite back a smile. Should’ve used ASL, I sign.

I know, he signs back.

chapter ten

Our truest life is when we are in dreams awake.

~ Henry David Thoreau

Ivy

Because it rained on the drive to Stella’s, we weren’t able to stop to take pictures. Now that we’re heading back, the skies are much clearer.

Misty patches of ocean show through the breaks in the trees. I point to a yellow road sign announcing a viewpoint turnout coming up in a few miles. “Want to stop there?”

“If you do, the answer is yes.”

Even though he’s driving, he’s letting me make the decisions. I like that. I pull out my camera and switch to a different lens.

“So, I’ve been wondering how you know ASL. Did you take it in high school as your foreign language requirement?”

He twists the woven leather bracelets around his wrist. One has a shell on the end and the other two have a colored bead. One green. One blue. “My foster brother was hearing impaired. He taught me. Guess you could say I have hands-on experience.”

“That’s cool. My knowledge is only from a classroom.”

I wonder if he made that joke to downplay the fact that he lived in a foster home. But then, he could’ve just said it was a guy he knew. He didn’t need to tell me it was his foster brother. Does this mean he wants me to ask about it? A huge part of me craves to know more about him, but I don’t want to push too much.

“Was that…tough?” I shoot a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his reaction.

He stares straight ahead, but the muscle in his jaw flexes. “The foster homes?”

I nod.

“They had their ups and downs.”

“I’ll bet,” I say quietly.

He exhales slowly, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether to say more. Regardless of whether he does or not, I want him to know I’m willing to listen. Now or whenever.

“I’m having a good time today,” he says. “With you. And thinking about that shit always brings me down.”

“I totally get that. In case you change your mind, just know that I’m here, ’kay?”

“Okay.”

I turn my attention to the camera in my lap. “So, do you even know what the assignment is?”

He shakes his head. “I’m totally clueless.”

“Good thing you have me to clue you in, then.” Pulling a folded sheet of paper from my pocket, I can feel his eyes on me. Even though I’m not looking at him, it’s impossible not to notice these little details when he’s sitting so close.

The paper crinkles when I smooth it out on my lap. “We need to pick three emotions from this list and depict them through the lens of our camera.”

“How many are there to choose from?”

I skim through it. Four columns with twenty or thirty in each. “I’m guessing a hundred or so.”

He groans. “Can you just pick mine?”

“What?”

“I have no idea what would make a good theme for a picture. You’re the photographer. You choose.”

I frown. “Don’t you want to choose ones that mean something to you? That move you in some way? Your photos aren’t going to be nearly as meaningful or impactful if I do it.”

“Told you, I’m not very creative. Besides, I’m not a deep guy. I don’t internalize much. If it’s not fact or formula based, it’s beyond my comprehension.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Maybe he doesn’t want to admit—either to me or to himself—that he has a deeper side, but he does.

Just around the next corner is the scenic viewpoint. Jon pulls the car off the road and parks next to the rock wall.

“Let me guess,” he says. “You’ve already picked your words and know exactly what you’re going to do.”

I give him a side-eye. “As a matter fact, yes, I’ve picked the ones I’m using. But I don’t know how I’m going to show them yet. I’m waiting to see what inspires me.”

“What are they?”

I look at the words I circled on the paper earlier. “Truth, respect, and compassion.” It occurs to me that I’d called him caring at breakfast this morning.

He nods his head thoughtfully. “What photo are you going to take that shows truth? It seems like such an intangible concept.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. The discovery is part of the process, though.”

“What are you going to do? Walk around up here and look for something truthful?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Far below us, I can hear the roar of the ocean as it crashes against rocky shoreline. I grab my camera and reach for the door handle, eager to get going before it starts to rain again.

“Hold on a sec,” Jon says, putting a hand on my arm. “Read a few that you think I might like.”

So now he’s suddenly interested in the assignment? I open the sheet of paper again. “Okay, here’s one you should be very familiar with. Stubborn.”

His crooked grin makes him look even more handsome and very kissable. Just like last night.

“You think I’m stubborn?”

“What I know of you, yes.”

He presses his lips together in a thin line and nods. “A fair assessment. Okay, keep going.”

I run my finger down the list. “No. No. No. Okay, here’s one. Apathetic.”

He faces me, his left wrist resting on the steering wheel. I can’t help but notice his bulky muscles, the tribal tattoo on his bicep, and the veins in his forearms. Like I said earlier, his casualness is so damn sexy.

Crap. I really need to focus.

“Seriously, Ivy? You think I’m an apathetic person?”

“Toward this assignment, yes.”

He puts a hand on his heart. “I’m hurt. Truly.”

I laugh. “You don’t have to use it.”

“And the last one?”

“Let me see.” I turn my attention to the paper again, and there it is—the perfect word. I literally almost pee myself.

“Oh great,” he says, seeing my reaction. “Is this going to be another assault on my character?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” I accidentally make an unflattering snort slash laughing sound. “Virginal.”

He chokes. “You’re kidding, right?”

My stomach is seriously hurting right now, I’m trying so hard not to laugh. Or snort again.

“Virginal? As in never having had sex before?”

“That’s the most common definition, yes.”

“Let me see that.” He tries to grab the paper from me, but I snatch it away. “I don’t believe you. That word is not on the list.”

“Think I’m lying?”

“Ivy on the Roof, the girl who values truth, respect, and…what was the last one?”

“Compassion.”

“Oh yeah, compassion. How could I forget? You are lying to me—the stubborn and totally apathetic Jon Priestly.”

“I don’t lie.” Well, not really. “I only fib occasionally.”

He lunges for the paper again. I shove it behind my back. Little good that does, because he reaches over and tries to yank it out of my hand. Laughing, I twist around, trying to get away, but there’s nowhere to go.

His face is so close to mine that I can almost feel the rasp of his stubble on my skin. His eyes narrow and then…then…

He’s tickling me. Everywhere. My ribcage. Above my knees. Under my arms. That sensitive spot just inside my hipbones.

I shriek and laugh so hard I can barely breathe. “Stop! Oh my God, stop.”

He does, but it’s more like a pause. A momentary hesitation. His fingers remain on my skin, waiting, just waiting to inflict more torture upon me. My whole body tingles with anticipation.

“Then give it to me.”

If I do, then he’ll stop. I grip the paper tighter in my fist and shove it under my butt. It’s probably in shreds by now. Raising an eyebrow, I dare him to continue. “No.”

His lips are inches away, his hair dangling in my upturned face. And then, with his body at an awkward angle because of the console between us, his mouth crashes over me.

He kisses are like heaven, his lips lush and insistent. The hand that was tickling me a moment ago is now gripping my hipbone. He inches up the hem of my T-shirt. His thumb, warm and slightly callused, caresses my skin right above my jeans. It almost, almost tickles. Heat burns between my legs and radiates to every corner of my body. I think I may have just moaned.

Out of habit, I go over the escape routes. The door handle is right here. The car isn’t locked. I could be outside in, like, two seconds if I wanted. Okay, I think I’m good.

He freezes. His hand, splayed across my ribcage, stops moving.

Did another car park next to us? That would be embarrassing.

He pulls away and clears his throat as he settles back into his seat.

My skin feels cold where his hand has been. I look around. There are no other cars. We’re the only ones here.

Why did he stop? What happened to the goofy mood he was in? Then it occurs to me. Could he have sensed my train of thought?

Goddamn it. He did.

I want to slap myself. I know he’s not Chase. He’s not.

There’s tension in his jaw, making his features look sharp and angular. “We should probably get started on the pictures. It could rain again soon.”

* * *

Jon

With my arms stretched out on the chest-high cement barrier, I look over the water. Huge black rocks rise from the misty ocean like dark, ghostly figures. Updrafts of salty, damp wind whip through my hair. I’ve driven down this stretch of road countless times and have never stopped. I’m glad Ivy made me, because this view is pretty fucking amazing.

I can’t believe I almost screwed things up with her. What the hell was I thinking, pawing her in the car like that? For the briefest of moments, I felt her freeze up and sensed her reluctance.

“Jon.”

I turn my head and Ivy snaps like a dozen pictures.

“Hey, no fair,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m not ready.”

She rolls her eyes. “Candid shots are the best ones.” She looks through the viewfinder again and I give her my best Jon Priestly grin. “Stop trying to pose,” she says.

“I’m not.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m just smiling at this really hot girl holding a camera.”

“Give me the smile you normally give me. Not the one you give your groupies. You smile one way when you’re around them, and another way when you’re around your friends. I want the real Jon, not the one you’re putting on for the public.”

I open my mouth to argue, but it occurs to me that she’s right. So I stick my tongue out instead, and she takes a picture.

Although I have no idea what I’m doing with the assignment, I grab my little point-and-shoot and take a few pictures of my own. At the very least, I need to make an effort. I don’t need an A in the class, but a B or B minus would be nice.

Fifteen minutes later, Ivy replaces the lens cap on her camera and looks up at me. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are red from the cold air. Before we got out of the car, she braided her hair and put on a knit beanie. It’s sitting slightly off-kilter now. She’s gorgeous in a totally unintentional way. We walk back to the car and stow our cameras.

Sitting on the hood, I pull her into the V of my legs and we look out at the ocean together. Neither of us says anything for a while. With my arms around her, we just listen to the roar of the waves hitting the beach below us.

“Thanks for being patient,” she says finally.

“With what?”

She shrugs. “With me. In the car.”

“I’m hardly patient.”

“You’re taking things slowly to make sure I’m okay. That means a lot to me.”

I want to ask her why she panics when she feels she’s losing control of a situation, but if I have any hope of keeping this relationship from getting too serious, I need to keep questions like that to myself. I can’t be delving too deeply.

“Any ideas on the virginal theme that you’d care to share with me?”

“You’re really going to use that one?” She turns around in my arms and gives me a little half smile. “I was just kidding, Jon. You can pick whatever words you like.”

“I know.” I playfully touch the end of her nose. “But I figure, it’ll be challenging. I’m always up for a challenge.”

We spend the next few minutes discussing my themes, what each of the words mean and what we find important or interesting about them. I come up with some ideas on how to depict them that she thinks might work.

“This could actually be fun,” I tell her as we’re climbing off the hood of the car.

“Told you.”

My eyes are drawn to the ink work at the back of her neck. When we’re both inside the car, I ask about it.

Her hand goes up to rub it. “It’s the Chinese character for truth. Told you that word means a lot to me.”

A knot forms in my stomach as it hits me just how important that concept is to her. The truth will set you free? In my case, I wish I didn’t know the truth, because it’s too fucking ugly sometimes.

chapter eleven

There’s a hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

~ From Jon’s collection of lyrics

Jon

“She was all over you, bro,” James says, handing me a beer.

I wave it off. “Can’t. I’m in the tutoring center this afternoon.”

“Why didn’t you bring her home? I was expecting to see a pair of shoes by the front door when I got up this morning.”

“That’s standard operating procedure for you and the Rickmeister, not me.”

“Me neither,” Tate says from the kitchen.

“That’s because you like a girl to keep her fuck-me shoes on when you’re doing the deed,” James yells back.

“How would you know, Brettner? Do you like to watch?” I cover my crotch in case he throws something.

“You’d like an audience, wouldn’t you, Priestly?” He plops down next to me on the couch, grabs the remote, and changes the channel.

“What the hell, dude,” I yell at my best friend. “I’m watching Sports Center.”

“Relax. I’m checking to see what time the fights are on tonight. Hey, bring me some chips or something,” he yells to Tate. “I’m starving.”

“Do we even have any?” Tate calls from the kitchen.

“I don’t know. Look.”

I can hear the refrigerator opening, then silence. Chips in the fridge? Right. I’ll bet you anything he’s eyeing my orange juice right now. “Dude, the Tropicana’s mine. Back the fuck off.”

There’s a pause before he answers. “I don’t see your name on it.”

I knew it. Every time I buy a carton, it doesn’t last very long. “Goddamn it, Tate. Buy your own orange juice.” He’s such a mooch. Someone got into my Oreos the other day, too. I’ll bet you anything it was him.

I can hear cupboards and drawers opening. A minute later, he comes into the family room holding an open jar of peanut butter with a knife sticking out of the top, a sleeve of Saltine crackers, and a bag of Doritos. Dumping the munchies in the middle of the coffee table, he sits cross-legged on the floor and starts eating. Guess who’s high?

James flips back to Sports Center, grabs a handful of chips, and turns to me. “So why didn’t you bring her home? God, she was sooo into you down at the Hardware. I figured it was a sure thing.”

I really don’t want to get into it with him. I shrug. “Didn’t feel like it, I guess. We did meet for breakfast yesterday and I took her to Stella’s.”

“You took her to Stella’s? What the fuck is the matter with you? She’s going to think you’re a decent guy if you don’t knock that shit off.” He sinks back into the couch. “You’re not getting serious, are you?”

“Hell no.” I take a long drink from my bottled water, wishing it were a beer. “Ivy and I are just friends. We have a class together, so we’re working on a project. That’s it.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to explain myself to him.

James laughs. “School was definitely in session the other night.”

“The girl you were with is named Ivy?” Tate spreads a thick layer of peanut butter on a Saltine, taking care that it reaches all the corners¸ and covers it with another cracker. “My cousin Cassidy has a roommate named Ivy.”

“Ivy’s roommate is Cassidy. So you know her?” I ask, suddenly curious.

“I’ve met her a few times,” he says, not looking over. With his eyes glued to the TV, he shoves the cracker sandwich into his mouth.

I can’t believe the whole time I was looking for information about her at the party, all I had to do was ask Tate. “And…?”

He’s chewing as if he’s in a race and needs to finish first, reminding me of dinnertime at Forest Glen. You learned to eat the good stuff fast or someone might swipe it off your plate. Not that I’m going to steal one of his peanut-butter crackers. Although I should, considering all the orange juice he’s stolen from me.

Tate drains half the milk in his glass and belches. “She’s hot. I’d do her.”

I swear under my breath. “Thanks for that thoughtful assessment. It really helps.”

“But she’s got issues.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean, issues?”

“I stopped in to talk to my cousin about something, but she wouldn’t let me in. I had to meet her downstairs in the lobby. Her roommate was in bed, depressed.”

“About what?”

He shrugs. “A guy, I think. Cass asked me all sorts of questions about some dude at the party.”

“Who?” I recall the conversation I had with Ivy after I helped her off the roof. She said she wasn’t up there because of a guy. Had she been lying to me?

“He was part of the group that Marshall brought.”

“One of the baseball recruits?” James asked.

“Yeah.”

“From high school? Ivy’s going out with a dude in high school?” That didn’t make sense.

“Not him,” Tate said, spreading peanut butter on another cracker. “His brother.”

My stomach clenches involuntarily. I run a hand through my hair. “He broke up with her?” So Ivy was up on that roof because she was heartbroken and didn’t want to face the brother of her ex-boyfriend?

“No. He didn’t break up with her. The dude died.”

I sit there for a moment, feeling as if someone is hollowing out my insides with a razor-sharp ice cream scoop.

“In love with a dead boyfriend.” James shakes his head. “Dude, you don’t want to be competing with that. You’ll lose every time.”

Numbly, I pick at a frayed hole in my jeans. Suddenly, her tentativeness around me makes sense. Maybe she hasn’t been with anyone since it happened, so she feels guilty. Unsure of herself. Even sad.

I recall the streaked tears on her face when I helped her off the roof. I assumed it was because a guy had hurt her. It didn’t occur to me she was crying because she was grieving.

“Although if you gave her a shoulder to cry on, she might be really grateful, if you know what I mean,” James says, arching an eyebrow.

“You’re such an asshole. You know that?”

I leave the family room and trudge slowly up the stairs. Spotting my guitar sitting in the corner near the window, I grab it, sit on my bed, and start playing a few random chords.

James is right about one thing. I can’t lead her on. Not now. Not anymore. This thing between us needs to stop before it progresses any further. She’s been through too much heartache. I’d only add to it by hurting her more.

Ivy, the girl who values truth and compassion, doesn’t deserve that.

* * *

Ivy

The butterflies in my stomach have been drinking Red Bull again, but I can’t totally blame it on the fact that I’m on my way to Coffee Addicts for my first day of work. The other reason is because the shortest route from my dorm to the coffee shop is right past the Student Counseling Services building, and I still haven’t scheduled an appointment.

The awning over the entryway is a cheery orange, as if it’s saying, Come on in. We’re very nice.

I’ve thought about it. I really have. But I haven’t been able to act on it yet. Unfortunately, Mom wasn’t able to get another refill on my prescription. If I don’t get more soon, I’ll be screwed the next time a migraine strikes.

I quicken my pace. Soon the counseling center is behind me and Coffee Addicts is straight ahead. I jog the next few steps, and when I open the door, the wonderful smell of freshly roasted coffee beans wafts over me.

I can’t ask Mom and Dad for anything extra, so I decided I needed to get a job. Luckily for me, I happened to mention this fact to Dani when I saw her out running the other day. She works here and told me to apply. I did. They interviewed me on the spot. And here I am.

“I’m Wanda,” says a girl with two high pigtails in her hair. She’s wearing a black corset-like top, a black lace skirt, and black combat boots, and both arms are covered in colorful tattoos. “You’re Ivy, right?” she asks brightly.

“That’s me.”

“I’m the shift manager.” She hands me a blue Coffee Addicts apron. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

And by everyone, she means the other two people working.

Lavon is an attractive African-American guy wearing black-framed glasses and a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off, so it’s essentially a vest that showcases his muscular arms. “Howdy.” He throws a smile over his shoulder, lifts a pitcher of milk to the steam wand and twists the knob. The machine hisses loudly in response.

“Welcome aboard,” Toni says, pouring what looks to be juice concentrate into a blender filled with ice. Fair-skinned and curvy, she’s got beautiful dark red hair, secured down the middle of her back with three mismatched hairbands.

“Come on. I’ll show you where everything is.” Wanda swings her arm wide and does this little dance on her tiptoes. I’m not surprised when she tells me later that she’s a theater major. She’s patient, too, considering I get a stupid sneezing attack when she demonstrates how the coffee grinder works. I think I may have inhaled some coffee grounds.

Toward the end of my shift, I’m taking drink orders, manning the register, and can make a few of the simpler smoothies. I’ll be shadowing Lavon next. Good thing I’ve been coming here all year, because I’m familiar with their drinks and pastries.

I’m wiping tables and straightening chairs when Cassidy comes through the door. Her eyes are red and swollen.

“Oh my God.” I rush over and guide her to a quiet table in the back near the restrooms. “What happened, C?”

“I was right,” she says, sniffing. “Will has been cheating on me with his ex-girlfriend. How could I be so stupid?”

I hand her a napkin. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“I was over at his place and he went to get something in the kitchen. His computer was open, so I thought I’d check Facebook real quick. Before I could log out of his account and get into mine, a chat window opened. Ashley Perfect Body O’Reilly is telling him she’s coming home from college this weekend and wants him to come home, too. I miss you soooooo much, baby,” Cassidy says mockingly in a high-pitched voice. “Blech.”

“Maybe it’s one-sided. Maybe she’s the one pursuing him.” I know only too well how cyberstalking happens.

“That’s what I was hoping, too, so I closed out of it and didn’t say anything. Later, he tells me that he’s decided to go home this weekend. Something about his grandma.” A sob escapes, and there are more tears. I hand her a few more napkins. “Ives, we have tickets to go see a play here on campus this Friday. His idea, not mine. When I reminded him, he refused to look at me. Said I could have the tickets and take a friend.”

“Have you told him you saw Ashley’s message?”

“No, I just wanted to get out of there and come home. And then I remembered you weren’t there. I’m sorry,” she says, looking around the coffee shop, as if seeing it for the first time. “You’re not going to get into trouble for talking to me, are you?”

Lavon hands a drink to the only customer waiting, then turns to shoot the shit with Toni. Wanda is talking to a friend near the door.

“No, I’m fine,” I tell her. “God, what an asshole. Guys can be such jerks sometimes.” Isn’t that the understatement of the year? “He’s missing out on a great thing. His loss. Not yours.”

“And if that’s not bad enough, I got a C-minus on my Cultural Studies exam.”

“It’s been an all-around shitty day, hasn’t it?”

She nods and tears at the napkin. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Can I get you a glass of water? Do you want a coffee? I can practice my barista skills.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know. Surprise me.”

I return a few minutes later with a glass of water and a white-chocolate mocha in a ceramic cup and saucer. Looking at my sad first attempt at coffee art, I give her a sheepish smile. “It’s supposed to be a flower, but it looks like a mushroom.”

Cassidy looks at the cup, then raises a brow. “Mushroom? More like a penis, Ives.”

Good thing I’m not drinking anything, otherwise I’d have spewed. The old Cassidy is never far away.

She takes a sip and says it’s perfect. “Hey, do you care if I go home this weekend? I think I need to do some major shopping therapy with my mom.”

“I don’t mind,” I tell her, wiping off a nearby table. “I’m just studying anyway.”

“So…you haven’t heard from Jon yet?”

I shake my head.

It’s been almost a week since we visited Stella. We exchanged a few texts the next day, but that’s it. He wasn’t in class on Monday, and on Wednesday, he came late and left early. I don’t even know if he got his theme assignment finished.

Cassidy sits up straighter in her chair and a little of that fire comes back into her eyes. “Then come home with me. We can go shopping. Get our nails done. My mom and step-dad will take us out to dinner. We’ll go see a movie downtown. It’ll be fun.”

I exhale slowly. “Sounds fun, but I’ve got to work. And I’m too new to start switching shifts with anyone.”

“Damn.”

“Why don’t you stay here? We’ll rent something on Netflix, make popcorn. I’ll even eat pizza with non-dairy cheese without complaining.”

“Thanks, but I can’t subject you to that.” She doesn’t look quite as shell-shocked as she did when she came in, although her nose is still red and her eyelashes are damp. “I just want to get away from here and go home. Clear my head.”

Home. That’s the last place my head feels clear. “It’ll be good for you to get away.”

Cassidy frowns as if she’s trying to make sense of something. “It’s not even been a week since you last heard from him, right? Maybe he’ll still call or text.”

“And maybe not. That’s okay. It’s not like we were going out or anything.” I sound more pragmatic than I feel, because inside, I’m not feeling that great.

The connection I felt with him must not have been mutual, even though I could’ve sworn it was. Why would he have taken me out for breakfast and then invited me to Stella’s? Maybe I misread things. I shouldn’t have let myself think that there was something good starting between us.

My first impression of him was that he was trouble, so maybe it’s better this way. Disappointment now is much easier than disappointment later, when there’s more at stake.

I guess I should’ve listened to my own inner voice right from the start.

chapter twelve

Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love.

It will not lead you astray.

~Rumi

Ivy

I understand now why so many people in the Pacific Northwest get Seasonal Affective Disorder. With gray skies and the endless drizzle after the holidays, I think I’ve forgotten what the sun looks like. It would be one thing if it would rain really hard and then stop, but it doesn’t. It’s like someone left a faucet on and there’s a continual drip drip drip.

Every. Single. Minute.

Every. Single. Day.

Maybe it would help if I could get a good night’s sleep, but insomnia has been keeping me up lately.

I’m sitting in my history class and the professor has just finished lecturing. I fold the desk on its hinge and gladly get up from the hard plastic seat. If they were molded to fit the contour of an actual person’s butt, it would help, but they aren’t, so they’re painful. I twist my spine and it cracks. These desks should come with a warning label.

“Wanna copy my notes?” A guy a few seats over is looking at me, eyebrows raised. He’s got short, sandy-brown hair, dark eyes, and is really good-looking. “The next class doesn’t come in for another fifteen minutes.”

“Your notes?” I’m not sure why he’s offering them to me. I’m slightly distracted by his perfect white teeth. He could be on a giant billboard ad for toothpaste. Or on the side of a bus.

“I figured you missed some of Jaminski’s PowerPoint slides.”

Ah. He saw me texting Deena during class. She’s got an audition for a voice-over part and is really excited. “Um, sure. That would be great.” That’s when I notice he’s got a cast all the way up to his thigh and he’s sitting in a wheelchair. I take his notebook and start copying down his notes.

