by Max Monroe
I’d permanently quit the police force.
I’d move to California.
I’d start from scratch if it meant being with her for forever.
And the craziest thing of all, those things—that used to be big things—only paled in comparison to what it meant to have Ivy in my life.
I wanted and needed and loved her with everything I had.
Leaning forward, I pressed a soft kiss to her mouth because I couldn’t help myself.
When I pulled back, I found Ivy’s sleepy green eyes staring back at me.
“What are you doing?” she asked, voice raspy with sleep.
“Kissing you.”
“Isn’t it a little early for kisses, Levi?”
I shook my head. “There’s never a bad time when it comes to kissing you.”
Ivy giggled at that and glanced over my shoulder to check the time. “Jesus, it’s like seven in the morning. It’s way too early to be awake right now.”
“Speak for yourself, night owl,” I retorted. “This feels like sleeping in to me.”
She groaned and turned over on her other side, her back facing me. “Let me sleep, you crazy person.”
I moved toward her and wrapped my arm around her front, pulling her warm little body back against my chest. “I think you should wake up,” I whispered into her ear.
A few moments of silence filled the room, and I just cuddled her body into mine and savored the feel of her within my embrace.
I was fully prepared for her to moan and groan and try to swat me away, but to my surprise, Ivy turned back around, and those pretty green eyes of hers locked with mine.
“Hi,” she whispered, and I smiled.
Blond hair a mess, eyes still a little sleepy, and face natural, she was so fucking beautiful it damn near made my chest ache.
“Hi, baby.”
“I actually slept last night,” she said, and I nodded.
“You did. I’m glad. I know you needed it.”
“I even dreamed.”
I quirked a brow. “Oh, really? What’d you dream about?”
She was quiet for a long moment and she worried her lip with her teeth, but eventually, she opened up to me. “I had a dream about Camilla. We were sitting inside the kitchen of our house. Here in LA, I mean. I was cooking breakfast for us, eggs and bacon and coffee. And she just looked and sounded so damn happy. I don’t even remember what we were talking about in the dream, but it felt so real, Levi. It felt so, so real. Do you think that’s possible?” she asked. “Do you think our loved ones can come talk to us through our dreams?”
“Yeah, actually, I do,” I answered honestly. After Grace had died, I’d had more than a few dreams like that.
“Me too,” she whispered and rubbed her little nose against mine. “Can we do something today?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I know it’s going to take some arranging with security and transportation and I know I’m going to have to wear some sort of disguise because of the stupid paparazzi, but today, I want to get out and enjoy the sun. And mostly, I want to take some flowers to Camilla’s grave.”
“I like this plan,” I said because I did.
Ivy hadn’t been to her sister’s gravesite since the funeral. It hadn’t been out of neglect. She just wasn’t ready.
But today, she was, and I felt so much relief in that. Like we were really rounding a corner toward her new normal.
And, as odd as it might have sounded to someone else, I felt like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet because I’d get to be there for Ivy, at the cemetery.
Often regarded as creepy or uncomfortable, they weren’t the natural order of a place of worship. Thanks to my history with Grace, their expansive space felt different to me.
It was sacred and loving, and it was as close to holy as I’d ever get.
And today’s visit—the first visit—would mean even more.
I would get to watch her pick out flowers for her sister. I would be the one to soothe her anxious chatter in the car on our way there. The one who would get to hold her nervous hand as we walked toward Camilla’s grave.
I was her man. Her shoulder to cry on. Her pillar of strength in her times of weakness. And her biggest fucking cheerleader.
I was certain no man had ever loved a woman as much as I loved Ivy, and together, today, we’d share a moment with Camilla—and God.
Rows of tombstones stood erect in stillness to the left and right, in front and behind, like a silent city of tribute for loved ones who had left this life. Some were crumbled from weathering and age, while others were smooth marble with pristine words engraved into the stone and laid with beautiful floral tributes, no doubt placed thoughtfully by loved ones.
The cemetery was neat and tidy and clean. Manicured grass and perfectly landscaped garden beds with small benches for mourners to sit and process their emotions.
Thick ivy and rose bushes were an obvious staple throughout, and Camilla would have hated the gardeners’ preference in flowers. She pretty much despised roses, especially pink ones. She always said they were too clichéd. When she’d helped me choose flowers for our house last year, she’d all but demanded I have the landscapers plant wild flowers and Japanese cherry blossoms and a whole bunch of other flowers that were eclectic and unique and even a bit obscure.
I nearly laughed at just how much she would have bitched about those fucking pink roses as I walked toward her grave.
Levi walked beside me, his fingers intertwined with mine.
Silence stretched between us, but it was a peaceful silence. A thoughtful quietness meant to let me process and feel.
The instant I spotted the smooth marble of her gravestone, scattered thoughts and bittersweet memories of Camilla morphed into acute sadness.
By the time I reached her grave, a bouquet of wild daisies and sunflowers gripped tightly in my hands, tears flowed unchecked down my cheeks. Wild and numerous, they dripped off my chin and onto my shirt, soaking the fabric enough to stick it to my skin.