As I’m doing that, a few other students stop to talk to him on their way out of the lecture hall. He seems to know a lot of people.

His handwriting is in all caps, precise, and very readable. “You must be a cartoonist or going into architecture,” I tell him.

“So you’ve noticed my anal attention to detail,” he teases. He’s got a slight drawl that only adds to his all-American good looks. “Good guess. I’m an engineering student.”

“That explains it, then.”

I flip the page and continue scribbling as fast as I can, marveling at the thoroughness of his notes. I’m pretty sure that even if I had been paying attention, mine wouldn’t be nearly as detailed.

“Here’s the real test of your anal-ness,” I say. A flush of warmth heats my face when I realize how dirty it sounds. I hope he’s not thinking I’m flirting with him. After things with Jon seemed to be going so well, then totally tanked, I’ve decided it’s best just to focus on school right now. My heart can’t take the rollercoaster ride of emotion, anyway.

The guy laughs and doesn’t seem to have taken it the wrong way. “What’s the test?”

“Do you hang your clothes up by color like my roommate does?”

“Jeans on the left, T-shirts in the middle, anything with long sleeves on the right.”

“You hang your T-shirts in the closet? Geez. She does that, too.”

“And you don’t?” he asks.

I can’t tell if he’s teasing or serious.

“Mine get shoved in a drawer,” I reply. “That is, if they make it out of the clean clothes laundry basket.”

He laughs. “I know mere mortals can’t be bothered, but those of us higher up in the food chain appreciate order and neatness.”

“Ha. That’s totally something she’d say, too.” I finish copying his notes and hand them back. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

“So…are you a Trekkie?” I ask. “Or was it on sale?”

“Ah. The notebook.” He looks a little embarrassed. “My stepmom put it in my Christmas stocking. I couldn’t find a plain one when the quarter started, so I started using this and now I’m stuck. How about you?”

“A Star Trek fan?” I shake my head, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. “Not really. My roommate is, though. I just saw the last movie with her because Chris Pine is hot.”

“Sounds like I need to meet this roommate of yours,” he says. “I’m Zach, by the way, but my friends call me Touch.”

I narrow my eyes and look at him again. I know that name. “Touch Montgomery? The football player?”

“I hope there aren’t too many guys here with that nickname.”

I smile and try not to look at his cast. The running back suffered a horrible injury in the last game of the season, shortly before winter break, where his leg bent in a spot not designed for bending. I’m not sure if mentioning what happened would be tacky or not. I decide not to ask just yet. “How’d you get that nickname? Or do I want to know?”

He pushes his wheelchair into the aisle. “Back in high school, my coach said, if you can touch the ball, you’d better be able to catch it. And I usually did.”

“Makes perfect sense.” I glance at his cast again and decide it would be weird if I didn’t at least mention the elephant in the room. “Sorry about your leg. That must’ve hurt like shit.”

I remember where I was when it happened, too. Away games are shown on the Jumbotron in the stadium, but because it was raining so hard, we all stayed in the dorm and watched it downstairs in the TV room. If we beat UCLA, PSU was going to a bowl game. If not, then the season was over. Deena and I had been texting friendly barbs throughout the whole game.

We’re going to kick your ass.

You may want to check the scoreboard, babe. Or get some glasses. Or take math again. A bigger number means that we’re kicking yours.

When Touch got hurt, we all screamed and several of the girls burst out in tears.

Deena texted, OMG Ivy. That’s awful!! Everyone down here hopes he’s okay.

We were glad when we heard it was just his leg. Those bones can heal. Heads and spines might not.

“Just for a split second,” Touch says, yanking me back into the conversation. “But then everything went numb when I passed out. I don’t remember anything about the ride to the hospital or the surgery until I woke up with my leg in this cast.”

Sounds familiar. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.” I want to ask him about his chances to play again, but decide it’s too rude. I’m sure he gets asked that question a lot and is probably sick of it.

As if he can read my thoughts, he says, “Thanks. I’m hoping the rehab goes well and that I’ll be back next season.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

He’s got a great smile, he’s really smart, and he’s really hot. Technically, he’s the kind of guy I should be attracted to, but for some reason, all I can think about is that he and Cassidy would make a really cute couple. After they’re done making out, they could organize each other’s closets.

As we exit the lecture hall, I’m hit with the smell of something delicious. Pizza maybe. My stomach growls. I immediately clamp my hand over it.

Then his growls, too. “Like a yawn, it’s catchy.”

I glance at the time on my phone. I’m meeting Cassidy for lunch in exactly ten minutes and the Commons is exactly eleven minutes away.

“Want to get a bite to eat? I’m having lunch with my roommate. If you don’t have class now—which I’m assuming you don’t since you’d be late, and being an overachiever, that would never happen—do you want to join us?”

He pushes the button for the automatic doors. They swing open and we head outside.

“I was supposed to meet some friends to study, but I haven’t heard back from any of them yet.” He grabs his phone. “Let me check.”

“Want me to push you down the ramp while you try to get ahold of them?” I ask.

“Okay. Thanks.”

The ramp juts off to the left, then zigzags back again. For some reason, I look up as I push the chair around the far bend.

And that’s when I see him. Next to the science building.

Dressed all in black, with his guitar slung behind him, Jon is climbing onto his motorcycle. Holy hell, he looks good. Too good. I wrench my gaze away. I hate to admit it even to myself, but I miss him. It’s been almost three weeks since I went to Stella’s with him. Has he been back to visit her? Would it be weird for me to follow up with her about the garage sale if Jon and I aren’t really friends? My heart feels suddenly heavy.

“They’re not texting me back,” Touch says, interrupting my thoughts. “Assholes. So I guess that means I’m free for lunch.”

“Yay for asshole friends. Want me to keep pushing you? We’re going clear over to the Commons.”

He puts his hands behind his head and pretends to be in a recliner. “Onward,” he says.

I laugh. God, this is exactly what Cassidy would be doing if she had a broken leg and was in a wheelchair. Grasping the handles, I start to push the chair again, and although I don’t mean to, my gaze slides in Jon’s direction.

My heart stutters. He’s looking at me. Us. Is he scowling?

He lowers his sunglasses, but before he can turn around and dismiss me, I turn first and beat him to it. I can almost feel his eyes boring into my back. It feels good to be walking away from him. Yes, I’m shallow that way.

“Cassidy loves sci-fi stuff too,” I tell Touch, trying to keep my mind off Jon. “But unlike you, she’s not afraid to admit it.”

Touch puts a hand to his heart. “I’m deeply hurt and offended by that assertion. Just don’t tell me she’s got your room plastered with Lord of the Rings posters, because that would be…weird, even for me.”

“No, nothing like that. Looking at her, you’d never guess she’s into that stuff, but if a movie’s got aliens, space ships, an otherworldly setting, magic, and/or monsters, she’s all over it. She did tell me once, though, that she had a picture of Captain Picard on her bedroom ceiling when she was, like, eight.”

Touch and I are late getting over to the Commons. The place is packed, so it takes us forever to get through the line. I text Cassidy to find out where she’s sitting.

Finally, she texts back. You can get me a refill on my pop. I can’t get up or I’ll lose the table.

My punishment for being late?

Except that I’m typing too fast and it autocorrects to penis head. Only after I press Send do I see my mistake.

I snort out a laugh. Touch glances over. He’s trying to reach the straws but the only ones left are in the back, behind the mustard packets. I grab one and hand it to him.

HAHAHAHA, Cassidy texts back.

“Thanks,” he says. “I need longer arms.”

“No problem.”

With a tray on his lap, Touch follows me to where Cassidy is sitting at a table near the windows, her back to us.

“Hey Cassidy, this is—”

She holds up her empty glass, not bothering to turn around. Grabbing it from her, I clear my throat to get her attention. Let’s try this again. “Cassidy, this is Touch. Touch, this is my slightly anal roommate, Cassidy. Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be right back.”

“I…I…uh…hi.” The expression on her face is priceless.

As I head to the pop machine, my thoughts circle back to Jon. I’ve debated whether to try studying in the science library in hopes of running into him, but I decided that would be too stalkerish and weird. I’m so lost in my thoughts that I walk straight past the pop machine and have to turn around.

When I get back to the table, Cassidy and Touch are having a deep discussion about something science fiction–related. One look at how she’s twisting her hair, leaning toward him, and smiling into those dark eyes of his, and I know she totally forgives me.

chapter thirteen

Life sucks, but in a beautiful kind of way.

~ Axl Rose

Ivy

I’m in my dorm room, sitting on my bed with my headphones on and the door open. Since Cassidy is gone again this weekend and no one else is doing anything exciting, I decided to stay in tonight. I can’t remember who told me (it sure wasn’t Jon), but he’s taking over the Friday night radio spot again. I pull up the KREX website and hit the live-stream button. After a commercial for a local pizza place, the show starts with a really cool acoustic guitar jam.

“This is Jon Priestly on KREX filling in for Alice Chapparo.” The voice in my ear is smooth and hypnotic, like melted gourmet chocolate that you drizzle over ice cream. Sighing softly, I close my eyes and let his words become a part of me.

We could’ve been really good together.

Jon continues his intro. “Some interesting new music came in this week for You Be The Judge. That’s where you text your votes or tell me in the chat room, and at the end of the hour, the winner is crowned the Parishioners’ Fave. We’ve also got a new track from Money Penny Riot and an oldie from Pearl Jam. Thanks for spending your Friday night with me. And if you’re missing your fix of cool jazz, Alice will be back next week. This is Jon Priestly and church is now in session.”

My burst of laughter echoes loudly inside my room. I glance at the open door and hope no one out there heard me. Now I get the church references. The shirts. The jokes. His last name. God, I can be so dense sometimes.

He starts in right away playing some new music from a band out of LA. Wonder if Deena has heard of them. I can’t decide if I like them or not. They’ve got a weird sound, like Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used To Know,” the kind where you can’t tell if it’s cool because it’s unique or if it’s just really annoying.

Careful not to pull off my headphones, I lean over the end of my bed and grab a pencil and a fresh pad of paper from my desk. I don’t know about you, but I can’t start a new project with a half-used notebook. I’ve got a paper due next week in Comparative Lit, comparing and contrasting two young adult dystopian novels: Battle Royale and The Hunger Games. I’ve read The Hunger Games, but not Battle Royale. The paperback from the library is worn and dog-eared. I open the book and start reading.

I haven’t even gotten past the first page when Bryce pokes his head into my room. He’s the Resident Aid for our floor and lives in the studio apartment at the end of the hall. He lets Cassidy and me use his microwave to make popcorn when we watch Vampire Diaries, otherwise, we’d have to go all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Seeing that I’ve got headphones on, he waves and turns to leave.

“Hold up.” I pull them from the jack so the music is now coming out of the computer speakers. “What’s up, Bryce?”

“You studying?” He’s got a girl with him.

“I am. And listening to KREX. What’s up?”

Jon is introducing another song.

“Priestly’s on tonight,” he says. “That’s cool.”

Is there a person on campus who doesn’t know who Jon is?

Bryce introduces me to his friend Holly, a girl with a velvety dark complexion, a thick ponytail of braided cornrows, and beautiful gray eyes. Turns out she’s shadowing him because she’s thinking about being an RA next year. The applications are due next month.

“I don’t know, Holly,” I say. “We’re pretty wild here in Kefner Hall. Bryce is always busting our parties and shutting down our fun.” She looks confused, as if she can’t decide whether to believe me or not. “I’m just kidding. Things are usually pretty quiet.” As if to prove me wrong, a loud thump thump of music starts up down the hall. “Except for Viva la Vaughn. He’s got a disco ball underneath his lofted bed and probably has people in there now.”

“Is Cassidy gone this weekend?” Bryce asks, looking around. “Again?”

She told me her mom and stepdad might be getting a divorce, so she’s been going home a lot. I still wonder if it has something to do with Will. So far, she and Touch haven’t gone out yet, despite my best intentions to hook them up. “Yeah, she’ll be back late Sunday night.”

“We’re going to watch a movie, if you want to come down and hang out.”

“Which one got voted in?” Every month, students vote on what movies will be available for streaming on PSU Net. There are usually about ten to choose from. The one that gets the most votes is the one that stays up all month. “I haven’t been paying attention.”

Bryce frowns and looks to Holly. “I can’t remember. Do you know?”

“Going old-school this month,” she says. “Terminator 2. Not really my cup of tea, but whatever.”

My throat tightens. I remember the conversation Jon and I had about that movie, where he claimed I was quoting its theme. He mentioned we should watch it together sometime.

“Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got a lot of reading I need to do by Monday. I think I’ll just stay here.”

After they leave, I put on my headphones again, lean back against my headboard, and close my eyes. I listen to a few songs and then Jon is on the air again, talking about the zombie race that Dani mentioned. The race benefits a local cancer charity. He doesn’t say if entries are closed yet or not.

I wake up my computer and go to the KREX website, but I can’t find the link to the race. The chat window is located on the bottom right corner of the page. I watch the scrolling conversations. From what I can tell, there are seven or eight other people in the chat room besides Jon_KREX.

My fingers hover over the keys. Before I change my mind, I click the sign-in button and choose a screen name.

IOTR: Is the race still open to entries?

I watch the box. It takes him precisely two seconds to reply.

Jon_KREX: Welcome IOTR! Yes, it’s still open. Hold on. Let me get you the link.

He posts it a moment later.

IOTR: Cool. Thanks.

A few other people in the chat room thank him also.

Jon_KREX: RU a runner?

IOTR: Yep.

Jon_KREX: Good! Cuz you know what rule number one is, don’t you?

I laugh. He’s quoting Zombieland.

IOTR: Cardio.

Jon_KREX: Exactly.

Others chime in and pretty soon everyone in the chat room is talking about the double tap and Woody Harrelson’s quest for Twinkies. Meanwhile, Jon introduces another song, so he’s not participating in the conversation. Someone named Church_Lady mentions Terminator 2, and suddenly they’re all quoting Arnold lines.

Church_Lady: Have you seen it, IOTR?

IOTR: Nope.

Church_Lady: U totally need 2 watch. It’s on PSU Net all month.

IOTR: That’s what I hear.

I double-check that Jon’s still not in the chat room. His last comment has already scrolled off the page. The song ends and now he’s back on the air talking about some band in Seattle.

IOTR: A friend told me I should watch it.

Church_Lady: U definitely should! It’s my fave of all of them.

Viva la Vaughn’s music is loud. I can hear it even though I’ve got headphones on. I get up to close my door and step into my overflowing hamper, scattering dirty clothes on the floor. Oh yeah, I was going to do laundry tonight.

Friday and Saturday nights are the best times to wash clothes because you can usually get a washer and you don’t have to wait for a dryer. In case you’re wondering when the worst time is, that would be Sunday afternoon. Never do laundry in the dorms on a Sunday afternoon. You’ll spend waaaay too much time down there waiting for a spot. And if your clothes are hanging out in the washer for more than, like, five minutes after they’re done, someone will plop them on the center table between the washers and dryers. Meaning everyone who comes in will get a peek at your wet underwear.

I pick up the clothes, grab my detergent pods, and as I turn to go to the laundry room, my computer beeps. I haven’t heard that notification sound before. I set down the hamper and look at the screen. Someone from the KREX chat room has side-messaged me.

When I click open the private window, my breath catches in my throat.

Jon_KREX: Ivy is that you?

How did he figure that out? Was I that obvious? Oh God, he’s not thinking I’m stalking him, is he? I wipe my hands on my pajama bottoms before I type out a reply.

IOTR: Um, yeah.

Jon_KREX: Ivy On The Roof. Clever.

Obviously, not clever enough.

IOTR: Thx for the link about the zombie run.

Being an emoji addict, I have to stop myself from including a smiley-face.

Jon_KREX: NP

I’m not sure whether to head down to the laundry room now or continue the conversation. Maybe that’s all he intended to say.

IOTR: Good show tonight. Good music.

Jon_KREX: Thx

I wait for a moment, but he doesn’t type anything more. Okay then. I can take a hint.

IOTR: Talk to you later.

Jon_KREX: Going out?

Wow, that was a fast reply.

IOTR: Nope. C is gone so I’m studying for a test on Monday. And doing laundry.

I want to ask what he’s been up to. Tell him that I miss him and wish he could come over. When he doesn’t answer right away, I decide not to wait.

The extraordinarily beautiful laundry room (I’m saying that facetiously, because the cement walls are painted this really gross green color and it’s got a low, claustrophobic ceiling) is located in the basement, along with some storage rooms where the housing department keeps extra furniture. Bike storage is down here, too.

A couple of the washers and dryers are in use, but there are plenty of empty ones. Two is my lucky number, so I lift the lid of the second one from the door and dump in my whites. In the next one go my darks. A detergent pod in each and I’m good to go. I like that we don’t have to pay. Guess they include the cost of doing laundry in the housing bill each quarter.

As I exit the laundry room and head for the stairs, an out-of-place sound draws my attention. I hesitate. It’s a scuffling, scratching sound, like an animal. Rats? Or could it be something banging around in one of the dryers?

I jump onto the first stair and look into all the corners. The room at the bottom of the stairs is glaringly bright, but I don’t see anything that could’ve made that noise.

Then I hear it again. Definitely not the dryers, but it could be an animal.

I glance down the long hallway toward the basement door where people bring their bikes in and out. There are several doorways leading into various storage spaces. None of them have actual doors. One of the lights is burned out, so much of the hallway is in shadow. In fact, the brightness here makes the darkness down there seem really dark.

If it’s not an animal, is it a couple hooking up?

“If anyone’s there and you’re just messing around, tell me you’re okay and I’ll leave you alone.” The silence is deafening. Running up to the first landing, I call down. “Okay, I’m going upstairs to get the RA.”

I wasn’t really expecting to hear anything. But there’s another scuffle and then a small cry. Oh my God, is someone in trouble? I’m so pissed off at myself that I left my phone in the room. There is no way in hell I’m going down that hallway unless I know someone’s with me. I take three giant steps up to the next landing and open the door to the first floor residence hall.

“Help! I need help downstairs.” A few people stick their heads out of their rooms. “Hurry! I think someone’s hurt.” I motion for them to follow me but I don’t wait for them.

With my hand on the railing, I practically jump to the first landing again. That’s when I hear the slamming of the basement door. Three more giant steps and I’m back in the basement. Just as I round the corner, a girl stumbles out of one of the storage rooms, her shirt torn, her hair messy. I recognize her—I think she lives on the second floor—but I don’t know her name.

“Please...help me.” She looks like she’s ready to topple over.

I run to her, wrap my arm around her shoulder and usher her toward the stairs. “What happened?”

Multiple sets of footsteps echo in the stairwell, and three students, breathing hard, join us.

“I…I…someone attacked me. Back there. When I was bringing my bike in.” Then she breaks down into gasping sobs.

“What did he look like?” one of the guys says. The girl with them is dialing 9-1-1.

“Um…I…About this tall—” She holds her hand an inch or two over her head.

“Old? Young?”

“I don’t know. A…a student, I think.”

The two guys charge down the hallway and out the door.

Someone must’ve told Bryce, because when we get to the first floor, he and Holly are running toward us.

“Oh my God, Maddy!” Holly runs up to us and flings her arms around her friend, helping her onto a nearby bench.

I step away just as several police cars with flashing lights pull up outside the dorm. Hardly any time passes before a policewoman is interviewing Maddy, and I’m giving my statement. Various security officials spread out to search the campus, including at least one officer with a German Shepherd on a long leash.

By the time I get back to my room, it’s after midnight. Maddy was taken to the hospital to make sure she was okay. Holly and a few other friends went with her. Bryce and the other RAs went room to room to make sure we keep our doors locked, and Campus Security has an officer stationed in our foyer.

Even though I’m dead tired and should really go to bed, I know I’ll never be able to sleep. The events of the night keep replaying in my head in a continuous fast-forward loop. My head throbs. I can tell I’m on the verge of a massive headache. I should’ve gone to the doctor for a refill on my medication. At least I don’t have to work tomorrow.

I slump down on the bed and that’s when my hands start to shake. I held myself together earlier but can feel myself unraveling now. My teeth are chattering. I’m freezing cold. As I lie there wrapped in my quilt with my knees pulled to my chest, I hear a dinging sound. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my computer. The chat window with Jon is still open.

Jon_KREX: Ivy? Are you back?

The time stamp indicates he typed that over an hour ago. He’s probably not still at the station, but I try anyway.

IOTR: Jon? U there?

A few minutes pass and he doesn’t reply. He must’ve gone home. I grab my phone and debate whether to text him or not. I want to talk to someone, so I take my chances.

Hey, Jon, are you there?

Yes. And then, Thanks for coming to the KREX chat room tonight. That was fun.

A knot forms in my stomach. It sounds like he’s talking to one of his Parishioners.

Jon?

Yeah?

My hands are really shaking now. I’m not sure I can type.

Ivy?

I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been able to hold myself together until now. Tears are stinging the backs of my eyes.

Ivy? Everything all right?

Not really.

What’s wrong?

Someone was attacked. The police came.

When? Where?

Before I can text back, my phone rings.

“What the fuck, Ivy. Who? When? In the dorm?” Something crashes in the background.

I feel an odd weightlessness. Like I’m outside my body looking down at myself. “What was that noise?”

“Just my guitar. Goddamn it, Ivy, what happened?”

I need to stay focused. Jon is asking me a question. “A girl. In my dorm. I found her. Down in the laundry room. She’ll be okay. I…I got to her before he…”

My hands are shaking even more. I almost drop my phone.

“Where are you?” His voice is strong and commanding. A door slams on his end of the line.

“In my room.”

“Is Cassidy home yet?”

How does he…? Then I remember telling him earlier that she wasn’t here. “No, she went home for the weekend.”

He curses under his breath. By the way he’s breathing, I can tell he’s running. “Get your shit together. I’m coming for you.”

“What? No, Jon. I’m…I’m fine. I just…wanted to talk to someone. I came back to my room and—”

“You can talk to me in person in five minutes.”

“No, you totally don’t need to come. I’m fine. They have Campus Security stationed downstairs. They’ve got everything under control.”

“I’m serious, Ivy. You’d better be ready or I’ll pack your shit for you.”

* * *

Jon

I pull up to her building less than five minutes later and spot her through the glass doors. She’s with a guy and a girl in the lobby.

I kill the bike’s engine and sprint to the entrance. She comes out to meet me and waves goodbye to her friends. She’s wearing pajama bottoms and a PSU sweatshirt, and she’s holding a pillow and her backpack. I leap up the steps, crashing into her at the top and pulling her into my arms.

“Jon,” she gasps, dropping the backpack and pillow.

For a split second, as the momentum propels us against the glass, I recall her panicked reaction back at the bar when we were in a similar position. I don’t want to scare her or hurt her, like someone else has obviously done to her in the past. I’d die a thousand deaths if I ever hurt her.

She clings desperately, like I’m a life raft. The only one who can help her.

Her reaction shatters something inside me that I’ve been trying for weeks to ignore. Something I’ve been denying even exists. I want to be here for her. To be her rock, her support. I want to be everything she needs.

When I heard what happened, I couldn’t get here fast enough. And now, with her in my arms, I think about what might have been. What if it was her and not some other girl who was attacked? And then my head goes into a really dark place. What if I lost her?

“God, Ivy.” The words stick to the back of my throat. I can hardly speak as the gravity of the situation hits me hard.

She sniffs and grabs my hair tighter. I think she might be crying though there isn’t any sobbing. It’s like she’s keeping it tucked deep inside and won’t let it out.

“I gotcha, babe. Nothing’s going to happen to you now.”

“I know,” she whispers in my ear. And then, very quietly, “I’m glad you came for me.”

Her hair is sticking to her wet cheeks, but my mouth finds hers anyway. I roughly push the strands away, until it’s just my lips against hers. I kiss her too hard. Too desperate. She smells sweet and tastes even better. It’s as if I’ve been thirsty all my life but didn’t know it, and now I finally have water.

Someone whistles from across the street. Ivy stiffens in my arms, her lips still pressed to mine.

“Yo, dudes,” a male voice calls out. “Get a room.”

There’s a burst of laughter and someone else says, “That’s some serious goddamn PDA.”

“Yeah. Another minute and they’d be going at it against the wall.”

“Why’d you stop them, idiot? I’d have watched that.”

Reluctantly, I release her and pick up her things.

A Campus Security officer rounds the corner on foot and beams a flashlight in our faces. “What’s going on?”

“I’m picking her up and taking her to my place.”

“Is that correct?” the officer confirms with Ivy.

“Yes.” Her voice rings out in the cool night air, her breath fogging in front of our faces.

I grab her hand and head toward the bike. “Have you found the guy?” I ask the officer.

“Not yet, but we’re still looking.” He heads across the street to talk to the group of guys, then continues his patrol.

“Jon, I—”

I touch a finger to her lips. I can tell she’s tired. “We can talk about this later. I need to get you home.”

chapter fourteen

The very first moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone.

~ Jane Austen

Jon

I survey the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink as we enter the kitchen. “Sorry for the mess. I’d have cleaned if I had known…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I clear away someone’s soup bowl and the crust of a sandwich. “Care for a nightcap before we retire?” I use my best British accent, hoping to make her laugh and take her mind off what just happened, but it doesn’t work.

She looks dazed, like she’s in shock. “Tea? Hot chocolate?”

“Either one. I have both.”

She purses her lips. “Got any marshmallows?”

“Nope. But I do have whipped cream.”

“Okay, then I’ll have tea, but only if it doesn’t have any caffeine.”

Now that’s one I’ve never heard before. “You drink tea with whipped cream?”

“No, I hate whipped cream, but I only drink hot chocolate with marshmallows. Since you don’t have any, I’ll just have tea.”

I grab the tea container from a cupboard and slide it across the island. “How can anyone hate whipped cream? I’m pretty sure it’s against the law.”

The smile she flashes lights me up inside. “Guess you’ll have to throw me in jail then.” She thumbs through the teabags like files in a hanging folder, chooses one, and hands it to me. “I can’t stand the texture of whipped cream.”

I fill two mugs with water and put them in the microwave. “So I take it you’ve never done whip hits.”

She frowns. “I don’t even know what that is.”

I grab the whipped cream from the refrigerator. “Watch and learn.” I shake the canister a few times, tilt my head back and spray it directly into my mouth.

“Can’t say that I’ve ever done a whip hit,” she says, laughing. “My mom always bought the kind in the tub.”

I lick my lips. “The fake stuff? Well, you haven’t lived until you’ve had a whip hit with real whipped cream. Here.” I lean over the counter and hold the nozzle near her mouth. She tries to take it from me, but I pull it away. “No. I’ll do it.”

She narrows her eyes, looking very skeptical.

“I promise I’m not going to spray you or anything.”

“But can you be trusted? That’s the real question.” She points to the tattoo on the back of her neck. “Remember?”

How can I forget? I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. How’s that?”

“Ha,” she laughs. “Somehow I don’t picture you as a Boy Scout.”

My mind flashes to the scrapbook Mom made for me, with its quilted cover and various buttons and charms glued to each page. At least four or five are devoted to my time as a Cub Scout. She spent months going through the pictures she’d saved on her computer and phone, getting them printed, then crafting each page, but she never got a chance to finish it. “Well, I was. So you can trust me.”

“Famous last words.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I trust you. Hit me. But not too much.” She leans forward and opens her mouth.

I can imagine something else slipping between those pretty lips. Willing my mind out of the gutter, I press the nozzle and fill her mouth with swirls of cream.

“Mmmm,” she says, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. “That is good.”

“See? What did I tell you? And to think you’ve been missing out on this your whole life.”

“It’s a travesty,” she agrees. I give her another hit.

“You’ve never lived until you’ve done that in the store.”

“In the grocery store? No way.”

“Yes.” I tell her how my friend and I used to go to the Fresh and Easy Market when my mom and I lived near Camp Pendleton. I’d keep an eye out for the manager while he took a hit and he’d do the same for me.

She laughs.

Normally, I don’t like talking about when I was a kid. But with Ivy, for some reason, my past and everything in it doesn’t seem nearly as dark.

The microwave beeps and I pull out the two mugs of hot water.

“Is it too late to change my order to hot chocolate?” she asks, licking the last of the whipped cream from her lips.

“Not at all.” I grab two packets and dump them into the cups.

“You mentioned Camp Pendleton. Was your dad in the military when you were little?”

Ha. “My father is the last person who’d join the military.”

“What if there was a zombie apocalypse and all the remaining people needed to become soldiers to defend the human race? Would he join then?”

Where does she come up with this stuff? I shake my head, laughing. “Yes, even then he’d figure out a way to avoid it.”

“Hmmm. Then he’d probably be one of the first to be infected.”

“Let’s just say he’s the ultimate narcissist. He’d never do anything where he had to be a team player or a small cog in a greater machine. He needs to be the one on top. The one getting all the glory and attention. If you don’t fit into his world or serve a purpose, he has no need for you.”

“And by you, you mean you?” Her tone is soft.

I exhale a long, slow breath. “Pretty much. He left my mother when she was pregnant with me.”

“Before you were even born? Wow, Jon, I’m sorry.”

“Yep. Told her he wasn’t interested in being a father.” I stir the chocolate, add some whipped cream, and hand one to her.

She swirls it around, but doesn’t take a sip. She’s chewing the inside of her lip like she’s trying to figure something out. “Do you have a relationship with him now?”

“Never met the guy.” I don’t tell her that I have seen him—in occasional tabloid articles and online gossip sites.

“He sounds like a jerk.”

She doesn’t know the half of it. “When I was a kid, I wanted to meet him so bad. All my friends had dads and I wanted one, too. So when I was seven, I drew a picture at school of what I thought he looked like. Basically, it was a self-portrait, only he was taller and had bigger muscles. I can still remember the drawing. Stick figures, of course.”

Ivy smiles. “Of course.”

“I came home and told my mom I wanted to mail it to him. So she got an envelope and helped me address it. He was living in New York City at the time.”

“And did you hear from him?”

I shake my head. “The letter came back marked Return to Sender. Printed by hand, not a stamp. My father didn’t even bother to open it. Just saw that it was from me, his son, and sent it back. Had he just thrown it away, I could’ve imagined that he’d read it and displayed the picture on his fancy New York refrigerator to show to all his famous friends. But no. It came back unopened and unread.”

“Your dad is such a fool.”

“I’m thinking more along the lines of fucker, asshole or douche.”

She sets down her hot chocolate and looks me square in the eye. “He’s a fool, Jon, because he doesn’t know, doesn’t even have one clue, that he’s fathered a pretty amazing guy.”

My first reaction is to refute her words, but she’s staring at me so intently, as if she’s daring me to contradict her. And then she does something that blows me away. She lifts her hands and signs, You’re amazing.

My heart races. My throat tightens up. I try swallowing, but I can’t. I turn away, not sure what I can say. Or do.

Quietly, she comes around the island as I stand frozen on the other side. She places her hands on either side of my face. At first, I think she’s going to kiss me. Her lips are parted and her eyes are so intense with emotion, they almost burn right through me. But no. She’s holding my face so that I’m forced to look at her without turning away.

“You’re a good person, Jon Priestly. And if your dad is so self-centered and self-absorbed that he can’t or won’t be bothered to see the kind of son he’s fathered, then I’m incredibly sad for him. One day, he’s going to die. And you know what? He’ll never have known how much better his life would’ve been had you been a part of it.”

She rises onto her tiptoes and pulls my head down to hers. Her lips are soft against mine.

I’ve ignored her for weeks. Stopped calling and texting. Even ignored her in the one class we had together. By all accounts she should be disappointed in me, but she’s not.

“Ivy,” I choke, grabbing fistfuls of her hair as I draw her to me as tight as I can. “I—”

“Shhh. Just kiss me and stop trying to argue.”

I lift her in my arms and her legs go around my waist, then I carry her up the stairs to my room.

* * *

Ivy

Jon slips into bed, the mattress briefly dipping under his weight. This close to him, alone, here in his bedroom, my heart races out of control. It’s pounding loud enough that I’m certain he can hear it.

I stare up at the darkened ceiling, surprised I don’t have a headache right now. I figured it was inevitable, given what happened tonight to Maddy. Although I’m tired, I’m headache-free. “Thanks for everything. Coming to get me. Bringing me over here.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing my hip. “No problem. I hope you’re not still scared.”

“I’m not.” I nestle in closer until my body is pressed to his, our contours matching. He feels like a man should feel. Strong, but respectful of those who aren’t. Protective, but not smothering. And capable of so much good. His hand slips over my hip to rest on the bare skin of my belly. His lips are in my hair. I shift slightly and… There. I feel his erection against my butt. A thrill skitters along my spine, then outward to my fingers and toes. Our contours don’t quite match anymore.

“Ivy, you need to stop moving around.”

“I’m just trying to get comfortable.” What I really want is for him to slip his hand into my pajama bottoms. A delicious warmth gathers low in my abdomen at the thought.

“You’ve been through too much. It’s late. You need to get some sleep.”

It’s like he can read my mind and thinks he needs to put a stop to my desire. I turn in his arms and kiss him. “Jon, I…I want this. With you.”

He groans, the sound vibrating through his lips against mine. I can tell he wants this as badly as I do. The ache between my legs is almost unbearable. Just when I think I might have to take matters into my own hands, he pushes my pajama bottoms down, runs his hand down my belly, and slips a finger inside me. I gasp in surprise. It’s so sudden. His finger strokes me intimately. I bend my knee to open myself to him and, oh my God, his thumb starts rubbing against me, shooting electricity throughout my body.

With his free hand, he guides mine to his erection. It’s velvety smooth and hard like a pipe. I stroke it, trying to match the rhythm of his hips. Suddenly, he produces a condom from somewhere and quickly sheaths himself. I know this is a really lame time to be thinking of one’s ex, but Chase used to lie back with his hands behind his head as I put it on him, but toward the end of our relationship he’d get impatient and do it himself. Just another way Jon is different.

He nudges me onto my back and showers kisses along my neck and collarbone. Then his head dips lower and he takes one of my nipples into his mouth. I suck in a breath and arch into him.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, then moves to the other breast.

I want to ask him why he stopped calling, why he suddenly removed himself from my life, but I’m too caught up in the moment to think about any of that. I’ll ask him later, when we both have clothes on. Right now, this is what I need from him.

I bend a knee and let my leg fall open. He eases on top of me, careful to keep his weight on his forearms, and pushes my legs even farther apart. “Are you sure, Ivy? Because if you’re not, we can stop.”

I slide my hands along his muscular back. “Yes, Jon, I’m one hundred percent sure.”

The warm, broad tip of him rubs my inner thigh, getting closer and closer. And then it’s there. Right at the center of me. He hesitates a moment longer, even in the dark room, I can feel his blue eyes searching mine. I know he’s giving me a chance to change my mind. But I don’t. I can’t. I need him to quell the ache inside me. Rolling his hips, he slowly enters me.

I bite my lip to keep from crying out, not wanting him to think something’s wrong. He’s heavy and thick, but it doesn’t hurt. Not quite.

Once he’s all the way in, he stills himself and props up on his elbows, his face inches from mine. “Are you okay?” His brow is furrowed as he gauges my reaction.

I’m touched by his concern. I have no doubt that if I wanted him to stop, he’d stop. “Um, yeah. I’m… You’re…” God, I can’t even think straight. “It’s perfect.”

He kisses my neck, right under my earlobe. Goosebumps skitter along my arms and legs. “Good, because you feel awesome to me, too.”

With long, smooth strokes, he begins to move inside me. Almost instantly, an intensely wicked pressure builds in my lower belly, turning every nerve ending into molten lava. I cling to him, my nails digging into his back. His tempo increases as if he knows exactly the effect his body is having on mine.

“Are you close?” he asks, not breaking his rhythm.

How could I not be? “I…I think so. Why?”

“Because I am, but I want to make sure you go first.”

Me? First? And before I can think of anything further or utter another word, my inner muscles tighten around him. Without warning, the pressure explodes, shooting into every corner of my body. “Oh my God, Jon!”

His mouth is on mine, devouring me. With every thrust, every kiss, Jon Priestly consumes me. My body. My soul.

“Ivy!” he groans, his muscles straining. He shudders. I feel him pulse inside me.

When he finally collapses on top of me, a thin layer of sweat covers both of us.

“Wow,” he says breathlessly. “That was incredible.”

And that’s when I know that I have consumed him, too.

I stroke his back, feeling every hard muscle. “Same. I can honestly say that I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“Mmmm. Good.” His voice rumbles through his chest and into mine. He lifts his head and tenderly kisses my bruised lips. “Because we’re going to do it again in the morning.”

chapter fifteen

If darkness is really not darkness at all,

but rather, the absence of light,

then my flaws are not really flaws at all,

but rather, the absence of you.

~ Christopher Poindexter

Jon

Ivy is still sleeping, her hair spread out in soft waves over my pillow, when I enter the room. I set the two plates of waffles on the desk, stroll to the window, and open the blinds. Cool February sunlight streams through the single-paned glass, frosty with condensation.

Last night with her was nothing short of amazing. There wasn’t that awkward getting-to know-each-other stage, where you’re trying to figure out what the other person likes. Is this right or too much? Does this hurt or are you okay?

No matter how I touched her, she responded like a finely tuned instrument under my hands. Just thinking about it now is enough to make me hard all over again. I can feel the front of my sweats tenting outward.

She stirs under the covers.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say, leaning over her.

One green eye opens. Then the other. Keeping the sheets over her chest, she pushes herself to a sitting position and looks around, confused. Her hair is sticking up and she’s got sheet marks on the side of her face.

God, she’s gorgeous.

When her gaze lands on me, her cheeks redden. I’m guessing she’s remembering what we did last night. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.”

“Eleven? That late?” Her voice, raspy and low, is so damn sexy.

Let’s see if I can make her blush again. “Must’ve been all the awesome sex we had last night.”

Yep. It worked. Two bright spots of color appear on her cheeks. She’s trying not to smile, but she’s not doing a very good job. “Do you see my T-shirt?”

I look around but don’t see it. I grab one of my old PSU football jerseys and hand it to her instead. “It’s clean.”

“Thanks.” She pulls it over her head and gets up. It hangs to mid-thigh as she walks across the hardwood floor toward the bathroom.

“Don’t be in there too long or the food will get cold.”

“I’ll be out in a sec.”

When she comes out a few minutes later, her hair is piled into a messy bun on top of her head. Even without a stitch of makeup, she’s beautiful.

She tugs the hem of my jersey as she crosses the room. “So you played football?”

“Yeah, my freshman year.”

She sits next to me on the bed, and I hand her a plate. “So why aren’t you still on the team?”

“I was a decent player in high school, but college turned out to be totally different. They wanted me to stay on the practice squad, but I decided it wasn’t worth sacrificing my grades for.”

“Is that when you started working for the campus radio station?”

“Yeah. I’ve always loved music, so it was a good fit.”

She nods thoughtfully, then takes a bite. “Um, these are even better than the Waffle Stop. You made them? They don’t look like they’re from the freezer.”

“Waffles of Insane Greatness.”

She laughs. “What?”

“That’s the name of the recipe. Got it from one of my mom’s old boyfriends, who found it online. That’s about the only thing he was good for, too.”

She takes another bite. “So, have you heard if they’ve caught the guy who attacked Maddy?”

“Not yet. When I was downstairs, I called the radio station to see if they had any news. So far, the police don’t have any leads.”

“I should probably let Cassidy know what’s going on before she hears it from someone else.” She sets down her plate, grabs her phone from the nightstand, and types out a text. “As soon as she sees this, she’ll probably—” The phone vibrates. “—call.”

Ivy answers and proceeds to tell her roommate what happened in the dorm. At something Cassidy says, Ivy’s gaze flickers to mine. She turns away slightly, but not before I see her cheeks redden again. “Um, Jon’s.” She pauses, bites the inside of her lip. “Yes.” Another pause. Then a little laugh. “Good.” She picks at a loose thread on my football jersey. “I know. Okay, I will.” And then finally, “Talk to you later. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

“What did she say?” I ask after she hangs up.

“She’s freaked out, of course. But she’s happy I’m here with you.”

“She is?” Guilt gnaws at my stomach. I failed to return Ivy’s calls and texts until she stopped trying to get in touch with me. If that’s not the definition of an asshole, I don’t know what is. “I’ve acted pretty shitty these past few weeks. I just want you to know that it’s not you or anything you did, it’s—”

“Jon, please. I don’t want to hear it. What’s done is done. Can we just pretend it didn’t happen? At least for a few more hours? I’m liking the way things are right now.”

Maybe she’s willing to pretend it didn’t happen, but I can’t.

“I should’ve called or texted. It’s just that…I was scared things were moving too fast. And I’m not—you’d be—” I notice something gray and fuzzy sticking out of her pillowcase. “What’s that?”

She glances down and quickly shoves it back inside. “Nothing.”

“Looks like something to me. What is it?”

She’s chewing on her lip again. “I’d really rather not say.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll laugh. Or it’ll tick you off.”

That doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s funny, but why would it make me angry? “I highly doubt it. Come on. Show me. I promise I won’t laugh. Well, I might laugh, but I won’t be mad.”

Sheepishly, she reaches into the pillowcase and pulls out a ratty stuffed animal that has clearly seen better days.

“Did that used to be a…bear?”

She shakes her head. “A lemur.”

“That’s a lemur?”

“Yes. Without any stuffing, it’s hard to tell what he is.”

“I can see that.” I study her face. “Why would you think it would piss me off? I mean, I think it’s cute that you still sleep with a stuffed animal.”

“You do?” Her eyes widen.

“Of course.” Moving the plates aside, I grab her around the waist and pull her close. She smells like soap, toothpaste, and maple syrup. “Why in the hell would that make me mad?”

She shrugs. “I just knew someone once who was irritated by it. Said it was stupid and childish. So I got into the habit of stuffing it inside my pillowcase whenever he was around.”

He? “And that’s why you stuffed it in there now, because you thought I’d react the same way.” The air around us suddenly grows quiet. Who in her life would care if she slept with a stuffed animal or not? And then it occurs to me that I know exactly who, even if I don’t know his name. “Is this the same person who hurt you?”

Her eyes flash up to mine. She looks wary. “Hurt? What do you mean?”

“I can tell something has happened to you. Sometimes you get panicky, like you’re expecting a certain reaction from me.”

“I do?”

“Yes. Especially when you feel trapped.”

She blinks rapidly, refusing to meet my gaze.

“Ivy, talk to me.”

Still no answer.

“Did someone abuse you? Threaten you? Make you feel unsafe?”

At first I think she’s still not going to answer, until…

“Yes,” she whispers.

My protective instincts kick into overdrive and I pull her closer. “Tell me what happened.”

She buries her face in my shoulder but says nothing.

“Ivy, please. I want to know why you’re so scared.”

She places her hand on my chest, right above my heart. It beats a few times before she says anything. “He was popular in high school. I guess you could say we both were. When we started going out our senior year, everyone said we were the perfect couple. Star football player and cheerleader. Homecoming king and queen.” She pauses. “It’s pathetic, I know, but that was my life.”

“It’s not pathetic, Ivy. I had a screwed-up high school experience, and that’s putting it mildly. I’m glad yours was normal.”

“Normal is deceiving, though. What looks perfect and normal on the outside can be very dysfunctional on the inside. In my home town, lots of people stick around and marry their high school sweethearts, have kids, and live happily ever after.”

“And he thought you were destined for the same thing?” I recall the conversation we had about fate and destiny. She seemed pissed off about it at the time.

She nods. “But when we got to college and I got a glimpse of a bigger, wider world, I began to see Chase for what he was. A selfish, cruel person. I decided I didn’t want to live the rest of my life with someone like that.”

“So you broke up with him?”

“I tried to. Several times.”

“What do you mean, you tried to? You either do or you don’t, right?”

Her laugh is bitter and harsh. “You didn’t know Chase. He was used to getting his way. And when he didn’t, things got ugly. Fast. The trouble was, no one else saw that side of him. Only me. He’d be charming and funny when we were out in public, but behind closed doors things were much different.”

“What did he do to you, Ivy?” My tone is ice cold.

“I…I don’t want to talk about specifics. I can’t.”

Can’t or won’t? “Did you ever tell anyone what was going on?”

“A few times, but I’d get told I was blowing things out of proportion. He’s a good guy, they’d say.”

“Did you tell your parents?”

“No, not really. I tried once, but they wouldn’t listen.”

What about the boyfriend who died? The one you loved? Where does he fit in? I want to ask her these questions, but I don’t know how to bring it up. Either that, or I’m afraid of her answer.

“The guy sounds like a total asshole.” I squeeze her tighter and kiss the top of her head.

“One of the times I tried to break up with him, he barricaded me in his apartment for a whole weekend. Without my phone or computer. I had no way of contacting anyone. He finally let me go and told me it was just a joke.”

“A joke? Locking you up in his apartment was a fucking joke?” I feel like punching my hand through a wall right now.

“When I threatened to go to his dad, the Lincoln Falls chief of police, Chase just laughed. He said if I told his dad, he wouldn’t believe me anyway, and my mom could get fired.”

“How is that possible? I don’t get it.”

“Lincoln Falls is really small. Everyone knows everyone and/or is related. His dad is the police chief and his aunt is my mom’s supervisor. I don’t know if that would’ve happened or not, but I couldn’t take the chance. Money was really tight in our house. Is really tight. We couldn’t afford for my mom to lose her job. And then he said something I’ll never forget. He told me that no one would ever believe me anyway, because he was one of the golden boys. The darling of Lincoln Falls. He could do no wrong. Everyone loved him and would believe his word over mine.”

“That’s crazy. How is that even possible?”

She shrugs. “It’s a small town and my family has only lived there for a few years. They still consider us outsiders. His family, though, goes way back. His great-grandfather was the first mayor. So, yeah, they’ll believe a Marquette over anyone else.”

I can’t take it any longer. I move her off my lap, stand, and start aimlessly pacing the room. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? I know it happened a few years ago, but I have the urge to jump on my bike, hunt him down, and kick his ass. “So what did you do?”

“I stuck it out until I could figure out what I could do.” She rubs her forehead and grimaces.

“Are you okay?”

“I usually get migraines when I think about this stuff, but it’s not as bad as it usually is.”

“What can I get you? Aspirin? An ice pack?”

She gives me a weak smile. “Thanks, but I actually take something stronger.”

I point to her bag. “Where? Is it in there?” I make a move in that direction, but she puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

“It’s a prescription. But I don’t have any left.”

“Then I’ll go to your room and get them. Just tell me where—”

“What I mean is, I’m all out.”

“Can you get a refill? I can go down and—”

She cups my face in her hand, strokes her thumb over my temple. “Thank you for trying to take care of me.” Then she sighs. “But I don’t have any refills left, either. That’s the problem. I need to see a doctor up here to get more.”

“Then let’s go. The Student Health Center is open on Saturdays and they take walk-in appointments.”

“Jon…I…” She hesitates, blinks.

I search her expression, looking for what’s wrong. “What?” She doesn’t answer. “Ivy, tell me.”

She looks down at her hands. “I need to go to the Student Counseling Center, not the health center.”

“Okay, that’s cool. I don’t know if they’ve got Saturday hours. Do you?” I pull my phone from my pocket.

“Jon. No.” There’s an insistence in her voice that makes me look up from the screen. “We’re talking a shrink here,” she says, biting her lip. “A doctor for crazy people.”

“You’re not crazy, Ivy. You get migraines. Besides, I’m pretty sure any doc can prescribe migraine meds. You don’t need to go to the SCC for that.”

“But they’ll want to know my medical history. And when they do…” Her voice trails off.

“Ivy? What happened? Tell me.”

She bites the inside of her lip. “Jon, I…I haven’t told you everything. You know that accident where I almost died?”

I nod.

A single tear runs down her face. “The last thing I remember was walking home from class that day. Not the party or the fight with Chase or getting into his car. But everyone who was there said that—”

“Wait. Chase the asshole, controlling boyfriend? He was in the accident with you?” So she wasn’t in love with him after all. My mind races back to why I made that assumption. It was Tate. Goddamnit. Why the hell did I ever listen to him?