I was too sad to actually cry or sob, so I just stood there, still as a statue, holding tightly to Levi’s hand while the magnitude of Camilla’s loss swept over me.
The word sad sounded so childish, like something flimsy, something someone should be able to cast off with a happy thought or smile or hug. But this kind of sad, a raw, aching melancholy, was nothing of the sort. It sat inside my veins like a germ seed of depression, just waiting for the right conditions to grow, to send out roots that threatened to choke the hope out of my heart.
And, God, did my heart ache.
It throbbed. It stung. It twisted and turned erratically. Whenever Camilla’s death really hit me, it felt like someone had reached inside my chest with a meat hook and shredded my heart to near pieces.
Right now, the realization of her loss hit me hard.
I let go of Levi’s hand slowly, the tingle of the newly released nerves alerting me to just how tight a grip I’d had on it, and sat down in front of her grave.
Levi gave me the space and the silence I needed to get my thoughts together.
Fingers skimming, I touched the curves of her name in the stone and swallowed.
“God, I miss you, Cami,” I whispered, the smooth silk of my voice cracked by the constant flow of tears. “I miss you so much that some days I can hardly get myself out of bed. Some days…” I shook my head and pressed my palm flat to the cool stone. “Some days it feels impossible to live in a world without you in it.”
I set the bouquet beside her gravestone and stared down at the freshly cut grass. I ran my fingers through the manicured blades and silently wondered if my sister could hear me or see me or feel me.
Just then, the warmest, softest breeze blew past me and urged goose bumps onto my skin.
I hope it’s a sign.
“I dreamed about you last night,” I went on, hoping if I kept talking to her, she’d give me something else to know she was there. “I can’t tell
you how good it felt to see your smiling face again. To talk to you and laugh with you and make you eggs. I hope you’ll keep coming to see me in my dreams. It makes me feel so close to you. It makes me feel like you’re still here.”
I reached out and ran my fingers across the letters of her engraved name again.
“Levi and I had dinner with Mom and Dad last night,” I whispered. “They miss you too, Cami. So much. So, so much. We spent most of the night reminiscing about our happiest memories with you.” I laughed. “There were some good ones. Like the time you snuck out to meet Tommy Tiller for an overnight date and then came home with his blood on your knuckles because he tried to get up your skirt. Dad still thinks it’s one of his proudest moments as a father.”
A shaky sigh escaped my lips, and my tears slowed until they no longer flowed down my cheeks in waves, instead, only shining my eyes and fogging my vision a little.
I blinked past the emotion and lifted my arm up to swipe the residual dampness from my cheeks.
“You’ll always be a part of me, Cam. Even though you’re not physically here, you’re still in my heart. You’re my sister. My identical twin. My soul’s other half. No matter how much time passes, those things will never change.”
I stood up from my spot in the grass and rested my fingertips on top of her gravestone. “I’m sorry this happened to you and I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you and I’m sorry it was my career that brought this tragedy into our lives. It’s been really hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that you aren’t alive because you were my identical twin. And it’s been even harder to comprehend that my sister, my best friend, my favorite person in the whole wide world willingly sacrificed her life for mine. I am so thankful and so fucking mad that you did that. But I know, if the roles had been reversed, I would have done the same thing for you.”
Just saying those words out loud urged what felt like a thousand pounds to lift from my shoulders. Instantly, I knew coming to visit my sister’s grave was the best, most rational decision I’d made in weeks.
If anything, it made me feel closer to her. It helped me search for the much-needed peace and closure. I had a feeling it would be a very long time before I’d ever really find peace in anything related to losing my sister, but it was important that I searched for it.
“I hope you’ll keep visiting me in my dreams. I love you so much, sis. And I miss you even more.”
After one long, quiet gaze down at her gravestone, I turned on my heels and searched the space adjacent. Levi sat several feet behind me, on a bench beneath a big oak tree.
His eyes never left mine as I closed the distance. “You okay?” he asked when I stopped in front of him. I nodded.
“I’m getting there, but I’m really happy I came here today.”
“I’m glad to hear that, baby.” He offered a soft, wistful smile and got to his feet.
One of his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, he led us back toward the waiting SUV, and the instant we got inside, he gripped my hand in his.
“Should we grab some breakfast?” he asked, but before I could answer, my phone started ringing loudly from inside the purse at my feet.
I pulled my cell out of the front pocket and checked the screen.
Incoming Call: Mariah
A quick accept and I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mariah. How are you?”
“Listen, I have good news,” she said, bypassing greetings altogether.
Good news? That seemed like a fucking oxymoron these days.
“What are you talking about?”
“I got you a meeting with someone who is very willing to talk to you about your quest to stop Cold from being released to the public,” she said.
“Really?” I asked, and my brow rose up to my forehead in surprised excitement. “Who?”
“June Gatto.” The name immediately clicked into place in my mind.
June Gatto. The screenwriter on Cold.
Holy shit. That was good news.
“Seriously?”