“Yes,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “The most pivotal event in my life and I can’t remember what happened, just tiny bits and pieces before and after the accident. The doctors call it retrograde amnesia with islands of memory. Except that I feel things a person in my shoes shouldn’t feel. Wrong things. Horrible things.”

“What are you talking about, Ivy?” I try to take her in my arms, but she pushes me away. “Are you feeling guilty because the guy was a jerk and now he’s dead?”

“Yes, I guess that’s part of it. And then there was my breakdown. My mom likes to call it an incident, because that sounds better. It happened out in public. I…I lost it.”

I sit next to her on the bed, but she refuses to look at me. I put the tips of my fingers under her chin and lift her head. “You’re not crazy, Ivy. And you’re not fucked up, either. When you’ve been through a lot, like you have, things can build up inside. It becomes a perfect storm of emotions, where everything converges at once.”

She sniffs and gives me a small smile. “Another movie reference?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but yeah. “What if I went with you? You really need to talk to a professional about all this. It’s too much of a burden to carry around yourself.”

She frowns. “Come with me? To my appointment?”

“Not into your appointment, but to the SCC with you. I could wait in the waiting room. Would you go then?”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Have you…ever been to counseling?”

“Yeah.” If telling her about my experience will help her decide to go get help, then it’s worth it. “After my mom died, I went to a dark place. Started hanging out with a bad crowd. Drinking and smoking weed. That’s when…when I got into some trouble.”

I tell her about the Saturday night fight club. Selling weed. Breaking into Mr. Hoffman’s house.

I put my head in my hands. Of all the shit I’ve done, I feel the worst about the break-in. With the other stuff, I was doing the shit to myself, not some innocent person. We were high and I got talked into looking for a few easy-to-sell electronics. The guys I was with ended up trashing the place. I tried to stop them, but it was one of me and three of them.

Feeling her hand on my back, I look up. She gives me an encouraging smile.

“And then what happened?”

“I…uh…got sent to juvie. Through some miracle that probably had something to do with Stella, they agreed to defer my sentence and expunge my record when I turned eighteen if I went to counseling and stayed out of trouble.”

I suddenly feel like a phony, spouting off this shit like I’m some kind of expert. The truth is, if they hadn’t made me go into counseling, I’d never have done it on my own.

“And did it help?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I ended up making the football team my senior year after missing the year before, and I managed to get decent grades.”

The front door slams downstairs and then there’s the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. A moment later, someone is pounding on my bedroom door.

I get up and unlock the door. It’s James.

“Dude, I’ve been texting you. Are you getting the beer for tonight or am I?”

Tonight? Shit. That’s right. There’s another party. I glance over at Ivy. I doubt either one of us will be in a partying mood tonight.

“I don’t think we’re going, bro. In fact…” I pull him out into the hall and close the door.

“What’s up?” James asks.

“I haven’t talked about this with Ivy yet, but can we stay at your family’s beach house tonight? After what happened last night, it would be good for her to get away.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “I’ll get you the key. Just make sure to wash the sheets in the morning.”

It takes us a little over an hour to get to the beach house that James’s parents bought as a vacation property when he started at PSU.

On the way down, we stop at Subway and pick up some sandwiches for later. The weather is pretty decent, so as soon as we arrive, we drop off our stuff and head for the beach. The house is on a bluff overlooking the water, so we zigzag down several flights of steps, which dump us right onto the sandy beach.

We spend a couple of hours just walking, picking up broken shells and rocks that Ivy says are pretty. My pockets are filled with her finds.

“I still don’t feel like I know you, Jon,” she says, as she examines a small, mustard-colored stone.

“What are you talking about? We just bared our deepest, darkest secrets to each other.”

“Yeah, but do I know your birthday? Your favorite color? Your favorite kind of animal? No.”

I laugh. She does have a point. “November 13. Navy blue. Ocelot.”

She makes a funny face. “Ocelot?”

“Yeah, they’re these really cool small leopards. Plus, I like the name. Say it three times really fast.”

“Ocelot, ocelot, ocelot,” she says, laughing.

“See what I mean? Ever since I did a report on them in the third grade, I’ve liked them.” I grab a stick and start writing our names in the sand. “Except for your birthday—January 14—I don’t know those things about you, either. Unless a lemur is your favorite animal,” I add, remembering her stuffed animal.

“It’s one of them,” she says. “I also love meerkats. I’ve watched every episode of Meerkat Manor.”

I nod. “Flower was cool.”

She knocks me in the shoulder. “Get out. You watched it, too?”

“I can’t say that I’ve watched every episode, but, yeah, sometimes. And your favorite color?”

“I switch off between teal and purple.”

Given what she was wearing the first night I met her, I should’ve known.

Once we get back to the house, we have a fancy dinner of Subway sandwiches and Diet Coke. It’s too cold and windy to be out on the deck, so I grab my guitar and sit on the couch. Ivy stretches out on the other end, with her head on the armrest and her toes—in matching socks this time—tucked under my leg. As I pick at a few random chords, she props a book on her chest—a collection of poems—and starts reading.

It feels good to just hang with her. Doing nothing. Saying nothing. Just being in each other’s company.

“Can you play me something?”

I look over and her book is laying facedown on her chest.

I start playing one of my father’s lesser-known hits. I can play all his songs, but this one is my favorite. I stop when I realize what I’m doing.

“Nice,” she says, smiling. “Is that something you wrote?”

I’m glad she doesn’t recognize it. “No.”

I change chords and a different melody fills the room. This time, it’s a song I wrote. Or I should say, am writing. I’ve never been able to get the ending right. And I’ve never played it for anyone before. Ivy is the first.

They say you’ll always like the music you listened to in high school because it takes you back to a time when things were simpler. When everything was new. First kiss. First love. First time you have sex. You’re standing on the edge of your whole life with the world stretched out before you. Everything and anything is possible.

For me, that time wasn’t simple. I don’t have fond memories that I relive when one of those songs comes on the radio. It’s when a lot of bad things happened. Plus, my father had a top ten hit at the time that everyone was listening to. I couldn’t get away from it. Hell, the marching band even played it at halftime once. I lost my shit during the second half and ended up getting kicked out of the game.

So I started writing my own music. Not to take after my father, but to get him out of my head. This song calms me, takes me away from all that.

The air around me stirs. I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them. Ivy is sitting on the floor at my feet, her chin tilted upward, listening. I put my palm against the strings and the sound fades away.

She frowns. “Don’t stop, Jon. It’s…it’s beautiful. I want to hear the rest.”

I’ll tell you what’s beautiful. The girl in front of me. I exhale a long, slow breath, hoping I’m not in the middle of a dream right now.

“Tell me you wrote that one, because—”

“How did you know?” I ask, curious. She wasn’t nearly as confident when she asked the same thing about my father’s song.

She shrugged. “I don’t really know. It…it sounds like you, I guess.”

The initial chord sequence came to me while I was living in the basement of my foster family’s home. I’d sit down there for hours, often stoned, and play it over and over. Ivy’s right. It is a part of me.

“Mmmm.” She closes her eyes. “Keep playing.”

So I do, starting from the beginning. After the third chorus, when I get to the part I usually struggle with, the song changes slightly. For some reason, I reverse the chord sequence.

I stop, replay that part. It’s…it’s perfect. I can’t believe it didn’t come to me until now. I play it again, start to finish. Holy shit. That one little change has made all the difference.

Suddenly, I’m staring down into her warm green eyes, and she’s staring up at me. Something shifts between us. An awareness. A shared secret.

Without saying a word, she moves closer. With the song still echoing in the air, she removes the guitar from my grasp and sets it on the floor beside the couch. Her eyes are dark with need, echoing my desire. She hooks her thumbs under the waistband of my sweats, so I lift my hips and she slides them down. My erection springs free.

“Jesus, Ivy.” I can’t get inside her fast enough. I start to pull her up on my lap, but she stops me with a hand on my chest.

“Not yet,” she says and pushes me back in my seat. She frees my feet from the sweats and tosses them behind her. Which leaves me sitting on the couch, naked from the waist down, my cock jutting out at her. “I admit I had that in mind, but seeing you like this—” The tip of her tongue darts out. “—makes me want to do something else first.”

Holy fuck.

I’m pretty sure I just got harder.

“Is that okay with you?” she asks, a smile tugging at the corner of her luscious mouth.

“Of course.” She could ask me to do anything right now and I’d gladly do it.

She positions herself between my knees, leans forward and takes me into her mouth.

I groan loudly, grabbing the armrest to keep from holding onto her hair. Instinctively, I know that could make her panic. And believe me, stopping is the last thing I want her to do right now.

What is it about Ivy that hits all the right notes with me? She makes me laugh, makes me feel good about myself, and I’m not just saying that because she has my dick in her mouth right now. She has this amazing ability to drive away the darkness that has always been a part of my life.

At this rate, I’m not going to last much longer, and as much as I want her to continue, I want her to experience this, too.

Wordlessly, I lift her to her feet. She lets out a surprised laugh when I scoop her into my arms, carry her to the bedroom, and set her on the mattress. My mouth crashes over hers as we strip off our clothes. Without breaking our kiss, I grab the box of condoms I brought. Goddamn it. You think they’d know people don’t want to spend much time trying to figure out how the box works. I wrench myself away from her, rip it open, and little foil packages go flying.

“Fuck!”

She laughs.

I tear one open with my teeth and quickly roll it on. Her hair spreads over the pillow, her lips slightly swollen and parted. I fall on top of her, my mouth finding hers again as I guide myself like an arrow. There. The tip slides in, right between her folds, and I stop.

“Baby, you ready?” I ask against her lips. “After what this naughty mouth of yours just did, I’m about to explode.”

“Yes,” she whispers, kissing me back.

That’s all I need to hear.

With my weight braced on my forearms, I flex my hips and push into her. She hisses in a breath. I still myself briefly, allowing her a chance to get used to me being inside her. She’s so hot. So damn tight. I’m not going to last long.

“Fuck me, Jon.”

Oh shit. My mouth crashes over hers and I thrust into her. Once. Twice. Three times.

“God, Ivy,” I groan into her hair. “I hope you’re close.”

She cries out my name and arches her back, allowing me to slide a fraction deeper. Her inner muscles tighten around me. Guess that’s my answer.

I’m…I’m there, too.

I need this.

I need Ivy.

She’s mine.

My release rushes over me with a force so strong that, I swear, my heart stopped beating for a second. I hold her tighter, wishing this could go on forever.

“Yes,” she whispers softly in my ear. “I need you, too.”

chapter sixteen

You are the candle that lights the whole world,

and I am an empty vessel for your light.

~ Rumi

Ivy

The next day we get up early because I have to work at noon. I strip the bed, wrap myself up like a burrito, and head to the laundry room to start a load. Jon laughs at me and the little steps I’m taking. (It’s hard to walk like a burrito.) I yelp when he grabs the other sheet from me and puts it over his head like a ghost.

“I’m coming for you,” he says in a spooky voice, holding out his arms.

I scream, hitch up my sheet, and run down the hall, but before I reach the laundry room, I hear a clunk.

“Ouch.”

I turn around. Jon is rubbing his head. Not being able to see were he was going, he bumped into the corner of the door.

“Let me kiss your boo-boo.”

We end up leaving a little later than we planned.

My shift at work literally drags on forever. Everyone’s talking about what happened to Maddy. When they find out I live in the same dorm, I’m bombarded with lots of questions. Because I hate being the center of attention, I keep my answers vague and manage to avoid telling them that I was the one who discovered her. I’m sure it’ll get out though. Things like that always do.

Now, I’m finally back at the White House, sitting in the family room with Jon and his roommates.

“Let your goddamn cousin sleep in your goddamn bed!”

With my eyes downcast, I try to keep a straight face and let Jon handle this.

Cassidy got back from Portland a few hours ago. The police still haven’t caught the guy who attacked Maddy, but they have a few leads. Even though they’ve rekeyed the entire residence hall, including all the dorm rooms, Jon insists I stay here with him, which is okay by me. However, I don’t want Cassidy to stay at the dorm alone and since Tate is her cousin, it only makes sense that she should stay here, too. It was Jon’s idea, actually.

“Then where am I supposed to sleep, huh?” Tate adjusts his PSU ball cap, pulling it lower on his forehead. “Didn’t anyone think about that? Why doesn’t anyone seem to care about me or my needs?”

I glance at Cassidy. “Is he always this way?” I mouth.

“Baby of the family,” she whispers.

Rick, whose grandmother owns the house, claps Tate on the back. “We love ya, buddy. But she’s your cousin, which means you give her your bed.”

Tate gives him the evil eye. “Thanks for the support, ass-wipe.”

Jon points his beer bottle at him. “I’ll bet if you’re really nice to James—you know, make him dinner or something, rub lotion on his feet—he’ll let you sleep with him.”

“Fuck you, Priestly.” James props his long legs on the coffee table and clicks the remote.

“That’s okay,” Cassidy says. “I can sleep on the couch. No big deal. I’m just happy I’m not at the dorm. Half the girls on our floor have moved out until they catch the guy.”

Jon sets down his beer with a bang, his face stern and angular. “This is Tate’s problem, Cassidy. He needs to fucking man up and take the goddamn couch.” He glares at his roommate. “It’s not like you’ve never passed out and slept on it anyway.”

“Dude, he’s right,” James says. “Quit your whining and do the right thing.”

“This sucks.” Tate stomps out of the room and heads toward the stairs. “You guys are all ganging up on me.”

“Take the sheets and the pillowcases off the bed,” Jon calls out to him. Tate doesn’t answer, but his footsteps in the upper hall get louder.

A short time later, with Cassidy busy doing laundry and cleaning the disgusting upstairs bathroom, Jon and I are in his room. I grab my sports bra and head to the bathroom. I’m not used to changing in front of him yet.

“Thanks for going to bat for Cassidy,” I tell him.

“I’m glad Tate finally agreed. I was getting ready to give up my half of this bed to her.”

I hesitate in the bathroom doorway and turn around. “Good thing you didn’t have to do that, because I’m kind of thinking I might want to hook up with you again tonight. Just sayin’.”

He laughs. “Oh really? Is that all this is?” Suddenly he’s in front of me. He backs me into the bathroom and lifts me up onto the counter. I let out a little giggle. I’m thankful this room doesn’t look like the one down the hall.

“If this is just a hook-up, I might be thinking it’s the only chance I’ll have to be with you, so I’d better take advantage of the situation.” He pulls the shirt over my head.

“And you might have to be a little more aggressive, since we may not have much time. We could be interrupted any minute.”

“Definitely.” His mouth crashes over mine, consuming me. He manages to slide one of my legs out of my jeans without pulling away from me, leaving my thong in place. I hear the zip of his fly and the sound of him rummaging in a nearby drawer.

His lips leave mine just long enough for him to roll on the condom. His erection, sheathed in flesh-colored latex, juts out at me, thick and proud. A thrill runs through me knowing where it will be in a moment. He scoots me to the edge of the counter and moves the thong aside. I cling to his neck as he lifts me slightly. I feel the tip of him right there.

His crystal blue eyes lock onto mine. “Doing okay, babe?”

I nod, too breathless to form any words. I love that he asks me that every single time.

“Good.”

In one quick thrust, he fills me completely.

Pleasure shoots through my core so intensely that every other part of my body goes weak and numb. I cling to his shoulders for stability, loving the feel of his powerful muscles flexing under my fingers.

With one hand behind me on the counter and the other holding my hips still, he thrusts into me, fast and feverish. His dark, glistening hair hangs over his face, just like when I first laid eyes on him. Wild, like an animal, determined and driven to attain a primitive goal. But this time, that goal is me.

Arching into him, I let my head fall back and instantly his hot mouth is on my nipple.

The pressure in my lower belly is unbearable, and I dig my nails into his shoulders. Just when I think I might break, my inner muscles tighten around him and incredible waves of pleasure crash over me.

“Holy shit, Ivy,” he says, thrusting even harder and increasing the intensity of my release. “I’m coming, baby.” Groaning, he grabs a handful of my hair and buries his face in my neck as he climaxes.

As he holds me, both our bodies trembling, I wonder how it’s possible to feel this in tune with another human being. Joined like this, we are one flesh, one mind, one thought.

He nuzzles my ear. “God, that was intense, Ivy.”

“Same.”

“Sorry if I pulled your hair.”

“If you did, I must’ve liked it. Sorry if I scratched your back.”

He lifts his head but doesn’t pull out. “Don’t be. I like your marks on me.”

“I’d say that was a pretty damn good hookup,” I tease, rubbing my bare foot over his bare ass. “Who knew two strangers could be so compatible?”

He gets that devilish glint in his eye that I’m really growing to love. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime. What’s your name? Can I get your number?”

It seems funny to be having this conversation when he’s still inside me. I scratch my head and pretend to be thinking aloud. “Hmmm. Should I give him a real name or a fake name?”

“Just as long as the number is real, I don’t care what your name is.”

I smack him on the butt with my foot. He laughs and pulls out of me. I watch while he disposes of the condom, his penis still semi-erect and glistening.

He catches me looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say, jumping off the counter. “You’re just really beautiful. That’s all.”

He hikes up his jeans, covering that awesome tight ass of his, then he exits the bathroom, grinning.

When I enter the bedroom a few minutes later, Jon is lying on the bed. With his hands behind his head and an open textbook next to him, he looks relaxed and content. I love knowing that I helped him feel this way.

“Are you going running?” he asks, looking at my workout clothes. “Why don’t you come over here and do some homework with me instead?” He pats the bed.

“That’s tempting, but if I have any hope of not dying from exhaustion while staying out of the clutches of brain-eating zombies, I need to stay in shape. Want to come?”

At first I think he’s going to say no. He looks too comfortable. “How far are you going?”

“Not far. Maybe three or four miles.”

“Okay, fine.”

While Jon gets ready, I sit at his desk and put on my running shoes. “Can I use your computer for a minute? I want to see if the grades for the biology midterm have been posted.” My computer is in my backpack, but it’s old and takes forever to boot up.

“Sure, go for it.” Jon says, grabbing a T-shirt from the floor.

One of his tattoos, different from all the rest, catches my eye. The 3D design on his ribcage under his left arm gives the illusion that the skin is pulled back to reveal a lone rose inside. I wonder what the story is. I know he’s been with a lot of girls. Was that for a girl who stole his heart?

He catches me looking and quickly pulls on the T-shirt, covering up the inkwork. “Listen, if we don’t head out soon, it’s going to be too dark.” With a hand on the wall, he bends his knee, stretching his quad.

“Okay, hold on.” I pull up the grading website and plug in my student ID. The biology midterm results haven’t been posted, which means my hopes for an A haven’t been dashed yet. A notification chimes on his computer just as I’m logging out.

“Do you want me to see what that is?” I ask. Then I remember Cassidy’s experience with Will. Jon and I have become close, but obviously there’s a lot about him that I don’t know.

“Yeah, sure.” He grabs his other foot and continues stretching. “Go ahead.”

Somewhat relieved, I click the other open browser tab. If he had something to hide, he probably wouldn’t let me do this. Or at least he’d be hovering to make sure I didn’t see something I wasn’t supposed to see.

“Geez, Jon,” I say, looking at the screen, “you’ve got, like, fifteen or so pending friend requests. When’s the last time you checked this?”

Now that I think about it, I can’t say that I’ve ever seen him checking any of his social media accounts on his phone. Maybe he’s not into it, which would put him in the minority of most of the people I know. With everyone living their lives online, not having a presence there has made me feel left out and alone sometimes, so I love the idea that Jon isn’t into it, either.

“I don’t know. Last week. But maybe it’s been longer than that. Go ahead and click okay on all of them.”

My stomach clenches. “You don’t even care who they are? Don’t you want to make sure you know them?”

“They’re probably KREX listeners. I usually get new requests from people the day after I do a show, and I’ve been on the air more than normal lately.”

It strikes me how guys can be much more casual about online privacy than girls.

One of the profile pictures jumps out at me. It’s an attractive girl with an edgy punk hairstyle and a beautiful smile. With streaks of purple in her dark hair and multiple piercings in her ear, she’s the kind of girl I can imagine looking really good with Jon.

“Do you know Gretchen Shue?” I ask tentatively, watching his reaction carefully.

He’s doing a stretch for the back of his calves now and his face brightens. “Sweet. She’s the lead singer of that band who played the Hardware. Remember them? They’re called Shoo, Gretchen. They played the night of your birthday party.”

How can I forget that night? It was the first time Jon kissed me. I nod, trying not to show my disappointment. How can I compete with the gorgeous lead singer of an indie band? Hell, I can’t even read music or play an instrument.

He comes up behind me and looks over my shoulder. I’m glad he can’t see the hurt on my face.

“I’ve been trying to set up an interview with those guys, but they’ve been hard to pin down. Gretchen and her husband, the cello player, had to fly back east for a wedding, and her brothers, the other guys in the band, told me she handles all the scheduling. They don’t have a manager. Niice. I’ll send her a message when we get back.”

This Gretchen chick is married? She’s a business contact, not social? A huge sense of relief washes over me. I blink my silly tears away before he sees them.

He touches a finger to the screen. “Go ahead and delete this one, though.” He’s pointing to the profile picture of a white-haired couple named Lloyd and Karen Oliver.

“Who are they?” I ask, deleting the request.

“Just some old people friending everyone.” He grabs a baseball cap from the top of his dresser and puts it on. “If you’re a friend of a friend of a friend, they think they need to add you.”

“So you’ve gotten a request from them before? Do you know them?”

“I think they’re new to social media, so they’re probably confused. Did you know that the fastest growing demographic is senior citizens?”

Yeah, I’ve heard that before.

A few minutes later, as we head out on our run, it occurs to me that he didn’t say he didn’t know the Olivers.

chapter seventeen

Get a kickass partner.

~ Zombieland Rule #8

Ivy

Dani, Cassidy, and I arrive outside Explorer Stadium about thirty minutes before the race is scheduled to start. We’re supposed to meet up with James, Kelly, and Reese somewhere. Jon’s already here, since he had to arrive early to meet with the organizers, but we haven’t seen him.

People are dressed in all sorts of crazy costumes. Businessmen, ballerinas, baristas, cowboys, soldiers, dog walkers, construction workers, doctors, and nurses. Basically, every occupation you can think of where people could be working when the zombie apocalypse occurs.

Even though I’m not into wearing costumes, Dani begged me to wear a pink tutu over my running shorts, like she and Cassidy. Since Jon’s planning on wearing some sort of costume too, I eventually relented.

We pick up our packets at the main gate. There must be close to a thousand people waiting around for the apocalypse to begin. I pin my number to my sleeve, making sure that it lies flat.

The zombie check-in is near the north entrance. Jon said that list filled quickly. Everyone wanted to be one of the infected and chase after the humans trying to get through the obstacle course. From what I can see, their costumes consist of a lot of torn clothing and massive quantities of blood. I spot a clown zombie and quickly turn away. I seriously. Hate. Clowns. Stephen King’s It, anyone? That’s all I’m saying.

“Hey, isn’t that Touch Montgomery?” Dani says, pointing across the street.

Cassidy cranks her head around to look. “Touch is here?”

Dani frowns. “He’s not running in the race, is he?”

“He’d better not be. Here, hold my stuff.” Cassidy thrusts her water bottle and race number at me, threads through the people on the sidewalk and marches over there. It’ll be hard for anyone to take her seriously with that pink tutu and large polka-dot bow on the top of her head. She went to a couple of kickbacks at Touch’s apartment, but says it’s nothing serious. I think she still has feelings for Will.

I scan the crowd, looking for Jon. He’s been quiet lately. I can tell something’s been bothering him, but whenever I ask, he acts like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about and that he’s fine. On top of making sure everything was ready for the race, he also had a busy tutoring schedule and a long paper to write. I don’t know, though. I think something else is up. Spotting James, Kelly, and Reese on the other side of the street, I wave them over. James is wearing a football jersey, while Kelly and Reese are dressed like—pirates?

“Have you guys seen Jon yet?” I ask. “I know he’s here.”

“What about over there?” Kelly says, pointing. “I see pink.”

I look in that direction and see the crowd, all right. A bunch of sorority girls in pink Parishioner T-shirts.

Wonderful. My boyfriend and his groupies.

We head in that direction. I spot the local news station van with a satellite dish mounted to the roof, parked near the giant bronze Explorer statue in the middle of the courtyard. Holding a white shirt and tie, Jon is talking to the female reporter, but they’re not on the air. The reporter must be waiting to go live with the station.

As we get closer, Jon spots us. He signs, Hello, beautiful.

Okay, maybe it is the race he’s been worried about. I sign back, Hello, handsome.

The reporter touches her earpiece, unaware that her interview subject is having a conversation in sign language. “We’re on right after the commercial. Are you ready?”

“Ready when you are.”

A couple of girls ask him to come over and sign their shirts, but he tells them he’s going live in a minute and can’t right now. I’m not sure how he always stays so patient. It’s not uncommon for people to approach him and ask him to sign their shirts. I know it must get old, but I’ve never heard him complain. When I’ve asked him about it, he just gives me one of those million-dollar smiles and says he appreciates their support.

He looks over at me and signs, After the race is over, want to go back to my place and have sex?

I nearly choke. Jon! I sign back, finger spelling his name with emphasis. I glance at the others gathered around to watch the broadcast, but no one is reacting. Other people can sign too, you know.

He shrugs. You look hot and you’re my girlfriend. How is the fact that we’re going to have sex later surprising? Shouldn’t that be obvious? Even from fifteen feet away, I can see that gleam in his eye.

You’re such a guy.

The cameraman is indicating they’re about to go live, so Jon turns his attention back to the reporter, an attractive Asian woman in a navy blue wool coat.

After the lead-in, she puts the microphone in his face and asks him to explain how the race works. If I were him, I’d be stammering and stumbling over my words, but Jon is a natural.

“All the runners start out with three humanity flags hooked to their belts. The ten kilometer obstacle course is littered with hordes of zombies. The goal for the runners is to get across the finish line with at least one flag still attached. If so, they’re still human. If not, they’ve been infected. And then, of course, there are the zombies. Their goal is to infect people.”

“So who are the zombies?”

“Anyone who wanted to be one,” he says, laughing. “We maxed out on zombies well before the human runner list was filled.”

“And why is that, do you think?”

He shrugs. “People are excited to dress up and unleash their inner monsters, I guess. ”

“So how do these zombies infect people?” she asks.

“We’ve got three types of zombies,” he says, holding up three fingers. “Shamblers are the fastest. They can run after you for about ten feet. The walkers aren’t allowed to run, but they can go more than ten feet. And then there are the crawlers. They can be the most dangerous because you don’t know where they’re hiding.”

“Sounds frightening. Okay, so tell us a little bit about the charity that the race benefits.”

Jon’s tone shifts from playful to serious. He tells the reporter that the money will go to fund a hospice and home care charity helping terminally ill cancer patients and their children. She listens attentively, nodding occasionally. “It’s difficult for kids to deal with the fact that a parent is dying, and this group is there to help them.”

“How did you get involved in the organization?”

Jon hesitates. “They helped me when my mother died.”

* * *

Jon

We’re standing near the front of the stadium, along with about a thousand other runners and two or three times that number of spectators.

I’m not sure how long I’ll last wearing this white shirt and tie, because I’m already getting hot. I’ll probably end up taking it off and leaving it on a fence somewhere before the race is over.

“What are our chances?” Ivy asks, fluffing up her tutu.

I’m glad Dani and Cassidy talked her into wearing a costume. She looks awesome.

“If you’re fast, I’d say our chances are good.”

“Me? So I’m the make-or-break part of this team? What if you’re the one who’s not fast enough?” She double-checks that her humanity flags are evenly spaced around her waist.

“If one of us gets infected, the rest of us have to leave them,” James says. “Deal? If this were real, that’s what we’d do.”

“I don’t plan on having any of my flags taken, though,” Dani says, “so there’s nothing to worry about there.”

Cassidy pushes her way through the crowd. “If one of us gets attacked by zombies, the others better come help.”

“Geez, C,” Ivy says. “Way to get back here on time.”

Cassidy looks up at the huge digital display near the starting line, grabs her number and puts it on. “There’s plenty of time. We’ve got a whole two minutes.”

“Where’s Touch?” Ivy asks.

My stomach tightens as I look around for him. It killed me to see Ivy pushing him around campus—a visual reminder that someone else would be better for her. A clean-cut guy who comes from a nice family. I met Touch my freshman year on the football team and we’ve partied together a few times, so I know what I’m talking about. A guy like him has way more to offer her than I do.

“Yeah, I ran into him back there.” Cassidy adjusts the entry number pinned to her sleeve. “For a minute, I thought he was planning to run in the race, but it turns out he just came to watch. He’ll be near the halfway point to cheer us on.”

The entry gun sounds and the race begins.

The first quarter mile is just running over a wide gravel road. Kelly and Reese take off ahead of us. So much for teamwork. James, Cassidy, and Dani are in front of us and Ivy and I are in the back. We haven’t seen any zombies or gone over any obstacles yet. We’re just loosening our muscles and establishing our pace. The first part is designed to let the cluster of runners thin out as the faster ones outpace the slower ones.

The course leads us into a trail through the woods, so we have to run single file. We hear the first zombie before we see it. Or rather, we hear other people who are seeing it—the group of frat guys in front of us screams like a bunch of little girls.

“Oh shit,” Dani says over her shoulder. “This is it, you guys.”

“Bring it on.” Ivy reaches back and I give her a low five.

“I’m with you, babe,” I tell her. “Remember, guys, it could be an individual or a whole horde, and watch the bushes for crawlers.”

“So let me get this straight,” James says. “Even though you helped organize this run, you didn’t get any advance knowledge of where the zombies are being stationed? Didn’t you at least see a map with the hiding places marked?”

“Nope.”

“You’re useless, Priestly. You know that?”

Some of James’s insults are funny and some aren’t. This one falls into the second category.

A zombie dressed in a ragged suit and tie lumbers out in front of us. Dani sprints ahead and gets past him. James shrieks like a little girl. Cassidy doubles over with laughter and a walker emerging from the bushes yanks her flag.

“Hey!”

Now it’s James’s turn to laugh at her. In fact, he’s still laughing when Cassidy catches up to him.

“That totally should’ve been you, James. Not me.”

He blows her a smart-ass kiss. “It’s called karma and sometimes it’s a bitch.”

She punches him in the arm. “Anyone who screams like that deserves to have his flag yanked.” She quickens her pace to catch up to Dani.

James glances at me, a huge grin on his face. I totally know what he’s thinking.

There’s a large puddle of muddy water up ahead. We can’t tell how deep it is. As everyone is strategizing how to get through it, something flashes in my peripheral vision.

“Watch out. Zombie invasion. Nine o’clock.”

Ivy looks to the left and barely misses getting her humanity flag taken. I start to yell something, but then a twig snaps to my right. Before I can move, a crawler in a clown suit grabs one of my flags. I jump away, but in the process my foot slips and I fall to my knees. Five more clown zombies, walkers this time, close in on me.

“Jon,” Ivy screams, circling back. “I’ll divert them. Get up and run.”

She waves her arms at them like she’s directing airplane traffic at the airport. “Over here. Over here. Oh my God, I hate clowns. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

I have no idea if the zombies have been instructed to react that way, but it seems to work. The ones bearing down on me are now heading toward her. I get up and skirt around them and soon we’re past the muddy water and back on the trail.

“Nice job,” she says.

“You, too. Thanks for saving me.”

“No problem, except that I hate clowns.”

“Well, thank you for facing your fears to save me.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, smiling. She looks down and suddenly her smile is gone. “Crap, Jon. You only have one flag left.”

“What?” I check my belt. She’s right. “I don’t understand. Only one zombie got close enough.”

“He must’ve grabbed two of them.”

“Damn clown zombie.”

“I knew there was a reason I hated them. Along with freaking me the hell out, they cheat.”

Up ahead where the path widens, a tire obstacle looms. Zombies aren’t allowed to attack humans on the obstacles, so we’ll be safe once we get there. Dani and Cassidy have just made it through and James is in the middle. Still no sign of Kelly and Reese. They must be way up ahead by now.

Ivy grabs my hand and we run through the obstacle, taking care not to trip. Even though we used to do a similar exercise in football, Ivy is much faster than me. Just as we step out of the last tire, we hear more screaming.

We look at each other. “James,” we say in unison.

Maybe it’s time to get off the trail. “Do you want to head into the woods and bypass the area all together?”

“Why not?” she says. “It’s worth a try.”

But the minute we leave the main trail, I can tell it’s a mistake. There are at least a dozen zombies that step out from behind various trees, blocking the way. We turn around to go back, but two have stepped in behind us. We’re surrounded.

“Go on ahead,” I tell Ivy. “You have all three of your flags left. You can still make it.”

“No,” she says breathlessly. “I’m not abandoning you. We do this together. Your fate is my fate.”

I know this is only a race, but my heart literally swells just now.

But then a zombie lunges at me. I recognize him from one of my upper level chemistry classes. I sidestep away, but I’m not fast enough. He reaches out, his fingers skimming over my one remaining flag, but Ivy is faster and jerks me away.

Two more zombies come at us, but they’re walkers and easy to avoid. I’m not sure how we do it, but somehow we avoid that horde unscathed.

We high-five each other and continue running the course.

The next obstacle is the mud pit. Again, Cassidy and Dani are the first ones out and James is in the middle. They’re covered head to toe in mud.

I hear moaning to my left and turn just in time to see a shambler. “Go,” I yell to Ivy. “They can’t touch us in there.”

We surge ahead and jump into the mud. Almost immediately, I slip. Ivy tries to yank me back to my feet, but I can’t get any traction. “You go on ahead,” I tell her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Shut the hell up.” She’s covered in mud, including a big splotch on her cheek, so it’s hard to take her seriously. “I’d rather face a world with you as a zombie than a world without you. Humanity is overrated.”

“Aw, I’m touched. You’d love me even if I were a monster?”

“Even if you were a monster.”

It occurs to me that I just used the word love. Does Ivy love me? Could she love me? My throat goes tight.

But I don’t have time to dwell because she’s laughing hysterically. One of us slips, pulling down the other one, and somehow I end up on top of her. We’re covered in mud. Our hair, our clothes, our faces. It’s literally everywhere.

Her eyes are suddenly serious. God, even covered in mud, she’s hot. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand, which doesn’t do any good because my hand is covered in mud, too. I kiss her. Her lips are soft against mine…and muddy. Other runners skirt around us, giving us weird stares.

The realization that I’m falling for Ivy hits me hard. I’m at a loss to know what to do, because I’ve never felt this way before. It’s uncharted territory, and I’m afraid I’m going to screw things up like I always do. Reluctantly, I break the kiss and we get up.

Ivy has a strange expression on her face.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Jon. Your flag. It’s gone.”

I glance down. She’s right. There’s just an empty race belt around my waist. I look at her muddy tutu. “So are yours.”

She spins around. “Did we lose them in the mud?”

“I don’t know.”

We spend the next few minutes sloshing around in the mud pit looking for our flags, but we can’t find them.

I grab her hand and lead her out of the mud. Zombies are waiting for us, but they leave us alone when they see our flags are gone. We’re one of them now.

“I always knew you were too perfect to be completely human,” I tell her.

“And I always knew there was something wild inside you.”

chapter eighteen

dream [noun]: a cherished hope; ambition; aspiration

Jon

The next few weeks fly by with midterms, study sessions, work and the occasional party. Why is it that when you’re doing something boring, time slows to a crawl and every passing minute is an eternity, but when you’re enjoying yourself and having a good time, it feels like it’s over before it really even starts?

As much as I love having Ivy here in the White House, I know she can’t stay here indefinitely. Cassidy’s already moved back to the dorm and Ivy’s stayed there a few times. But almost every day, I’m dreaming up some new excuse why she needs to spend the night with me, and they’re getting more and more ridiculous.

The other day, it was because I needed her help on a photography assignment. I’d already finished it, but I didn’t tell her that.

And today—don’t laugh—I got her to stay because of a bee sting. Although I really did get stung on my forearm this afternoon, it didn’t hurt that much. I just said it did to get her sympathy. And it worked. She applied a paste of baking soda and water, then kept me well supplied with ice packs so it didn’t swell. I probably didn’t have to use the bee sting excuse, because we’ve got people coming over to watch a movie tonight, so she’d be here late anyway.

“How’s the swelling, babe?” Ivy comes out of the kitchen holding a bowl of popcorn and another ice pack.

“Better, I think.”

“Oh good.”

The front door bangs open and footsteps pound through the entryway to where we’re gathered in the family room. Tate and James are holding two cases of beer and several bags of chips.

“What’s that fucking awesome smell?” James asks.

Cassidy comes out of the kitchen holding a heaping plate of brownies. “Is this what you’re smelling?”

“Fuck, yeah.” He grabs one and stuffs it in his mouth, then he grabs another. “Do you think someone’s started a Fuck Yeah Brownies Tumblr yet? Or maybe just Fuck Yeah Chocolate. Because if not, you totally should. These are that good.”

She laughs. “Thanks.”

The doorbell rings. It’s one of those sing-song chimes that you hear at old people’s houses. No one uses it much, but when they do, it strikes me as funny because a bunch of college guys live here now.

“Come in,” Rick yells, and a moment later Kelly and Reese step into the room.

I remove the ice pack from my arm. It’s easier being a wimp in front of my girlfriend than my buddies.

Reese grabs a beer. “So we’re watching Terminator? Which one?”

I grab a handful of popcorn. “The second one. It’s still playing on PSU Net and Ivy has never seen it.”

Reese holds his hand out to Kelly. “Come with me if you want to live,” he says, quoting a line from the movie.

“Wait, wait,” she says laughing. She lies on the floor and dons a panicked expression as she looks up at him. “Okay, say it again.”

He repeats the line and reaches down.

Warily, she takes his hand, and he pulls her to her feet. Everyone claps.

“Shut up, asshole,” Tate says in a monotone voice.

Everyone turns to look at him.

“What?” he says, eyes wide. “It’s a line from the movie. Don’t you remember?”

“Are you sure?” Rick glares at him.

“Yes, it’s when Arnold—” Tate throws up his hands. “No one ever believes me around here. Just wait. You’ll see.”

Ivy and I are cuddled up on the recliner together. James, Cassidy, and Tate are on the couch. Rick is in the other chair, while Kelly and Reese are in the giant beanbag with a blanket.

As the opening credits roll, Ivy shifts slightly. “I’m not really an Arnold fan. Not since he cheated on his wife.”

“Yeah, that sucked, but aren’t you supposed to separate the art from the artist?”

“Some things you just don’t screw up. If we were talking about my next-door neighbor, I’d say the same thing.”

“He’s an actor. All celebrities have fucked-up lives.” Trust me.

“I don’t care. It still makes me mad.”

I read once that some men are hard-wired to be cheaters. That it’s in our DNA. I know that’s probably a bunch of crap dreamed up by guys who cheat to help them justify their behavior, but what if it’s not? What if it is a legitimate Darwinian tendency, passed down from father to son?

She takes a drink of her beer. “Does this mean I’m slipping on the movie slash likeability scale?”

“Good thing you have other redeeming qualities that make up for it.”

She pokes me in the ribs.

“Ouch. Remember my bee sting.”

“You got stung in the arm.”

“Yeah, I know, but you might jostle it.”

The movie starts and we all settle in. When we get to the part where the kid is being chased by the semi truck, there’s a knock at the door. Pounding, actually.

“I’ll get it.”

I untangle myself from Ivy’s legs, walk to the front of the house, and open the door.

On the covered porch is a young woman, her face streaming with blood.

* * *

Ivy

The girl’s name is Leesa. Cassidy and I are standing on either side of her, holding her up. We tried to get her to sit, but she refused. Jon and James are hovering over her boyfriend, Mark, who’s lying out on the lawn. A wrecked blue car is in the ditch. Kelly is on the phone with the 9-1-1 operator.

“It happened so fast,” Leesa sobs. “We got out and then he just collapsed.”

“An ambulance is on its way,” Kelly says, phone to her ear.

“Is there someone we can call?” I ask Leesa. “Your parents?”

“I’m visiting from out of town. They’re in Seattle.” She’s shaking so hard, I can hear her teeth rattling.

I run inside, grab a blanket from the couch, then run back out to the front porch and wrap it around Leesa’s shoulders.

“Someone get me a towel,” Jon yells in our direction.

I spin on my heel and dash back into the house. Please let there be clean towels in the downstairs bathroom. I open the first two drawers. Nothing. The bottom drawer has a few folded washcloths. Good enough. Ignoring the dull ache forming at the base of my skull, I grab them and sprint out to the front lawn. The guy lies there, motionless. I think Jon is talking to me, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. Like a robot, I hand him the towels and back away.

Cassidy is telling Leesa that her boyfriend is going to be okay, but I’m not so sure about that. It looks pretty bad to me. There’s blood everywhere, and a chunk of metal is sticking out of his chest. When you hit a tree going that fast, people die.

Hold on. I blink a few times and look around.

They didn’t hit a tree. They ran off the road into a ditch in front of Jon’s house. There’s blood, but not a lot.

About a dozen people have gathered out on the road. The siren is loud now.

“Over here,” Rick yells at the ambulance as it turns down the street.

Soon two EMTs are working on Mark, and Jon is explaining what happened to a third guy. He gestures with his hands and the man nods like he understands everything. I watch everything like it’s unfolding on a movie screen, as if it’s happening elsewhere, in another place and time.

After the ambulance takes Mark and Leesa to the hospital and the crowd disperses, everyone else turns to go back into the house. Jon and I are sitting on the porch steps, our arms around each other.

I hear the door open behind us, then someone puts a blanket around our shoulders.

“Thanks, bro,” Jon says, taking the bottle of water that James hands him.

Without a word, James turns and goes back inside.

Jon opens the bottle and hands it to me. I take a drink. Then another one. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. I hand it back to him, pulling the blanket tighter around our shoulders.

Neither of us is saying anything. We’re just staring out at the wrecked car and the now-empty front lawn. I think we’re both still in shock.

“Do you think Mark is going to be okay?” I ask.

“I hope so,” he says, hugging me a little tighter. “How about you? Doing okay?”

I’m touched by his concern. With everything that just happened, he’s thinking about me. “I’m okay.” I don’t need to tell him about my headache. It’s a little better now, anyway. I think the water helped. “How about you?”

“I’m good.”

As I look at the wrecked car, uneasiness stirs inside me. “Her phone is in there. She needs her phone.”

She’ll want to call someone, hear a familiar voice, but she can’t. She can’t move. She’s scared and nothing she does seems to help. She’s a doll and strangers are moving her arms and legs.

“I’m sure the police will make sure she gets it,” Jon says. “A tow truck should be here soon.”

I blink, unsure of what just happened. Was that a memory from my accident?

“No,” I tell him. “They won’t. She needs her things. She’ll be lost without them.”

Jon doesn’t argue with me, just nods his head and retrieves Leesa’s purse from the car.

The double doors at College View Memorial Hospital whoosh open and we step into the emergency room waiting area. Even though it’s a Sunday night, the place is busy. Patients who are waiting to be seen, along with their friends and families, take up almost all the empty seats. People in blue scrubs are everywhere, manning the check-in desks, walking down the halls, carrying clipboards, pushing patients in wheelchairs. Announcements blare over the intercom. We scan the waiting area for Leesa but don’t see her.

We head to the only open check-in desk, and a young man in scrubs looks up. He can’t be much older than Jon. He’s got short black hair, stylish glasses, and a nice smile. After Jon explains why we’re here, the man promises to get the purse to Leesa.

“How’s he doing? The boyfriend?” Jon asks.

“I’m afraid I can’t give out that kind of information,” the man says. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

We stop in the hallway, where Jon takes a drink from the water fountain. I lean against the wall and close my eyes. My exhaustion has finally caught up to me. It feels like I just ran a marathon. My headache is still there, but it doesn’t seem to be getting any worse. I just feel numb and spent.

“Hey,” a deep voice says. “Did you two come to see how your patient is doing?”

I open my eyes to see one of the EMTs coming out of the nearby men’s restroom. He’s got red hair, a short goatee, and an earring in each ear.

“We brought Leesa’s purse from the car and wanted to make sure she had it,” Jon says. “How’s she doing? How’s Mark?”

“Leesa’s fine. Her parents are on their way. And Mark—” The man pauses to put his hands on Jon’s shoulders. “—is probably alive because of you and your friend. You kept that boy breathing, his heart pumping, until we got there. He’s not out of the woods yet, but the docs are hopeful.”

Jon slowly nods his head.

“How did you learn CPR, anyway? Honestly, that kind of calm under those circumstances is a quality not many people have.”

“I got certified at a vocational school I went to a few years ago. I—I thought about doing what you do one day. I’m just glad I remembered it.”

Vocational school? Was that when he was serving time in juvenile detention? I didn’t know he thought about becoming an EMT. But now that I think about it, when he was trying to talk me down off the roof, didn’t I accuse him of being a fireman wannabe?

“And what are you doing now?” the man asks.

“I’m a chem major at PSU.”

“Ah, chemistry. Nice. Must have a good head on your shoulders. Going into medicine, I hope.”

“I…uh…uh—”

The man claps him on the back. “Well, I hope you do, because you definitely have what it takes.” He glances around to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in close. “I’ll tell you one thing. You’ll never regret it. Saving lives is one of the best fucking jobs on the planet.”

chapter nineteen

When midnight mists are creeping, and all the land is sleeping,

Around me tread the mighty dead, and slowly pass away.

~ Lewis Carroll

Ivy

The light streaming in Jon’s bedroom window becomes a thousand tiny daggers when it reaches my eyes. I fling an arm over my face, but it doesn’t help. The knives are still there, along with a thousand soldiers and their drums, too, banging, banging, banging inside my head. It seriously feels as though something’s trying to push my eyes out from the inside. I roll over and bury my face in the pillow, but that only makes it worse. No matter what position I’m in, nothing brings any relief.

Even though I don’t remember the specifics of my own accident, what happened yesterday has triggered something.

Maybe if I sit up, the change in gravity will lessen the pain. With my eyes pinched shut, I push myself up and let my legs dangle off the edge of the bed. Almost immediately, a wave of nausea grips my insides. I throw off the covers, rush to the bathroom, and make it there just in time.

Jon left before I woke. Monday is his busiest day of the week with station work, class and tutoring. But he’s going to wonder why I’m not in class, so I’ll have to think up some excuse. If he knows about the headache, he’ll just bring up going to the doctor again.

I will myself to stand, somehow managing to brush my teeth and pull on my sweats. I don’t dare glance in the mirror because I know I look like hell. I grab my phone from where it’s been charging on his desk and send Cassidy a text. Thank God, she answers right away. She doesn’t have class for another hour, so she can come pick me up. A few minutes later, I’m in her car and we’re heading back to the dorm.

With finals coming up, I really can’t afford to miss anything, but I don’t want to get sick in front of anyone. Hopefully, I’ll feel better tomorrow.

When we get back to Kefner Hall, I put my phone on vibrate and climb into bed. Before she left, Cassidy told me she’d write Do Not Disturb on our whiteboard to keep people from knocking on our door.

I wake up a few hours later, feeling a little better. Not perfect, but well enough to see what homework I missed. I log in to my student account and go through my classes. Nothing too pressing. Good.

When I check my student email, there’s a message from an email address I don’t recognize. My head starts to pound again. Three words are in the subject line: Nice boyfriend, bitch.

I delete it without opening. It’s Aaron. He knows I’m at PSU. But…how did he find me?

* * *

Jon

I have just enough time to pick up my mail at the post office and get some work done at the station before I have to be in class. I’d like to get tomorrow’s music schedule programmed to give Harrison a chance to insert the ads and PSAs. He gets cranky if I wait until the day of and I’m not sure I’ll have a chance to come back this afternoon because I’m working in the tutoring center the rest of the day.

Tossing my mail on the desk I share with a few of the other hosts, I sit down and get to work. At least ten indie tracks have been emailed to the station since I last checked. I listen to all of them and end up selecting three of my favorites. I drag those media files to the hard drive, move them into the scheduler, and make a note that I need to do look up the bands’ bios before tomorrow’s show.