“Can you be at her office Friday at two?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then it looks like you’ve got a pair of willing ears that will hopefully understand your concerns about Cold being released to the world.”
Thank God.
We ended our call shortly after that, and Levi looked over at me, his brow raised in curiosity. “What’s going on?”
“June Gatto, the screenwriter on Cold. We’ve got a meeting with her Friday,” I said, and it only confused him more.
“Is Mariah going with you?”
I shook my head. “No, but I’m hoping you will. I really need you there, Levi.”
I’d made the mistake of trying to go it alone before, but I was done with that now. I needed his support and guidance.
“You want me to go to the meeting with you?”
“Not want, Levi. Need. I need you there.”
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead softly. “Then, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Celebrity EXTRA
Ivy Stone Spotted at Her Sister’s Gravesite
May 16th, 2016
The sun was shining down on a newly blond Ivy Stone as she sat beside her sister’s gravesite after placing a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers and sunflowers in tribute yesterday.
An inside source revealed she stayed at the cemetery for an hour or so, before leaving hand in hand with her boyfriend, Levi Fox.
Later in the day, paparazzi spotted them enjoying a breakfast on La Sur’s terrace. Ivy appeared happy and at ease while she ate her meal and chatted with her boyfriend over pancakes and coffee.
This leaves us all wondering and hoping that the Ivy Stone we’ve come to know and love is slowly finding herself again amid the tragic loss of her sister, Camilla.
May 20th, 2016
I’d only been in LA for a couple of months, but I’d quickly found out the traffic here was a fucking mess. We’d left the hotel over an hour ago, and what should have been a quick, twenty-minute drive had turned into sitting in gridlocked traffic for nearly forty-five minutes.
The driver headed down the ramp to the parking garage located in downtown LA, and Ivy fidgeted beside me. Her knee bounced erratically, and she kept tapping the tips of her fingers across the top of her black dress pants.
She was a little ball of nervous tension and anxiety.
The anticipation of meeting with Cold’s screenwriter in hopes that someone could assist with her desire to stop the movie from being released to the public had gifted Ivy with another night of restless sleep.
Her exhaustion showed through the soft, dark circles under her eyes and the raspy, tired tone of her voice.
But it was apparent she wasn’t thinking about being tired or wanting to go back to bed right now. She was far too amped up, and adrenaline had taken over.
The SUV pulled to a stop in front of the basement entrance of the garage, and I looked over at Ivy. She worried her teeth against her lip ruthlessly, cutting at the delicate skin with the sharp point of her canine. I reached out to steady her still-tapping fingers and hopefully curtail the damage to her lip.
“You ready?”
A deep sigh escaped her lungs. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
I clasped her hand in mine. “Just remember that no matter what happens, no matter what the outcome is, we’re going to get through it, okay?”
She nodded, resolute. “Okay.”
A minute later, we were out of the vehicle and in the elevator.
And a few minutes after that, June Gatto’s assistant greeted us at the entrance of the sixth floor.
“Hi, I’m Fiona,” she said, standing in the entryway, her body clad in a pristine business suit and her hair pulled up in a tight bun. Her voice, her smile—it was all fake and phony, but I’d become accustomed to that kind of bullshit since I’d been staying in LA with Ivy.
I was a man who’d take blunt over sugarcoated any fucking day of the week, a
nd the insincere smiles and pretentious behavior grated on my goddamn nerves.
“June is in her office finishing up a last-minute conference call, but she’ll be ready shortly,” she updated as she led us into an open and airy room where lush couches, clear glass tables, and big potted plants highlighted the space. “Please, sit down, make yourselves comfortable.” She gestured toward the room. “Can I get you anything to drink while you wait? Espresso? A glass of champagne?”
A glass of fucking champagne?
Jesus Christ, these people lived in a fantasy world.
Both Ivy and I declined and sat down on one of the cream velvet sofas.
I looked around the space and tried to picture a man like Chief Pulse in a room like this. He would’ve damn near had a stroke hearing someone offer champagne at a business meeting, much less fucking espresso.
I nearly laughed at the thought.
Ivy picked up a magazine from the table, but she quickly threw it back onto the glass surface with a sigh.
I glanced down to find the magazine in question—a fucking gossip rag—actually had her face splashed across it. The headline read: Ivy Stone’s Secret Battle with Depression.
Secret battle with depression? What a load of fucking bullshit.
This woman was grieving the death of her sister. A death that had occurred at the hands of a man who had a sick fascination with Ivy. If that didn’t push anyone toward some emotional trauma, I didn’t know what would.
Yet this celebrity gossip magazine felt it was their right to use someone’s pain to increase their fucking readership.
It was completely messed up.
Anger filtered into my veins and tingled inside my hands. I flexed my fingers against the discomfort and did my best to push the emotion away.
Now wasn’t the time to let anger and rage fester, especially over a goddamn gossip magazine I had no control over.
I was here to be a pillar of support for Ivy, not get her worked up even more than she already was.
With a strong and steady hand, I reached out and patted the top of Ivy’s bouncing knee. She glanced over at me, and a pitiful laugh left her lungs.