Anna, part-time receptionist and host of KREX’s call-in advice show, looks in the open door. “I forgot to give this to you when you came in.” She hands me a demo CD from Shoo, Gretchen. “It came in the mail the other day.”

Gretchen must’ve gotten my Facebook message. “Old school. I like it.” Most new music comes via WAV files online, but some bands still send CDs.

I open the case, put the CD into the player behind me, and press Play. Their odd hip-hop slash folk sound fills the room.

“Interesting,” Anna says, then leaves.

It’s a song about following your passion, no matter how crazy it is, and not giving up. The best fucking job in the world. The EMT’s words echo in my head. Ivy didn’t seem to think it was strange that I once dreamed of becoming a doctor.

I run my hand through my hair. If I got accepted into medical school, I’d be leveraged up the ass for years in student loans. I just don’t know if it’s worth it.

As I listen to the next track, I go through my snail mail. Some catalogs, a few ad flyers. Nothing exciting. But then an envelope near the bottom catches my attention. It’s from the Ames-Wickey Foundation. I tear it open and read the letter.

My application for a college grant has been denied.

I ball the paper in my fist. That extra four thousand dollars would’ve really helped next year. I had hoped to quit tutoring in my senior year since my class schedule will be so demanding. Guess that’s not happening. I’ll have to think of some other way to pay for my final year.

chapter twenty

despair [noun]: someone or something that causes hopelessness

Ivy

After several false starts, I call home. My fingers are still shaking. Mom answers on the second ring.

“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise. You calling us for a change.”

I waste no time and jump right in. “Mom, how did Aaron Marquette get my email address? How did he know I was going to school here? Did you or Dad say anything?”

There’s a pause before she answers. “What did the email say?” I can hear the tension in her voice.

“I don’t know. I didn’t read it.”

“Good,” she says, sounding relieved. “Ignore him, Ivy. He’s just being an immature little kid.”

“Mom, he’s eighteen. He graduates from high school in June. That hardly constitutes being an immature little kid.” She’s always trying to paint Aaron as harmless. She thinks that if she can get me to believe it, I’ll ignore his taunts and his threats.

“Ivy, listen. Your father’s construction company is on the short list to get that contract with the city. This could be the break we’ve been praying for. Please don’t screw it up for him. If Ace Marquette hears about any of this, it could reflect poorly on your father’s bid. The city could drop his company from the list. We can’t afford that, Ivy. We’ve got everything riding on this.”

I don’t understand what she’s getting at. “But Mom, I’m…afraid. My headaches are starting up again.”

“He’s just a kid,” she says, like she didn’t hear what I just said. “And he’s not even there. I saw him and his mom in the grocery store yesterday. Honey, listen. If your father doesn’t get that contract, I don’t know what we’re going to do. We’re stretched so thin financially as it is. We…we might have to declare bankruptcy, which means we’ll lose the house. Getting this contract means everything, so please don’t screw it up this time.”

There’s a loud roaring in my ears and I grip the phone tighter. “This time? What do you mean?”

“Never mind. That’s not the point.”

“Mom, would you fucking tell me?”

“Watch your language, young lady.”

I mumble an apology and hear her exhale through the phone.

“I didn’t want to tell you this—you’ve been through so much—but your father lost a big contract with the city shortly after your accident. I think you were still in the hospital, actually. That’s why this is so important now.”

There’s an edge to her voice. Is there a connection between my accident and my father losing that contract?

“What are you saying?” I choke. No answer. “Mom,” I repeat, louder this time.

I can tell she’s still on the other end of the line. She doesn’t hear me or choose to hear me, but then, when has she ever? It’s like I’m a ghost, trying to communicate with her sometimes, but my words don’t quite register.

“Can’t you just ignore him?” she says finally. “The bids go before the city council next month. We need to put our best foot forward, and you claiming the police chief’s dead son was a jerk isn’t going to help.”

Claiming?

It feels as though she just reached through the phone and slapped me across the face. Does she think I’m making all this up? When did she drink the Lincoln Falls Kool-Aid and decide that Chase was a good guy? A few times, she even said I should break up with him, or am I remembering that wrong, too?

Then she changes the subject and starts talking about some book her book club is reading. As I sit there, the phone frozen to my ear, one thing becomes perfectly clear. My parents’ financial situation means more to my mother than I do.

* * *

Jon

I’m in the tutoring center with a Chem 121 study group, reviewing how to calculate the theoretical yield of a reaction. Finals are coming up and some of them are still having a hard time.

As they work on the problem I just gave them, I glance at my phone to see if Ivy answered my earlier text, but she hasn’t. Concern gnaws at my gut. God, maybe I should’ve cancelled my tutoring appointments and gone back to check on her.

Last night when we got home from the hospital, she was really quiet. Like she was in shock.

When I asked how she was doing, she kept saying she was fine, but I seriously doubted it. I mean, how could seeing that shit not affect her given everything she’s been through? Even though she has no conscious memory of her own car accident, the events of yesterday had to have struck a chord. I’m almost positive her headaches are back. Though she denied it when I asked.

When we went to bed, I spooned her and held her close. Not in a sexual way or anything. I just wanted to reassure her that she was all right. That she was safe with me. But she tossed and turned all night. At least she was sleeping when I had to leave this morning.

After the study group is over, I look around for my next appointment. It’s a couple of freshmen guys on the football team who are always late. Normally, I hang out for a while and wait for them, but not today. I tell Kelly, who is tutoring a couple of accounting students, that my next appointment is a no-show and that I’m leaving.

“Is Ivy okay?” she asks, frowning. “She didn’t look so good yesterday.”

At least I’m not over-reacting and imagining things. “It hit her pretty hard. I’m going to go check on her.”

I’m halfway back to the White House when I realize Ivy might have gone home. I pull my motorcycle to the curb, strip off my gloves and text James.

He answers right away. Nope. She’s not here.

I turn the bike around. A few minutes later, after waving to the RA manning the front desk, I’m standing in the hall outside Ivy’s dorm room.

I knock, but no one answers.

The white board says Back at 6, but it’s Cassidy’s handwriting, not Ivy’s. Only one room on the floor has its door open. I stride down there and knock. The two twin beds are elevated, and there’s a disco ball and a bunch of pillows under one of them.

A tall, lanky guy looks up from his desk near the window. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m looking for Ivy,” I say, pointing down the hall.

“I haven’t seen her, but then a bunch of people went to dinner a few minutes ago. Maybe she’s with that group.”

“At the dining hall?”

“Yep. The one across the street.”

“Thanks.”

I turn to go, but then he says, “Hey, you’re Jon Priestly, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought so. I recognized your voice. When I have a kickback, we sometimes listen to your show.” He indicates the space under the bed.

“Sweet, bro. I appreciate that.”

When I get to the dining hall, I scan the tables. A few people say hi, including a couple of Parishioners in pink shirts, but I don’t stop and talk to them. Unless there’s a section I can’t see, Ivy isn’t here. And I don’t see any of her friends either. Maybe they went to a different dining hall instead. Or somewhere off-campus.

Once I’m back outside, I lean against a nearby pillar and check my phone. Still no text. Shit. I have Cassidy’s number saved in my phone from when Ivy called her once, but I don’t want to involve her yet.

I head back to Ivy’s room to leave a message on her white board, letting her know that I stopped by. When I reach for the dry erase pen hanging from a string, a shadow moves in the small gap between the door and the floor. Someone’s inside.

Did we just miss each other?

I knock. No answer.

“Ivy? Are you there?” I knock again.

I hear shuffling.

“Jon?”

Relief washes over me at the sound of her voice. I didn’t realize I was so tense. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The door swings open. Ivy’s standing there in a t-shirt and pajamas as if she just rolled out of bed. She wasn’t out to dinner. She was here the whole time.

“Are you okay?” I step in and let the door close behind me.

She’s got dark circles under her eyes and looks like crap. God, is she sick? I put my arm around her shoulder and lead her back to bed.

“I’m…I’m fine. Was that…you earlier, knocking?”

“You don’t look fine.” I help her in and pull up the covers.

“Just a little headache, that’s all.”

Goddamn it. She needs to go to the doctor and get a refill of her migraine medicine. I don’t want to push her and yet I may have to.

“What’s going on? Talk to me.” I brush a piece of hair from her face. “Did the accident bring back some bad memories?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she says, but I sense there’s more.

Spotting that threadbare lemur under the pillow, I pull it out and tuck it in with her.

Her eyes meet mine as she hugs the stuffed animal close.

“You can talk to me, Ivy,” I repeat. “Please, I want to know what’s bothering you?”

With a gasping sob, she squeezes me tight. “Someone’s been...stalking me online.”

“What the fuck? Who? How? Since when?” My brain literally swirls with a million other questions.

“Almost two years.”

Two fucking years? Oh my God. “Why…why didn’t you tell me?”

Her breath hiccups against me. “I was sick of it dominating my life, and I’d hoped it was behind me. So I was like, why say anything if it’s in the past now?”

Which means that it’s not. “Do you know who it is?”

“A guy from my high school. Remember when you found me on the roof?”

How could I forget?

“Well, he was at the party, checking out the school. He didn’t know I go here, so I kind of freaked out when I saw him. He didn’t see me then, but he knows I’m here now.”

A surge of adrenaline hits me like a gunshot, and my whole body tenses. “The fucker was in my house?”

“Yeah, but he’s back in Lincoln Falls now.”

“How do you know?”

“My little sister goes to the same high school and texts me. And my mom saw him in the grocery store the other day.”

I stand and pace around the room. There’s a guy who’s been tormenting Ivy for two goddamn years, and he was in my house? I want to punch my fist through something right now.

She tells me about the email she received at her PSU student email address and about all the things he did when she had social media accounts. I cannot fucking believe someone is doing all this to her. And that I didn’t know. I’m so pissed off at myself that I didn’t figure out something like this was going on.

“Have you told anyone?”

“You mean like the police?”

“The police. Your parents. Anyone who can help you. It’s not like he’s some anonymous troll. You know who he is.”

“His dad is the police chief of Lincoln Falls, and it’s not like he threatened me or anything. Besides, he’s never used his name. I just know it’s him.”

“I don’t fucking care if his dad is the President. What he’s doing is wrong, Ivy, not to mention illegal. What did your parents say?”

“My parents?” She sniffs and tells me about the conversation with her mom today. “So I wouldn’t exactly call them supportive.”

I don’t know where to start or what I should do to help her. But what I do know is that I’m sure as hell going to do something.

chapter twenty-one

Hey, you need to get your shit together.

~Trent Reznor

Ivy

My heart races as I stare across the street at the orange awning of the Student Counseling Center.

“You’re going to be fine, Ivy,” Jon says, jutting his chin in that direction. “This is going to be fine. Good, even.”

“I…I don’t know.”

“I know it’s scary, babe,” he says, rubbing my back. “But you’ll feel better talking with a professional about what’s been going on.”

“And what if I don’t?”

I feel him shrug. “Then you can decide not to go back. It’s your choice.”

Glancing across the street, I see a normal-looking girl going into the building and a normal-looking boy coming out. I don’t know what I expected. People in straitjackets?

Yes, this is my choice. I need to take charge of my emotional health. After talking to Mom the other day, I know I can’t rely on them to help me.

“I’ll go with you to meet the doctor, if you want,” Jon says. “They said it was okay. And then if you’re comfortable with the situation, I’ll leave, so you can talk.”

I push away from him. “You…you called them?” Panic constricts my airways, making my voice high-pitched and squeaky. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t give them your name…or mine. I only told them that a friend had an appointment and was nervous about coming.”

Somewhat relieved, I exhale and stare over at that orange awning again. Can I really go in there and spill my guts to a stranger? I did it with Dr. Kramer, but that was because my parents forced me to. This is voluntary.

Jon’s words echo in my head. If I don’t like it, I don’t go back. It’s my choice. I’m the one in control. If, after talking with Dr. Mehta, I don’t connect with her or feel comfortable, then I don’t need to keep seeing her. It’s my decision.

The tension in my shoulders eases a little. I straighten up, and Jon gives me a warm smile of encouragement.

“Okay, I’ll go there on one condition. Two, actually.”

“What are they?”

“First, you’re going to need to leave.”

He frowns. “Leave?”

“Everyone knows you. I don’t want people wondering why you’re in the SCC and figure out it’s because you have a fucked-up girlfriend.”

“You’re not fucked up, Ivy,” he says, sliding his hands from my shoulders down to my upper arms and giving me a little shake. “But okay, if you want to do this on your own, I’ll leave. You can call or text me when you’re done. If you want to. What’s the second condition?”

“I want you to tell me who the Olivers are.”

He looks confused. “The Oli—” Realization flickers in his eyes and his expression hardens. “Who?”

“That old couple, the Olivers. They sent you another friend request. I saw it pop up again on your laptop.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “You really want to know who they are?”

“Yes.”

Blowing out a long breath, his eyes get a faraway look. “They’re my father’s parents.”

“Your grandparents?”

“Yeah, I guess you could call them that.”

“So why don’t you want to talk to them?”

“For one thing, I’ve never even met them. Why should I friend them online?”

“Why not?”

Anger gathers behind his eyes as he works his jaw back and forth. “They’ve known about me from the time I was born, and yet they chose to ignore me the whole time. Now that they’re old, are they suddenly feeling guilty that they raised a son who went around fucking lots of women and getting them pregnant? Do they think friending me online is going to make things right with God before they die? Well, I’m sorry. It doesn’t work that way.”

He’s obviously thought about this a lot. “Maybe they didn’t know about you until now,” I say quietly.

He laughs bitterly. “No, they did. They thought my mother was a slut and a gold-digger. Isn’t that what all groupies are? What they didn’t know was that my mom was with my father—their son—for almost a year. She traveled all over the country with him. But he dumped her when she got pregnant because she couldn’t go out on tour with him anymore. So you tell me who was the biggest user in that situation.”

“Jesus, Jon.” From what he told me before, I knew his father was a dick, but this is pathetic. Part of me is curious about who he is, but that’s not important. If I ask, Jon might think it matters to me when it doesn’t. He’ll tell me if he wants me to know.

“She and her friends shouldn’t have gone backstage to meet the band,” he continues. “I mean, everyone knows what happens when a band’s manager starts pulling hot girls out of the crowd, right? But she was fucking seventeen! What seventeen-year-old girl doesn’t have stars in her eyes when given a chance to meet a rock star backstage? And what twenty-five-year-old guy thinks it’s okay to prey on teenage girls? It fucking makes me sick.”

“God, she was younger than we are,” I say almost to myself.

“The Olivers didn’t know shit about my mom. They didn’t know she dreamed of going to college and becoming a nurse, but because their son got her pregnant, kicked her out, and didn’t pay child support, she had to give up on those dreams to raise me. Alone. With no help from my father or his family.”

“He didn’t help her financially at all?” I ask, appalled. His father clearly had the means to support her.

“He did a little at first, but the checks stopped coming after a few months and my mom didn’t pursue it.”

My mind is reeling as I try to make sense of it all. “Your dad’s a jerk. You said so yourself. But what if he only told your mom that he said something to his parents, but he actually never did? What if he was feeding your mom a load of BS to keep her—and you—from disrupting his life? What if they’re just finding out now that they have a grandson? Have you considered that possibility?”

He shrugs, his face a mask of indifference. “I don’t need them, Ivy. I’m managing perfectly fine on my own.”

He’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as hardworking and dedicated as Jon. “But have you thought about the fact that maybe they need you?”

He studies his hands and doesn’t answer.

I grab them and give them a little squeeze. “I don’t know who your dad is and I don’t care to know. But I’ll tell you this. Although I’m sorry you and your mom had a difficult time with things, I’m glad that selfish fuck didn’t raise you. If he’d have been in your life growing up, you might have turned out to be a different person today. And I think you’re awesome just the way you are.”

Even though his expression is hard and his brows are furrowed, moisture wells up in the corner of his eye. As he turns his head and brushes it away, I’m struck with sudden clarity.

I’m in love with him.

Jon Priestly. This gorgeous, sensitive, deeply damaged guy standing in front of me right now. I love him. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life.

But as my heart feels as if it might explode, a painful lump forms in my throat. I want to tell him how I feel, but I’m afraid. If he learns everything about me—that I may have killed someone—how will he react? Will he leave? I’m not sure I’d want to be around me if I were him.

* * *

I walk into the waiting room at the Student Counseling Center and feel like I’m going to throw up.

Come on, Ivy. You can do this.

A dark-haired woman is sitting on the edge of the receptionist’s desk holding what looks to be a ball. No, it’s not a ball. It’s a skein of yarn that an older woman behind the desk is crocheting. They look up as I approach.

The younger woman pushes up her horn-rimmed glasses and gives me a sheepish smile. “Oops. You caught me. I came out to check my schedule, but Janice and I ended up talking about crocheting and yarn.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Dr. Mehta, a hopeless yarn addict. You must be Ivy.”

I shake her hand and smile, the tension in my shoulders lessening. My gaze lands on Janice’s crochet project. I can’t tell if it’s a scarf or a shawl, but whatever it is, it’s really pretty. She’s doing a really cool lace stitch I haven’t seen before.

“Do you knit or crochet?” Dr. Mehta must’ve noticed my curiosity.

“Um, yeah. Both, actually.”

“Wonderful,” she says, as she shows me back to her office. “We’re going to get along famously then, because I haven’t met a yarn-aholic I didn’t like.”

* * *

It takes me two weeks and four sessions with Dr. Mehta to gather enough courage to talk to Jon.

During that time, she told me about the university’s no-tolerance policy when it comes to stalking and put me in touch with campus security…and didn’t let me blow it off either.

Ha. She figured me out pretty damn fast.

Because Aaron isn’t a student here, there’s not a lot they can do from a legal standpoint, but the IT department is blocking all his incoming email messages to me, so at least that’s a start.

Campus security gave me a pamphlet on all the steps to take when someone is stalking you. I’m supposed to keep a journal of any interactions I have with Aaron, although, if I’m not getting any more emails from him and since I stay off social media, there won’t be much to report. The officer in charge gave me his personal phone number. He actually sat there, making sure I plugged it into my phone, and told me to get in touch with him night or day if I was ever afraid. And when I mumbled, “Okay,” he made me look him straight in the eye and promise to call.

I can’t tell you how much better it feels to have people believe what I’m telling them and truly want to help me. And it’s all because Jon pushed me.

“Do you think the waffle iron is hot enough yet?” I ask him.

We’re standing in his kitchen, and I’ve just finished stirring the batter. Thirty times, to be exact. No more. No less. Who knew Jon was so particular when it came to cooking? But with a recipe called Waffles of Insane Greatness, who am I to question anything?

“Let me check.” He lifts out the last piece of bacon from the frying pan and puts it with the rest to drain on a paper towel. Then he flicks a few drops of water onto the old waffle iron (a gift from Stella), and it sizzles. “I’d say it’s ready.”

A few minutes later, we’re sitting at the table, and although the waffles are insanely good, I can hardly eat. Dr. Mehta’s words keep ringing in my head.

Truth and honesty are the cornerstones of a healthy relationship.

“Jon, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

He looks up from his plate. “You’re joining the circus?”

I laugh. “Do you have a thing with circuses, or what?” Before he says something else funny that will divert me from what I need to say, I take a deep breath. “I haven’t told you why Aaron has been stalking me.”

“There’s a reason other than he’s a troll?”

“He thinks I…killed Chase. That I either grabbed the steering wheel, causing the accident, or that I was the one driving and ran the car off the road on purpose.”

“That’s so fucking ludicrous, it’s not even funny.” Jon takes another bite.

“But what if it’s true? I have no memory of what happened. For all I know, I could’ve been so angry with Chase that I finally decided to do something about it. I knew he rarely wore his seatbelt.”

Jon puts down his fork and stares at me. His expression is dark, unreadable. Is he trying to imagine me doing it? That I reached over and jerked the wheel with the intention of killing someone? My heart is beating so hard that it’s pounding against my eardrums, creating a dull roar in my head.

“Ivy,” he says quietly. “You didn’t kill him.”

“But you weren’t there. What if I did it? What if Aaron’s right?”

“How would Aaron even fucking know? He wasn’t there either.” He pulls me into his arms, and his strength comforts me. “And if you did, then you must’ve been pretty fucking scared out of your mind and did the only thing you could think of to get away.”

My breath catches in my throat. “So, if it turns out I did cause the accident, you won’t think…less of me.”

“Ivy, nothing you do could make me feel less of you. Nothing.”

chapter twenty-two

Love is a serious mental disease.

~ Plato

Jon

We’re in a long line of cars exiting the freeway heading to the Gorge Amphitheater. I grip the steering wheel, hoping I haven’t made a huge mistake. The thing about Ivy is that I’m powerless to resist her when she sets her mind to something. She wanted me here, so, yeah, I caved.

I can’t say I didn’t try, though. Last week when she told me Cassidy wasn’t going to use her Sasquatch tickets and would sell them to us cheap, I said no. I’d seen the line-up. I had zero interest in going.

Ivy looked at me as if I’d sprouted horns. A big group was road-tripping over here and she really wanted to go. James was no help either. I think his exact words were, “There’s no fucking way I’ll miss it again this year.” Way to support your friend, bro.

Ivy kept pressing. God, she was relentless. Listed off a bunch of the bands as if I didn’t already know who was playing. Shit. I’d given away two tickets the last time I was on the air.

But that was last week, and here I am.

I glance over at Ivy in the passenger seat. With her mismatched sock feet on the dash, she’s keeping time to the music while braiding her hair.

“Looks like you’re ready to get down to business,” I tell her.

“I can’t wait!” Excitement lights up her eyes, making me glad I’m here. With her. I can endure anything if it makes her happy. “Do you think the tent will take long to set up?” she asks. “I can’t wait to check out everything.”

“Stella said it’s easy, but obviously, she hasn’t used it in years.”

“You checked it, right? All the stakes and poles are there?”

“Yep. Laid it all out in her backyard and—”

“Ahhhh.” She points to a car trying to squeeze in front of us. “Don’t let him cut between us and the others. We need to go in as a group to get camping spots next to each other.”

Too late. He’s already too far over. I ease up on the gas so I’m not riding his bumper. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” The guy ends up turning into the RV section, so we’re right behind Kelly and Reece again.

The check-in process goes smoothly and soon, with music blaring around us, we’re all setting up our tents. Ivy wastes no time laying out our sleeping bags and zipping them together. This weekend is going to be fun in more ways than one.

Except for Sunday afternoon.

When O-Twist is playing.

Hopefully, I can talk Ivy into heading out before they take the stage. We’ll be tired, right? Besides, a lot of people leave early on Sunday anyway, so it’s not like we’d be the only ones. If not, though, I’ve already got it figured out. I’ll stay back at the campsite. Pretend I’m hungover. Or too tired. Or that I have a stomachache.

One thing’s for sure. I refuse to see my father in person, even from a distance.

As I pull the cooler out of the trunk and dump in one of the bags of ice we bought at the gas station in Vantage, I hear someone coming up behind me.

“Jon!” a female voice shrieks.

Tina?

Before I can turn around, she jumps onto my back, piggyback-style, and wraps her legs around my waist. Even though it can’t be more than sixty degrees and the weather forecast calls for rain tonight, she’s wearing shorts with cowboy boots. Untangling myself from her bare legs, I push her knees down so she has to stand, then I turn to face her. She adjusts her cowboy hat and flashes me a broad smile. Two other girls are with her, including Sara.

“Hello, ladies.”

“I didn’t think you were coming.” Tina puts her hands on her hips. “Why did you change your mind?”

Before I can answer, I hear the tent zipper and Ivy steps out. With her skinny jeans, short boots and a PSU hoodie under her jean jacket, she’s looking pretty damn hot. “Because I twisted his arm,” she says.

“Yeah, it hurt.”

She comes over to us with a funny little smile on her face. At first, it seems like she’s going to rub up against me, staking her claim for Tina and Sara’s benefit, but no. She slides her arm around my waist and then, when my guard is down, she pokes me right in the ribs. Where I’m really ticklish.

“Aaaaah.” I grab her hands, pull them away and lock them behind her.

She laughs. “Baby.”

Tina has a curious expression on her face as she looks Ivy up and down. “Is it just the two of you at this campsite?”

“The White House guys are there,” I say, letting go of Ivy and pointing to two army-sized tents next door. “Kelly and Reece are on the other side of them.”

“And beyond them,” Ivy says, “are some people from my floor.”

“Can we put up our tent next to yours, then?” Tina asks. “The camp host says each site can sleep up to six people.”

I glance at Ivy to see what she thinks, but I can’t read her expression. Is she indifferent about it or pissed?

Since we’re all packed tightly together, it wouldn’t be much different than if they were in an adjacent campsite, so I tell Tina okay. Most likely, we’ll all be hanging out in one big group anyway, eating and partying.

A few hours later, with the campsite as situated as it’s going to get and our alcohol locked in the trunk of Ivy’s car, we’re sitting on our blanket on the grassy hillside overlooking the stage and sharing an outrageously expensive bottle of water that we bought inside, because they wouldn’t let us bring in our own.

“Having your groupies right next to us better not screw things up,” Ivy says.

Screw what things up? I want to ask, although I have a pretty damn good idea what she means. I take a drink and hand the bottle to her. “They’re not my groupies.”

“Ex-girlfriends, then.”

“Girlfriend,” I say, enunciating the d. “Singular. Uno. Besides, Tina and I never dated, so you can’t really classify her as an ex-girlfriend.”

“Ex-fuck-buddy, then?”

I give her a sheepish smile. “I guess you could say that.”

Something mischievous glints in her eye and she comes closer. “You guess? Does that mean you don’t know?”

“Guys can be pretty fucking clueless,” I say, playing along with her.

She climbs onto my lap, facing me, her arms around my neck. I put my hands on her butt and scoot her closer, growing hard as she slides over me.

“Really?” Then she kisses me, slipping her tongue in my mouth.

She tastes like the wine cooler she had back at the campsite. Only a few thin layers of fabric are preventing me from being inside her right now. I grab her hips and— Fuuuuck. She grinds against me. I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t turn me on to be doing this around all these people. This weekend is already shaping up to be better than I expected.

She pulls away from me slightly. “So. Are we just fuck buddies, too?”

“I can’t believe you’d even say that.” A surge of emotion rushes through me. I know she’s just teasing, but I don’t want her to even joke about it.

As I open my mouth to tell her what she means to me, something behind us draws her attention. She lets out a little scream and jumps up. “Dani!”

I crank my head around to see a group of people approaching. I recognize a few of them from her dorm. “Hey,” I say, getting up and moving our blanket over to make room for theirs.

After Ivy hugs them and returns to my side, I pull her close and entwine my fingers in hers. “We’re not fuck buddies, Ives,” I whisper in her ear. “You mean so much more to me than that.”

She squeezes my hands. “I know. I was just kidding.”

The opening band starts playing, and soon we’re clapping along with the lead singer as the bright orange sun sets behind the stage.

Ivy has managed to soften my heart, daring me to dream again.

And it scares the shit out of me.

* * *

Ivy

Jon and I are pretty wasted by the time we stumble to our tent. After the last band finished up, we followed everyone along the trail back to the campground and continued partying at the White House campsite. I don’t know what it is, but the biggest parties always seem to begin and end with them.

After brushing our teeth at one of the communal sinks scattered throughout the campground, I don’t even have the tent zipped shut all the way when Jon grabs me from behind. He’s already naked from the waist down.

“How did you do that so fast?” I ask, laughing.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day.” His words are a little slurred. “I need you.”

“Shhhh. Someone will hear. There are literally a ton of people around us.” Including a couple of girls in the next tent who are probably wishing they were here instead of me.

“You think I give a shit?”

I pull the shirt over my head and slip out of my pajama bottoms, thinking this will distract him and get him to quiet down.

He groans loudly. “I want to fuck you so bad, Ivy, it’s not even funny.”

Someone nearby laughs. It sounds like James.

“Oh my God, Jon,” I whisper-laugh. “You need to shut up.”

I climb into the double sleeping bag and pull him down on top of me. But instead of grabbing one of the condoms we brought, he slides down my stomach.

Oh my God. Oh my God. I know what he’s planning to do.

His long-fingered hands are warm against my knees as he pushes my legs apart.

“I need to taste you.” His breath is hot against my sensitive skin. My whole body quivers in anticipation. Then, spreading my inner folds with his fingers, he licks me. Long and agonizingly slow.

I hiss, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as I arch my back.

“Is this good?” His voice is low and husky, vibrating against me.

“Um, yes,” I manage to say. My knees are trembling on either side of his head. “It’s...it’s perfect.”

“Okay. Because I want more.”

He slips a finger inside me, moving it in and out. My inner muscles tighten around him, and a storm of pressure gathers in my lower belly. I am seriously on the edge right now. I’m not going to last much—

He gently draws my clit between his teeth and begins to suckle. And that’s when I pretty much lose it.

I buck my hips and cry out his name as a massive climax roars through me. It feels like I’m on fire, every inch of me burns.

“Ah, yes!” he groans. “There it is.”

With his tongue against me, I ride out my orgasm, vaguely aware that I need to be quiet. As the tremors echo away, I lie back against the pillows, and Jon slides up my body, kissing me as he goes. My hips. My stomach. My breasts. His tongue swirls around one nipple then the other.

“I want you inside me now,” I tell him.

“That can be arranged,” he says.

Soon, the broad tip of his penis probes my inner thigh. After a few tries, he finds my center. I raise my hips to meet him and with a powerful thrust, he enters me, filling me completely. So completely, in fact, that it seems as if he’s pressing against the inside of my belly button.

“Oh my God,” he says, a little too loudly. “You feel so good.”

Someone laughs again. And then there’s a whistle. But I don’t care. I’m too drunk and numb from that orgasm to really give a crap. Hell, most of the people here are probably doing the exact same thing we are. And those who aren’t are wishing they were.

“Jesus, Ivy,” he groans, rocking his hips back almost to the point of withdrawal.

I dig my nails into his back to keep him from going any further. He needs to stay in me. I’ll die if he doesn’t. He makes a few shallow thrusts, causing the ridge around the tip of him to rub against my sensitive flesh. I’m on the verge of coming again.

Something niggles in the back of my mind, but I can’t think what it is. Something I’m supposed to be doing right now. And then it occurs to me that I didn’t check my exits or make sure I could get away if I needed to. Tears sting the backs of my eyes as the realization hits me. My old fears don’t control me anymore.

Dr. Mehta was right. Telling Jon the truth made all the difference. Not only did he not reject me, but I feel safe with him. He won’t hurt me. I trust him.

I hold him tighter, twine my legs around his.

He thrusts into me with fluid strokes, and then, “Ivy!”

Another intense wave of pleasure rushes through me, starting from where we’re joined and spreading outward like wildfire. Down my arms and legs to my fingers and toes. Jon collapses on top of me, both of us sweaty and breathless. We stay like this for a while, until the world stops spinning around us.

He rolls off me and I hear the snap of latex as he removes the condom.

Holy crap. That’s what I forgot. Birth control. How could I be so careless? Stupid, Ivy. Real stupid. Thank God he had enough sense to use a condom, because I sure as hell didn’t think about it. I started up on the Pill again, but that was less than a month ago, so it’s not effective yet.

Something else tugs at the back of my mind. But like a vivid dream that vanishes when you wake up, it’s not clear enough to retrieve it.

“Ivy?” Jon asks, his lips against my ear.

“Mmmm. Yeah?” I’m so spent I can hardly move.

“Before I fall asleep, I want you to know something.” His words are still slightly slurred from the alcohol.

I nestle into his shoulder. “What’s that, baby?”

“Ahhh,” he says, sighing contentedly. “I fucking love when you call me that. It’s hot.”

I smile into the darkness. “You do?”

“And I love what we just did. All of it.”

My body is still tingling. “Yeah, me too.” Way off in the distance, I can hear some people talking, but everyone around us is quiet. I can tell that’s not what he originally wanted to say, though. “Was there something else?”

His body twitches. He’s obviously on the verge of falling asleep. “What?” he mumbles.

“That’s okay, baby. Go to sleep.”

“No. I need to tell you…something.”

God, he’s both hot and adorable at the same time. How is that even possible? “You do?”

He mumbles a few words, but I can’t understand.

Great. Why is it, when I want him to speak up, he doesn’t, but when I want him to be quiet, the whole campground can hear us?

“What, Jon?”

“Mmmm. I fucking love you, Ivy.” Then he rolls over and leaves me lying here, stunned, in the darkness.

“I love you too, baby,” I whisper, but he’s already asleep.

* * *

The next day, neither of us says the L-word again, but it’s like we’re newlyweds or something. We can’t stop touching each other. When I hand him a yogurt from the cooler, I can’t help myself and stroke my finger along his arm. Grabbing my hand, he presses his lips to the inside of my wrist, then lets go and eats his yogurt. When I take the cup of instant coffee he made me and sit in one of the chairs around the fire pit, he comes up behind me and starts rubbing my shoulders.

He brushes my hair aside and kisses the back of my neck. “That was fun last night,” he whispers.

“You remember?”

“Hell yeah. I wasn’t that drunk, Ives.”

I hear the zip of a tent and look up to see James emerging…along with a gorgeous blond chick I’ve never seen before. He grins at us as she puts on her shoes. After he kisses her and she leaves, he walks past us to the picnic table where the coffee supplies are. A few minutes later, he joins us at the campfire, a cup of coffee sandwiched between his hands.

“Have a good time last night?” Jon asks.

“I sure as hell did.” James takes a sip. “And from what I could tell, you did too.”

We spend the rest of the day going back and forth from the venue to the campsite. I’m glad that we got into the closest campground. Some people have to walk more than a mile each way.

On Sunday, we get up early and trek over to the stage, but both of us are so tired that as soon as we wrap ourselves in our blankets on the grass, we fall asleep. After listening to a few bands, we head back to the campsite for a lunch that consists of peanut butter sandwiches, chips and beer. Tina is talking to some girls I don’t know and Sara is sitting on James’ lap. Kelly tells me about the internship she just got with an accounting firm in Seattle, but she doesn’t know how to break the news to Reece. He’ll be working in Portland for the summer and they were going to rent an apartment together.

She changes the subject when Reece approaches.

I look around for Jon, but don’t see him. “Where’s Jon?”

Reece shrugs. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

I walk the ten steps over to our campsite and pop my head into the tent. Jon is lying on top of the sleeping bags with his eyes closed. He doesn’t open them even though the tent zipper is really loud.

He’s not sick, is he? I kneel next to him. “Are you ready to head back over? O-Twist will be onstage in about twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m not feeling that great. You guys go on without me.”

I lightly rub his arm. “Can I get you anything? Water? Something else to eat? Some Tylenol?” We did party pretty hard again last night. I’m surprised I didn’t wake up with more of a hangover.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll try to rally for the next one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You should go. I’ll be fine. I just need to take a power nap.”

“Okay,” I say, kissing him on the forehead. At least he doesn’t have a fever. “I’ll text you.”

“The cell coverage sucks, though.”

“I’ll try anyway.”

Dani and a few of her friends are waiting for me. I’m glad that both Tina and Sara are coming with us, too. I know it’s silly, because I’m not really a jealous person, but I don’t want them popping in on Jon just to quote unquote see how he’s doing.

We get to the venue and find a good place in the middle of the crowd. When O-Twist takes the stage, everyone surges forward as if the crowd is one solid entity. People seem wilder than they were yesterday. Guys keep hoisting girls onto their shoulders (a few of them are even chicken-fighting), and security keeps telling them to get down. After the second or third song, a group of asshole guys pushes their way through to the front, almost knocking Dani and me over.

“Jerks!” She throws her empty water bottle at the last guy’s back.

After O-Twist plays one of their biggest hits, Sara declares that they’re awesome. “I had no idea this was them.”

They’re pretty retro to be playing Sasquatch—my dad has a few of their early albums from a long time ago—but no one seems to mind.

Someone else jostles us from behind, but this time it’s a group of girls.

Dani spins around, practically shooting daggers from her eyes. “Will you fucking chill out? Geez.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Back at school, she’s pretty quiet. I didn’t know she could be so bold.

“Stupid bitch,” one of the girls says. “You’re in our way.”

“We were here first,” Dani counters. “Go somewhere else.”

The girl hauls back and seriously is about to punch Dani. I pull Dani away just in time and the chick misses, hitting Tina instead.

“What the fuck!” Tina says, rubbing her arm. She reaches out and yanks the girl’s hair. “Skank.”

Oh crap. This is totally not happening right now. It’s going to erupt into an all-out girl-fight in a second. Spotting a guy over near the speakers with a bunch of Hula Hoops on both arms, I drag Tina away. “Come on,” I tell everyone. “Let’s see what’s going on over here.”

Tina and the chick yell insults at each other as we make our way out of the crowd.

It just so happens that the guy is O-Twist’s tour manager and he’s doing some kind of contest. “The girls who can Hula Hoop the longest can go backstage to meet the band,” he says.

Sweet! We all grab one from him. Turns out, I’m the world’s worst Hula Hooper. I can’t even get it to go around my waist once before it slips down. Tina isn’t much better, but I think she’s too drunk anyway. Dani and Sara are the big winners, both managing to keep going for a full two minutes.

“Impressive,” the man says, collecting the hoops from us and looping them back onto his arms. Kind of pudgy, with a round face and bulbous nose, he’d look just like Santa if he had a white beard. A creepy Santa, I decide, as I catch him staring at Tina’s boobs.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “Since you ladies are all together, why don’t you all come?” He produces five O-Twist T-shirts and hands them to us. “Put these on.” After telling us when and where to go, he disappears into the crowd.

“Oh my God, can you believe it?” Sara says, pulling the shirt over her head. “We actually get to meet Angus Oliver. He’s sooo hot.”

Dani scowls. “Hot? The dude’s old enough to be your dad.”

Sara rolls her eyes. “Who cares? He’s in great shape. And really, really famous.”

After I put on my shirt, I fire off a quick text to Jon. Maybe if he’s feeling better, he can come join us. He’d love this.

A half hour later, after O-Twist is done and the next band is setting up, we’re standing in front of the crowd barrier at the north side of the stage.

“Any idea how long we’ll be back there?” Tina’s eyelids are half-closed and she’s slurring her words. She looks like crap. “I’ve got to leave pretty soon. I have to work in the morning. Oh…shit… I think I’m going to get sick.” And she does.

I turn around to see her taking off her O-Twist T-shirt and wiping her mouth.

Before any of us can answer her, we hear shouting coming from backstage. Probably another person trying to break through the security, I’m guessing.

“Oh my God,” Dani says.

I glance over to see what she’s looking at and that’s when I spot Jon. Backstage. With two beefy-looking security guys on either side of him.

What the hell is going on? Without thinking, I rush past the security barricade and sprint toward him.

“Hey,” yells the guard. “Get back here.”

“That’s my boyfriend,” I yell without slowing. I can hear my friends behind me.

When I reach Jon, I can’t decide what shocks me the most—seeing Angus Oliver up close and nursing a bloody lip, or Jon looking half-crazed and rubbing his fist.

chapter twenty-three

I want every girl that ever lived. I fuck everything that moves.

~ Gene Simmons

Jon

I glare at Angus Oliver, the international superstar and total douche bag who happens to be my sperm donor. “You stay the fuck away from her.”

Angus holds up his hands. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Some of my friends, including my girlfriend, were invited backstage. We both know perfectly well what happens after that. I’m not going to let you fuck up their lives, too.”

“Listen, Jon,” he says. I grimace at the fact that he uses my name.

After I punched him in the face, he looked at me for a long moment before the realization of who I was dawned in his expression. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be,” was the first thing he said.

He dabs the blood from his lip with a tissue that someone gave him. “Relax. Phil didn’t know who they were when he invited them back.”

“Hell,” says a fat guy. “I didn’t know one of your kids was this old.”

A sour pit forms in my stomach. So I do have half-siblings out there somewhere.

“I’m not planning to fuck your girls, so chill the fuck out, okay?” Angus scratches his upper leg. He’s wearing a huge skull ring on one finger and a huge sideways cross on another.

“You don’t exactly have the track record to back up that statement.”

Angus exhales loudly, then he smiles at someone behind me. I turn to see Ivy and her friends. It literally makes my blood boil as I imagine every sick thought running through his head.

“Jon, are you okay?” Ivy tries to come closer, but a security guard steps in front of her.

“You the girlfriend?” Angus asks, letting his gaze roam up and down her body.

I try to jerk away from the guys holding me, but they’re too strong. My fist is itching to connect with Angus’s face again. Multiple times, if possible.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” he continues. “What have I ever done to you?”

Is he fucking serious? A million possible responses are clogging my brain right now.

“I know I haven’t been the best father, but that doesn’t give you the right to come backstage and get violent.”

A hush goes through the small crowd around us as his words sink in. Yes, I am Angus Oliver’s son. One of the most famous rockstars on the planet is my father.

About fifteen to twenty people are watching us, and a few of them have their camera phones out. Fuck. It’ll only be a matter of time before all of PSU hears this. I’ve tried so hard to keep that fact to myself. I don’t want to be known as Angus Oliver’s son. I want to be known for being me.

That’s when I notice that everyone except Tina is wearing matching shirts. Matching O-Twist shirts. Including Ivy. Anger doesn’t begin to describe what it feels like to see my father’s face on my girlfriend’s chest. I want to rip it off of her and burn it.

“Angus Oliver is your dad?” Sara asks, her eyes wide. “Oh my God. I want both of your autographs on my shirt. Father and son. It’ll totally be a collector’s item.” Angus produces a black Sharpie from somewhere—probably from Phil’s pocket—and motions her over. She pulls the hem of the shirt down, making the fabric go tight across her chest.

“Sign right here,” she says. “Right above my heart.”

Angus gives her an I-want-to-get-into-your-pants smile as he signs it.

Then she looks at me.

I shake my head slowly. Don’t even fucking try.

I hear her say to someone, “That’s okay. I’ll just get his autograph back at PSU. He’s my tutor.”

“How’s your mom doing?” Angus asks, putting the cap back on the pen and handing it to Phil. “Still cutting hair?”

I grind my teeth at his conversational tone. “For your information, she died several years ago. Cancer. She tried to get in touch with you to let you know what was going on, but she never heard back. Imagine that.” Despite my protests, she wanted to see if I could go live with him. To make sure I was taken care of after she was gone.

Angus gets a hurt look on his face. “She died? Wow. That’s too bad. I always liked her.”

Liked? He liked her? An uncontrollable rush of anger hits me like a truck, and I lunge at him again. “You bastard. You fucking ruined her life.”

The two guys jerk my arms back harder this time, taking me to the ground.

“Me?” Angus raises an eyebrow. “We had a good time. She enjoyed herself. What you need to do,” he says, pointing a finger at me, “is take a long, hard look in the mirror. If her life was fucked up, it’s because of you.”

chapter twenty-four

Loving someone is giving them the power to break your heart

but trusting them not to.

~ Julianne Moore

Ivy

Numb.

Hollow.

Empty.

I’m in bed, my body curled around my stuffed animal.

Yesterday, after I waited in front of the security trailer for over an hour, Jon finally emerged. I rushed to him, but he deflected my advances and strode in the direction of the campsite.

Okay, he was angry. Didn’t need my gushing sympathy. I totally got that.

I fell in step beside him, tucking my hands in my pockets. “I’m really sorry about what happened.”

He mumbled something under his breath that I didn’t catch.

“Your dad was—”

“I’m leaving. Driving Tina home.”

My breath caught in my throat. Tina? What did she have to do with this?

“You’re...leaving? Um…okay.” I was confused, but I’d go along with it considering everything that just happened. Security probably kicked him out of not just the venue but the campground too. “I’ll get my stuff together.”

“Without you.”

It was like he’d punched me in the stomach, and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. He was upset—I got that—but with me? “I…don’t understand. Why don’t you want to go back together?”

“I need to be alone.”

Then how did driving home with Tina equal being alone?

“Jon, if it’s about your dad, I—”

He stopped abruptly, his face contorted with emotion. “It was a mistake, okay? A big fucking mistake. All of this.” He made a swirly movement with his finger. “We’re too different for this ever to have worked out anyway.” Then he turned on his heel and stormed away.

I stood there, in the middle of the gravel road, trying not to cry. Jon, the man I loved, had just broken up with me. And I didn’t know why.

At the White House campsite, people were standing around drinking beer and roasting hot dogs. Jon was talking to James, then he grabbed his duffel, shoved it into Tina’s blue pickup and drove away. Without a backward glance.

I was numb, just going through the motions, when James helped me pack up the tent. Dani and Kelly tried to talk me into staying, but I didn’t want to if Jon wasn’t here. I took a migraine pill to stave off the inevitable and drove the four hours home. By myself. In a complete and total daze.

Laying on my bed now, it feels as if a big part of me has withered and died. I’m the shell of the person I was yesterday—the person I had become.

My phone vibrates now. I sit up and grab it, hoping that it’s Jon. Maybe he just needed some time and he’s calling to apologize.

But it’s Cassidy, not Jon.

I sink back on the bed and take the call. She’s extending her Memorial Day holiday because she’s only got one class on Tuesday and it’s no big deal to skip it.

“I still can’t believe that Jon’s dad is really Angus Oliver,” she says. “I mentioned it to my mom and she was so excited. She and my stepdad have some of his CDs.”

Yeah, so does my dad, but I don’t tell her that. It doesn’t feel right to mention anything remotely positive relating to Jon’s asshole father.

“So how did you hear about his dad?” I ask her.

“It’s everywhere online, Ivy. Everyone knows.”

That shouldn’t surprise me, but I cringe anyway.

After we hang up, I trudge down to the laundry room to put in a load of clothes from the weekend. Even though they caught Maddy’s attacker a while ago, I still hate coming down here, so I make Bryce my RA come with me.

“How was the concert?” he asks.

“Okay, I guess,” I answer flatly.

“So you’ve been dating a celebrity and didn’t even know it. Do you feel famous all of a sudden?”

Oh my God. First Cassidy, now this? “Jesus, Bryce. He’s not his dad.” I have a feeling this is just the beginning.

I’m guessing this is why Jon’s been keeping that fact a secret from everyone. He might enjoy attention from people, but not because of who his father is.

When I get back to my room, I put on my headphones and grab my knitting. I should be studying. Finals are coming up, but I can’t concentrate worth shit right now.

The tab with the Butterfly Lovers ballet is open on my screen, so I press Play and watch it for the hundredth time. I’m struck with the realization that trust plays a key role in the performance. The dancers need to rely on each other implicitly, with no hesitation or worry, in order to make it all come together.

I set down my knitting and rub the ink work on the back of my neck.

Trust. It’s the core of everything.

chapter twenty-five

Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

~ Victor Hugo

Jon

“Why’d you fucking leave her, asshole?” James glares at me. “I still can’t believe what a dickhead move that was.” He’s never been one to mince words.

It’s been a week and I haven’t seen Ivy or called her. She’s left me a couple of voicemail messages, but I haven’t listened to them. “I told you. They kicked me out. I had to leave.”

“Without Ivy?”

I shrug, pretending I don’t care. “There were still more bands left to play that night. I didn’t want her to miss them.”

“She told me she’d have gladly left with you.”

“You talked to her?”

“Yeah, I helped her take the tent down, remember? You need to call her. Apologize for being such a douche.”

“She and her friends were going apeshit over my father. I couldn’t take it, so I had to get away.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

I don’t want to get into it with James, considering that he just lost his own dad. Besides, people are already acting different around me. Like I’ve suddenly changed. I got a message from my station manager, saying they want me to host an O-Twist show this week. And the reporter who interviewed me before the zombie race has been calling my cell.

“I don’t want my cred to go up because of who my dad is.”

“And you think Ivy cares? She thinks the dude’s an asshole.”

I swallow hard. “And what about everyone else?” I think back to my first foster family, who bent over backward after learning who my father was. When they found out I’d never received any money from him, let alone met him, they quickly changed how they treated me, figuring there must be a reason for my father’s rejection.

“Dude, don’t look at me,” James says, putting up his hands. “Do you think I care? I grew up in LA and my father was in the film industry. Half the kids at my high school had famous mothers or fathers. I could seriously give a shit who your dad is.”

I run a hand through my hair.

“Did you know that after security took you away, Ivy stayed backstage and gave your dad a piece of her mind? I guess she raked him over the coals. Cussed him up one side and down the other. I’d have paid some serious cash to see that.”

“She tell you that?” I ask, unimpressed.

“No, Sara did. We…uh…hooked up the last night. She said Ivy was like a goddamn pit bull. I don’t know if this part is true or not—I mean, it’s Sara talking here—but she said that Ivy actually made your father cry.”

“She what?” My head jerks up.

James nods. “She totally went to bat for you, bro, so you need to pull your goddamned head out of your ass.”

What could Ivy have said to my father to make him cry? Then I recall our conversation in the kitchen after the attack in her dorm when she said it was my father’s loss not to know me.

James takes a sip of the protein smoothie he just made and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know this is going to sound all sappy and shit, but you guys are good together. Seriously, dude. You need to make things right with her before it really sinks in what an asshole you were and it’s too late. Girls like Ivy come around once in a lifetime.”

* * *

Ivy

I’m walking back from my car where I’d left one of my textbooks, when my phone chimes. It’s a text from Jon. He wants to talk.

I say a little prayer. Please let it be good.

Stepping off to the side to let a group of students pass me on the sidewalk, I text him back. When?

It takes, like, a second for him to reply. ASAP.

How about now? Do you want to call me?

I’m coming over. U home?

I glance over at the dorm. I will be in a minute.

K. See u in 5.

I blow out a long breath to calm my erratic heartbeat.

Does he want to talk about why he left?

I can’t tell if he’s still angry. I hope this means he’s not. I really miss him. Then I think about how he rode back with Tina. He’s not going to tell me that he’s breaking things off with me and getting back together with her, is he?

I read through his texts again, trying to decipher what he’s thinking, so my head is down, when another group of students passes.

“Keep going without me,” says a male voice to my right. “There’s someone I want to talk to. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

That voice. It’s…familiar. Too familiar. I raise my head, look over, and my blood runs cold.

There, just a few feet away from me, is Aaron Marquette, Chase’s younger brother, the guy who’s been making my life a living hell.

“Hello, Ivy.”

How is this even happening?

“Aaron.” I can barely hear my voice over the roaring in my ears. It’s tentative, like a question. As if I’m not sure it’s really him.

He laughs. “Surprised?”

I take a step backward, but there’s nowhere to run. No White House bathroom to hide in. He’s already seen me.

Security. Call campus security. Oh God, what the hell was the officer’s name, anyway?

I don’t want to talk to Aaron or hear anything he has to say. His taunts. His lies. It’s bad enough reading the stuff online.

My conversations with Dr. Mehta echo in my head. There could be an element of truth to some of what Aaron is saying, which causes me to make assumptions that he’s right about all of it.

Logically, I know this, but what if he is right? What if I did kill Chase? What if I did do it on purpose?

“What are you doing here,” I ask, trying to make my voice sound stronger than I feel. The back of my neck aches and my temples start to pound.

He rubs his thick beard as his gaze rakes over me, assessing every inch and making me feel dirty. “They want me to play baseball here, so I’m practicing with the team. Won’t that be great?” His smile is cold.

So it is true. My perfect little world at the school I love is coming to an end. I can’t possibly stay if Aaron’s here, too.

“You’re looking good,” he continues, nodding almost to himself.

I want to say something that cuts him to the bone, something witty and clever, but my brain pretty much isn’t working right now. “What do you want, Aaron?”

“Life without my big brother has worked out well for you. I can see you’re all broken up about losing the love of your life.”

My whole body tenses up. “Chase was never the love of my life. I know a lot of people thought he was, but he wasn’t.”

He takes a menacing step toward me. “Well, you’ve obviously moved on, haven’t you? What a fucking bitch. I don’t know what my brother ever saw in you.”

Ignoring the name-calling, I stand my ground. “So why are you here then, if you’re not getting on with your life?”

He’s either surprised by my reaction or I struck a nerve, because he hesitates for a half-second before replying. “I’m here because that’s what Chase would’ve wanted. He always dreamed of playing professional ball, so he’d have been excited for me. This is my chance, Ivy. I’m doing it for him.”

I’m suddenly more pissed off than I am afraid. So it’s okay to move on if you’re doing it for him? That’s such bullshit. I’m done having Chase’s memory haunt me. I want to live my life for me. No one else. And I’m sick to death of being scared.

“He loved you, Ivy. All he wanted was to get married and start a family with you. Or the other way around, whichever happened first.”

I open my mouth to say something, but stop. The other way around? Start a family and then get married? Why does that sound familiar?

My head is really pounding now.

“But no,” he continues. “You had to break up with him. He was crushed, Ivy. He didn’t know if he could live without you.”

Give me a break. “Couples split up every day, Aaron. It’s called dating. If he couldn’t handle it, that was his problem, not mine.”

He narrows his eyes as he assesses me. I get the sense that he wasn’t expecting me to argue with him. “You like wearing the pants in a relationship, don’t you? Chase tried to teach you that life doesn’t work that way, but you wouldn’t listen. Does your new boyfriend let you talk to him like that? Does he enjoy being pussy-whipped?”

I don’t dignify his bullshit questions with an answer.

As I look at him and listen to his words, it becomes clear to me that I’ve been giving Aaron way too much power. Maybe my mom was right on some level. It’s easy to read words on a screen and think that there’s an intelligent human being on the other end making the claims. You think, what’s wrong with me? What did I do? When the real question should be, what’s wrong with him?

It’s easy to see the messenger for who he really is. A misogynistic, egotistical bully, just like his brother.

I may not be able to make Aaron go away online, but my attitude about the power he has over me has changed. Unlike back home, I have people here who support and care about me. People who believe me. People who will protect me. I will not let him intimidate me again.

“Chase thought that if you got pregnant,” Aaron says, “you’d settle down.”

Pain spears through my temples, but I try to ignore it. “As in barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen, catering to his every desire?”

Aaron smiles. “Yeah. Something like that.”

I can’t take it any more and laugh. Right in his face. “Last time I checked, it’s the twenty-first century, dickwad, not the fifties.”

In a flash, he grabs me by the wrist. “Think that’s funny?” I try to jerk away, but he holds on tight. “You know what would’ve been goddamn funny is if Chase’s plan had worked.”

“What plan?”

“Don’t you know? He was sabotaging the condoms, trying to get you pregnant.”

“What?”

Condoms?

Pregnancy. Baby. Marriage.

My legs turn to rubber as a white-hot pain splits my head open. Aaron lets go and I fall to my knees.

I can see it now. It all comes back to me in rush of memory.

We’d been at a party out on Miller Quarry Road. People were hanging out, laughing, talking. Music blaring. I’d broken up with Chase earlier, but he wanted to talk.

We walked out to his car and before I knew it, he shoved me inside and took off. He told me he loved me and couldn’t stand the thought of me ever being with someone else. When I told him to take me back to the party, he told me not to be stupid. And when I demanded to know where he was taking me, he just laughed. It became clear that he’d been planning this. I had visions of him locking me up again somewhere, but for longer than a weekend. Cut off from my family and friends. Cut off from anyone else but him.

Then, as I cowered in the passenger seat, trying to figure out how to get away from him, he admitted he’d been poking holes in the condoms in order to get me pregnant. That way, if I were carrying his baby, I’d never be able to leave him. He would always be in my life.

That’s when I told him I’d been on the Pill since high school. One time I thought I was pregnant, which had really freaked me out, so Deena and I drove to a neighboring town, went to Planned Parenthood and I got on birth control.

Chase totally flipped out. Screamed at me. Called me a fucking whore and a cunt.

He reached over and grabbed me by the hair.

And then…

Tires screeching against pavement.

Then metal.

More screaming. Me this time.

Sparks.

Breaking glass.

Flying.

From somewhere above me, a female voice pulls me back to the present. I’m down on all fours, staring at the sidewalk.

I didn’t kill Chase. I know that now for sure. He did it to himself.

I wasn’t the one driving, as Aaron likes to suggest, and I didn’t grab the steering wheel. Chase was the one who’d almost killed me, and in the process, he killed himself.

Dani helps me to my feet and asks if I’m okay. I nod then instantly regret moving my head. It feels like my skull is about to split apart.

“What did you do to her?” Dani points to Aaron accusingly.

Aaron holds up his hands like he’s Mr. Innocent. “We were just talking. We know each other from back home, right Ivy?

Before I can respond, I hear loud footsteps coming up from behind, then Jon steps out in front of Dani and me.

“What the hell is going on?” he demands. “Ivy, are you okay? I saw Dani—” His gaze bounces between Aaron and me then turns ice cold. “Who is this asshole?”

“I’m…fine.” My voice wavers. I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but I don’t want things to escalate any worse than they already are.

Dani tells him what she saw.

A white-hot anger flashes in Jon’s eyes, like they did when he confronted his father backstage, and he takes a menacing step toward Aaron. “You fucking touched her?”

“Whoa, dude, relax. I know her.”

“Ivy?” Jon doesn’t take his gaze off of Aaron.

Taking a deep breath, I gather my courage. I need to deal with this. I can’t sweep it under the rug and pretend that everything’s all right. This needs to come out in the open. It’s gone on long enough. “He’s the one who’s been harassing me online. This is Aaron. Chase’s brother.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Dani,” he says calmly, like the eye of a storm with chaos ready to erupt. “Take her back to her room. I have some business to take care of.”

Panic shoots through me. He can’t do anything to jeopardize his standing here at school. A fight off campus is one thing. But here? In front of the dorms?

I glance around, noticing for the first time that other people are watching as well. A few of them have their camera phones out. No matter what he does or where he goes, he always draws a crowd.

“Jon, please. He’s not worth it.”

“Maybe not, but you sure as hell are.”

My heart swells in my chest, ready to split into a million pieces. Jon Priestly is my everything and I’ve been lost this week without him. He’s my spirit. My soul. My strength when I have none. I need him like the air I breathe. And I’m about to lose him again.

Jon flexes his fists. Aaron must’ve figured he was going to get punched, because he ducks to the side. Jon lunges, but instead of hitting him, he grabs Aaron’s arm and twists it up behind him. The guy drops to his knees and howls in pain.

I cringe, expecting him to go MMA and start wailing on Aaron any second. “Jon, please, no. I don’t want another fight.” I’d seen too many. Chase once beat the shit out of someone because he thought the guy was hitting on me.

Jon hesitates, shoots a glance in my direction, then frowns.

“You’ve worked too hard and overcome too much to have it fall apart.”

“But I won’t let him get away with what he’s done to you.”

I point at Aaron. “That’s not your future.” Then I sweep my arms wide, looking at the surrounding campus and the people gathered around us. “This is.”

“You’re wrong, Ivy,” he says through clenched teeth. “None of it matters.

My heart sinks. I put my hand to my forehead. I don’t want to see this.

“None of it matters to me more than you. And our future together.”

I jerk my head up as he hauls Aaron to his feet.

“But I’m not going to let him get away with this.” There’s something different in his expression now. The anger has turned to determination. “Did I tell you, Ivy, that PSU’s Athletic Director is a fan of my show? We became friends when I played football. He’s the one who put in a good word for me at the station. I think he’ll be very interested to learn that one of his baseball recruits has been stalking and harassing one of PSU’s female students.” He looks at the crowd as if he’s known they were there the whole time. “Don’t you think so?”

Several bystanders, who I’m pretty sure are on the baseball team, nod their heads in agreement. “Yeah, he’ll be pissed,” one of them says.

“No doubt.”

“Totally.”

“Jesus, Aaron,” a guy says, adjusting his PSU baseball cap. “What a loser. You sure as hell don’t belong here.”

Shoulders sagging, Aaron drops his head in defeat.

Dani leans closer. “There was an incident a few years ago,” she explains. “So they have a zero tolerance policy for that kind of shit.”

“I’ll meet you back at the room, Ivy.” Jon pushes Aaron forward, hustling him down the sidewalk toward the Athletic Department. The crowd follows.

“Bye, asshole,” Dani calls. “Have a nice life.”

chapter twenty-six

Look inside your heart. I’ll be waiting there.

~ From Jon’s collection of lyrics

Ivy

Early morning sunlight streams in through the dorm window. I shift slightly, trying not to disturb Jon behind me, but it’s hard. It’s a twin bed. And Jon’s not exactly small.

The Athletic Director was very interested to hear about Aaron. They were going to look into the matter and would be in touch with me.

However, as I’ve been lying here, I decide that I might stay at PSU, even if Aaron does get to stay. After yesterday, I don’t feel quite so powerless anymore. I stood up to him and didn’t back down. People believed me…and it felt great. Now that I know the truth about what happened that night, Aaron has nothing over me anymore. I have friends who support me. I wouldn’t be standing up to him on my own.

When I roll over and face Jon, the covers slip down, revealing his tattoo—the one on his ribcage, underneath his left arm. As I’m studying its intricate pattern, I suddenly feel the heat of his stare.

“Like what you see?” he asks, his morning voice extra low and sexy.

I trace my finger lightly over the black ink. “It’s very beautiful. But you’ve never told me the story behind it.”

He brushes my hair behind my ear. At first, he says nothing, and I think he’s going to change the subject again. “I told you my mother had cancer, right?”

I nod.

“She had a mastectomy and was very self-conscious about the scars. I tried to tell her that it didn’t matter, but she was convinced that no one could ever love her looking the way she did. So she decided to have the scars tattooed with vines and roses. She was scared, though, so I offered to go first. This is the tattoo I got.”

The depth of his compassion never fails to amaze me. “And what does it signify?”

“That love comes from inside, but I’m thinking of having some modifications made to it.”

“You are? Like what?”

“I’m going to have the color filled in, change the rose to red, and add some ivy leaves.”

“What for?” I ask, even though I have an idea.

“It means that my love for a girl named Ivy comes from deep inside my soul, where it will remain forever.”

Tears sting behind my eyes as I rub my hand over his chest. I don’t feel broken anymore. “God, I love you. More than I ever thought was possible.”

The breath catches in his throat as he trails a finger over my jaw. “You’re my light in a sea of darkness. You’re the reason I want to become a better person. My heart…it beats only for you.”

My hand stills. “You don’t need to become better, Jon. I love you just the way you are.”

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me even closer. I’m instantly reminded that he doesn’t wear anything to bed. “I’m so sorry for being such an ass.”

“You’ve told me that. Several times. I forgive you, baby. I really do.”

“When I got your text about going backstage, I fucking lost it. That’s how my dad and mom hooked up. He’s been pulling girls back like that for years. I was ready to rip his head off if he touched a hair on your head.”

His body is tense. I snuggle closer, kiss him in the little hollow behind his ear, and he relaxes again.

“And then afterward, when I saw you wearing his shirt, I assumed you were as star-struck by him as everyone else.”

“Shhh. I know, baby, I know. But you need to remember something, okay? The only one I’m star-struck by…is you.”

And then, in my small dorm room bed, he makes love to me again.

* * *

Jon

Some people come into your life for a reason. Like a tattoo etched on your skin, their mark ends up lasting a lifetime. You’re forever changed.

Before Ivy, I mistakenly thought I was happy—the parties, the drinking, the girls—but I was just going through the motions, keeping myself numb enough that I didn’t have to think about what I was running from.

Somehow, that beautiful, amazing girl managed to smooth the jagged edges of my heart. I’m not the angry, messed up guy I thought I was. She grounds me. Makes me believe in myself. Because of her, I am…better.

From my perch on the ladder where I’m repairing the gutters on Stella’s house, I hear the sound of Ivy’s laughter. I turn and see the two of them doing a silly dance in the driveway. Guess that means the garage sale was a success.

A powerful pride swells in my chest as I think about how she stood up to Aaron. All by her fucking self. And to think that he and his friends had been harassing her online since Chase died. When I saw him face to face, all I wanted to do was rip his fucking head off. Make him pay for what he’d been doing to her…and for what his brother did. I was on the verge of going completely ballistic, but somehow, her reasoning and logic cut through my anger. How the hell had she talked me off that ledge?

“Thirsty?”

I must’ve been lost in my thoughts for a while, because I didn’t hear Ivy approach. She’s standing at the bottom of the ladder, looking up at me with her gorgeous green eyes and holding a glass of iced tea. The late afternoon sun glints off her hair, making it look more red than brown. My breath catches in my throat.

I know this sounds corny, but I think she really believes I can hang the moon. If I want to do something, no matter how hard or difficult, she’ll assume I can do it.

Ignoring my half-full bottle of water sitting on the roof, I smile. “Yeah, I’m parched.”

I climb down the ladder and wrap an arm around her waist, drawing her body to mine. The vanilla scent of her shampoo fills my lungs, and I sigh.

Ivy McAllister will always be exactly what I need.

chapter twenty-seven

Love is the bridge between you and everything.

~ Rumi

Ivy

Three months later

I’m back in Lincoln Falls for the first time since Christmas break.

Coffee Addicts offered me a full-time job for the summer, so I took it. Since Cassidy hadn’t decided if she was coming back next year, when I heard that Reese and Kelly needed someone to rent their extra bedroom, I agreed to take it. Jon has dropped some not-so-subtle hints that he wants to move in with me. Of course I’d love that, but I haven’t told him yet. A girl needs to play hard to get sometimes, you know?

Jon picked up a few more shifts at the radio station and he started teaching guitar lessons at a music store in town. Most of his students are kids and he loves it. Although people do mention who his father is sometimes, most haven’t made a big deal about it. Probably because of how Jon handled himself in the aftermath. He’s got enough charisma and personality of his own. He doesn’t need his father for that. He told his station manager there was no way in hell he was doing an O-Twist feature, so they dropped the subject. And after telling the reporter he wasn’t interested in being interviewed, she stopped calling.

Even though I wasn’t crazy about coming back to Lincoln Falls—College View is my home now—it’s Rose’s sixteenth birthday, and I promised to come.

My mom forgot to pick up vanilla ice cream for the cake, so she sent Jon and me to the grocery store.

As we walk past the dairy aisle, Jon grabs my arm and turns me around. Just as I open my mouth to protest whatever it is he’s doing, he squirts whipped cream into my mouth.

“What the hell?” I say, but it sounds more like whah ah ell. I look around quickly to see if anyone sees us. There’s a woman about fifteen feet away examining the eggs, but I don’t think she saw us. Covering my mouth with my hand, I swallow.

“There. It’s your first real whip hit.”

I poke my fingers at that tender spot on his hip where I know he’s the most ticklish. He tries jumping backward, but the dairy case is right behind him. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“You’re no longer a virgin, Ives. It’s painful, but isn’t it worth it?”

I make that really unflattering snort slash laugh that I do sometimes. I’m really going to get him now. I reach for him again, but he dances just out of my reach, laughing. I drop my shopping basket and lunge for him.

“Sorry, Ives, I’m just too damn fast.”

“Just you wait,” I tell him, picking up the basket. “When you least expect it, expect it.” Noticing that the woman with the eggs is pushing her shopping cart in our direction, I give Jon the evil eye. “Behave,” I say to him through clenched teeth. I’d sign, but my hands are full. “Remember, people know me here.”

I stop in front of the ice cream case. As I’m trying to decide what brand to buy, Jon walks to the front of the aisle and starts looking at the magazines. I hear someone come up behind me. I stiffen. It’s not the store manager, is it, planning to bust us for doing whip hits?

“Ivy?”

I turn to see Lana Marquette, Chase’s mother.

I swallow nervously. “Hi Mrs. Marquette.” She’s always been very nice to me. Quiet, but nice.

“You must be home from school,” she says. “Are you liking it up there?”

“Yes, very much.” I suddenly feel very sad. She looks thinner than the last time I saw her, her face gaunt. It’s clear she’s been through a lot these past few years. “I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t make it to Chase’s memorial service.”

She flashes me a grateful smile. “I appreciate that, but I didn’t expect you to come. I think you were either still in the hospital or you’d just come home.”

She’s giving me an out. We both know I’d been home for almost a month by the time the service was held.

“We heard about what Aaron’s been doing to you.”

My eyes go wide. “You have?”

She presses her lips into a thin line and nods. “When his father found out that PSU pulled their offer, he called and learned what had happened. The school shared with him a few of the choicer emails Aaron had sent to you. When he confronted Aaron about it, he admitted to giving you a hard time since the accident.”

Hard time doesn’t begin to describe it, but I don’t say anything.

She pauses, her voice getting even quieter. “Chase was angry with you, wasn’t he?”

I stare at her, not sure what to say.

“You don’t need to answer that if you don’t want to. I just know that he was very upset the last time I saw him. Angrier than I’d ever seen him before.”

“I had just broken up with him.” I was about to say that it was my fault, but I stop myself. It wasn’t my fault. It was his.

She nods. “I loved my son, but that doesn’t surprise me. He had a temper just like his father’s.” She looks around nervously, then leans in a little closer. “I’d have left Ace if I had been courageous like you, but I was stupid and got myself pregnant.”

I blink a few times, unsure of what I just heard. “Stupid? You weren’t stupid, Mrs. Marquette. Sometimes accidents… Well, they just happen.” Either that, or assholes poke holes in the condoms, but I don’t say that, either.

“Good luck with everything, Ivy. You’ve got a great future ahead of you.”

I stare after her as she pushes her shopping cart away.

There but for the grace of God…

* * *

The visit with my family went surprisingly well, due in part because my father’s company won the bid and my parents were in great spirits. Jon taught my little sister how to play her favorite Taylor Swift song on the guitar, and he talked about the construction business with my dad.

On the way back to Washington, we stop for gas at a mom-and-pop store in Olive Grove that also sells old-fashioned hard ice cream and antiques. We’re sitting on a picnic table, eating our cones and looking out over the valley. The name of the town reminds me of Jon’s family.

I turn to him. Maybe now’s the right time. “Did you know that I talked to your father at the concert after they took you away?”

“Yeah, I heard that.”

“I won’t go into everything I told him, other than the fact that I didn’t mince any words. It also confirmed the fact that I’m glad he wasn’t in your life, Jon. He really is an asshole.” Ice cream is dripping down the side of the cone and onto my hand. I lick it off, then pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts.

“I did get this, however.”

“What is it?” he asks, frowning.

“Your grandparents’ phone number. Your father admitted to me that he’d never told them about you. I’m not sure how they found out about you, but they did.”

Jon stares at the number on my phone for a long time. So long, in fact, that his cone melts and he has to throw it into the bushes.

“I think you should call them,” I say quietly.

Without saying a word, he pulls out his own phone, and stares at it for what feels like forever. Then he takes a deep breath and dials. There’s a pause and then, “Grandma? This is Jon. Your grandson. Can you talk?”

I get up to give him some privacy and head back into the little store. To pass the time, I look through a tray of antique costume jewelry, but honestly, I can barely concentrate. I pray that the call goes well. Spotting a few Hummel pieces in the glass case under the counter, I absently wonder if Stella has any of them.

A few minutes later, Jon comes up from behind and wraps his arms around me.

“How did it go?” I say, turning around. His eyes are glistening. A good sign…I hope.

“They were great, Ivy. Wonderful, in fact. They want to fly out from Chicago as soon as possible to meet us.”

“Us?”

“Yes, I told them all about you. They’re as eager to meet you as they are to meet me.”

My heart feels as though it’s about to burst from my chest. “Oh Jon, I’m so excited and happy for you.”

“Thanks for knowing when to push me, Ivy.” He strokes his finger over my lips. “God, I love you.”

I cup his face in my hands and stare up into his crystal blue eyes. “And thanks for helping me discover the truth about myself. I’m not sure I could’ve done it without you.”

“You’re a strong person, Ivy. You’d have figured it out on your own.”

“Maybe so, but thanks for not letting me fall off that roof.”

He leans down to kiss me then, his lips sweet from the ice cream. “How about we fall into forever? Together. Me and you.”

I slide my arms around his neck. “Forever with you sounds just about perfect.”

THE END

Content

FALL INTO FOREVER
BETH HYLAND

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven