by Max Monroe
Which was another reason why stopping at Ruby Jane’s for a few hours was a good idea. I’d have a stiff drink, eat a burger and some fries, and call it a night once my mind stopped giving its best impression of a NASCAR driver.
My boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot as I walked toward the front of the bar. Opening the big wooden door, I stepped inside. My senses were instantly kidnapped. There was noise and chatter and people. Everywhere.
The bar was far too busy for my liking, but I swallowed down my annoyance and nodded my greeting toward what felt like half the town as I headed straight for the bar.
Small talk and pleasantries were not on my agenda. My brain was far too muddled for that tonight.
The familiarity of the bar made thoughts of Grace swirl around my mind like wisps of smoke coming from a lit cigarette. The annual party the Murphys threw every year in honor of Grace’s birthday was tomorrow—her birthday would have been tomorrow…
It was meant to remember her. To reminisce over the many memories we all shared with her. But every year, it only intensified the sting I still felt from her loss.
The jukebox in the back of the bar switched over to “Sweet Home Alabama,” and several patrons shouted their approval. People cheersed and danced and sang around me, and I couldn’t fight off the scowl that furrowed my brow and pushed my lips into a firm line.
Normally, I could drown out the crowd. Ignore the constant chatter and boisterous voices. But as I sat down on the barstool and nodded toward Lou for my usual, my ears rang with aggravation. I felt hyperalert. Like every sound around me was being processed through a fucking megaphone.
Lou slid a whiskey toward me with a soft flick of his wrist. “Bottoms up.”
“Cheers, man.” I lifted my glass and nodded toward him before taking a hearty swig. The alcohol stung as it slid down my throat, and I shook off the afterburn as I set the glass back onto the bar.
“Everything all right?” Lou asked. “Haven’t seen you around here in a while. Where ya been?”
I shrugged. “Well, considering I’ve been forced to take on another damn near full-time job in the name of a Hollywood film, it’s safe to say I’ve been a little busy.”
He scrutinized my face. I fought the impulse to cover it with my hands. I’d known Lou my whole life, and the man had a good sense of knowing when I was at war with myself.
Hell, on paper, he was my employee. Even though he physically ran Ruby Jane’s, I was the sole owner. It was the one and only thing I’d inherited from my father that I couldn’t sell off.
Well, this, and that goddamn monstrosity of a house I currently called home.
“How’s it goin’ with that film?”
“Hell if I know. I’m just there to keep things official, courtesy of Old Red,” I responded with another shrug, and Lou chuckled.
“Chief Pulse is a bit of a hard-ass, ain’t he?”
I smiled. It felt like the first time in a year. “Preaching to the choir, Lou. I’ve been dealing with Red’s tendencies my whole life.”
He smiled and wiped off the counter with a damp rag before heading toward the opposite end of the bar to serve Butch Mason and his wife Amy Marie fresh beers.
I took another swig of my whiskey and stared up at the flat-screen television above the rows of liquor bottles that were ready and waiting to feed the alcohol lovers of Cold their favorite poison.
College basketball flashed across the screen, but I couldn’t focus on anything going on in the game. I had no clue who was playing, who was winning, or how much time was left.
My mind might as well have been in China.
I only lasted another ten or so minutes before I decided that neither the whiskey nor the ambiance that was a boisterous Ruby Jane’s crowd was going to quiet my racing thoughts.
Ideas of stiff drinks and burgers and fries were no longer appealing.
I just needed to go home. Take a shower. Go the fuck to bed.
I pulled a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet, tossed it onto the bar, and nodded a goodbye to Lou.
“You leaving already, Fox?” he called from the other end, and I offered a curt nod in his direction.
“Got an early day tomorrow,” I explained as I got up from my barstool and pulled my jacket back on. “See ya around, Lou.”
Tired of thinking, tired of trying not to feel, tired of not being able to invite the numbness I’d relied on for the past several years, I made my way into the too big house that was my own.
I settled in, creating light and noise, but even with the rooms bright and the TV on, it was empty and far too quiet compared to the blaring thoughts of my mind.
I needed a distraction.
With my boots heavy and slow across the hardwood floor of my living room, I dragged my tired, out-of-sorts self into the hallway and straight into my master bedroom.
I was undressed and stepping past my half-filled walk-in closet and into the master bath scant minutes later.
The cream tile felt cool on my bare feet as I padded past the Jacuzzi tub and to the shower. I turned on the faucet and hopped inside before the water even had time to warm up.
It didn’t matter, though. I couldn’t feel a thing, not even the frigid temperature of the unheated water spraying across my aching skin.
I switched my brain to robotic mode, only focusing on the menial tasks of washing myself. Grab soap. Wash skin. Grab shampoo. Wash hair. I focused on the beautiful simplicity of each task.
And for a few easy moments, I found relief in that.
But it didn’t take long for my thoughts to catch up to me.
Visions of red hair and emerald orbs and a gaze so heated it could ignite my skin flickered and flashed behind my eyes.
My devious fucking hand found my cock after that.
And before I knew it, I was stroking my hand up and down my shaft as the sheer pleasure of it made my lids fall closed.
It felt good.
But she would feel better…
I stroked more, and my cock grew until I was rock hard in my palm.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. Her rosebud mouth. Her striking green eyes. Her perfect fucking curves. The way her curvy little ass saunters from side to side as she walks.
My head swam, and I stroked harder, faster.
The sexiest woman I’ve ever known. Her body. Her face. The rasp of her seductive fucking voice. The way she moans when I slide my tongue into her mouth.
My legs shook as the pleasure of it all started to build. I rested my free hand against the stone of the shower wall to brace myself, while the other continued to move up and down my throbbing dick.
I want to feel her wrapped around my cock.
I want to hear her moans when I slide inside of her.
I kept fucking stroking myself. I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.
Yes, Ivy.
Fucking hell. I released my cock and slammed my fist against the wet stone wall as water dripped over my eyes and fogged my vision. I couldn’t escape her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was consuming me, and I didn’t understand why.
Because you feel something.
I shut my eyes, turned around and let my head fell back against the wall as the hot water sprayed directly into my face.
I had to stop this.
I refused to let myself get off to thoughts of Ivy. I feared, if I did, there would be no going back. Once I came to the mere idea of her, there would be no possibility of ignoring the feelings that were building inside of me.
She would consume me after that.
She already consumes you.
“Fuck!” I shouted, and my booming voice echoed off the walls of the bathroom.
I tried to distract myself. I tried to wash myself again in hopes I’d forget about her for more than a few fucking minutes.
But my cock was still hard.
And I couldn’t stop picturing her mouth. Her mesmerizing eyes. Her fucking body.
With my hand to my dick again,
a tingle running down the line of my spine and an ache in my balls, I was done. I fisted my cock, stroking once, twice, three times, and by the time I’d moved my hand up and down my cock for a measly thirty seconds, I came. Hard.
My knees shook. The waves of my pleasure rolled up my spine, and I shut my eyes as a deep, guttural groan left my throat.
It was wrong. But, God, it’d felt so good.
And the intense pleasure hadn’t just come from the much-needed release.
No. It had come from the visuals. From the thoughts. The fantasies.
Of Ivy.
All eyes swung toward us like a tether ball that’d been given a hearty smack as Camilla and I stepped inside the front door of the tiny banquet hall in town.
The walls were old wood panel and the floor a well-worn parquet. The combination of the two made everything blend together and added to the effect already set in motion by nearly fifty staring partygoers—the walls were closing in.
At least, in my mind they were.
In reality, the room was spacious and open, and nothing stood between us and the main space. As soon as you stepped through the front door, you were in the action.
“Okay,” Camilla whispered, unwinding her scarf from around her neck and speaking only out of the very corner of her mouth. “Is it just me, or is everyone staring at us?”
The gawks of strangers weren’t anything new in my celebrity life, but this was different. Wholly and fundamentally. The people in this room didn’t find their fascination in my fashion or love life, but in the woman I’d been brought here to portray and my sister’s and my resemblance to her.
Today’s party was a celebration of Grace’s life and its glory, both too short by a mile. She would have been thirty-two today, and I was a walking, breathing embodiment of everything she’d never be again.
An inch of my height disappeared as the sudden weight of skepticism and expectations settled on my shoulders.
I swallowed against the knot of extraneous saliva lodged in my throat and deflected. “Just surprised to see a celebrity, Cam. You should be used to this.”
Cam, smart girl that she was, wasn’t convinced by my pathetic attempt at brushing off the giant pink elephant in the room. Hell, we both might as well have been two actual elephants in a zoo, a crowd of people standing outside the clear plexiglass of our cage, watching our every move.
So I moved before she could dwell.
Quickly, I shucked my coat, gloves, and scarf, scooted to the front corner of the room, and hung them on a hanger next to the mishmash of outerwear already littering the front closet. Camilla’s actions mirrored my own, delayed by only a few seconds.
But those few precious moments were useful as I stared at the simple movement of her arm and the flex of her muscle as she forced her coat between two others and took a deep breath.
Coming today had seemed like a good enough idea last night when Grace’s grandfather had invited me—he’d been so convincing in his assertion that everyone wanted me there.
But the light of the banquet room was harsh and fluorescent, and all of the flaws I’d been blissfully unaware of during Grandpa Sam’s pitch had developed a glare.
Some of the guests here weren’t impressed by my appearance, wit, or credentials. In fact, some of them, I suspected, were only watching in wait—ready to see me fail. A few, I feared, were actually pained by my presence.
Internally, I was worried a lot of the people standing inside this banquet hall hated me. And if that was the case, their hate wasn’t something I could control. It was solely because of my role in this film. I mean, my back-and-forth experience with Levi Fox wasn’t exactly reassuring in that light.
Although, I doubted I’d be kissing or dry humping anyone here. I reserved that behavior for him.
“Just relax,” Camilla coached like a little gnat in my ear. “Just be yourself, be kind, and be gracious. Everyone will settle into the weirdness, and then it won’t feel strange anymore.”
I nodded slightly.
I could do this. If only for the simple reason that I had to. I couldn’t erase the fact that my presence probably came with a trip down memory lane for most of the people here, and I couldn’t just walk out without saying a word. For better or worse, I had to weather this storm—for at least a little while.
Cam gave me a pat on the butt.
One slow step forward and then another, I forced myself to move toward the people, scanning the crowd for friendly faces as I did. I saw more smiles than scowls, and the reassurance helped some of the tension in my shoulders ebb. But for all of the friendliness, the search for familiarity was still alarmingly empty.
“I don’t know who anyone is,” I whispered. “I don’t even see Sam anywhere.”
Although I’d never actually met Grandpa Sam or Grace’s mother, Mary, in person, I’d had the pleasure of seeing their faces about a week ago when Sam had decided to give FaceTiming a shot.
He’d been adorable, bumbling the screen around more than he’d kept it steady, and I was thankful for Mary’s kind eyes and the way they’d instantly put me at ease.
“He’s probably in the bathroom or something,” Camilla advised. “Old guys have to pee a lot.”
My face scrunched without instruction as I turned toward her. She shrugged. “What? He probably takes a water pill, Ivy. Those things make you run like a freaking hose.”
I shook my head with a small smile, unable to keep it from making an appearance despite my disgust. “TMI, Cam. Wayyyy too much.”
A throat cleared behind me, and I flushed, frozen. Heat tingled in my cheeks and numbed the tips of my fingers as my steady breathing flashed to erratic, and the abrupt loss of oxygen made it hard to retain full body function. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that whoever was polite enough to be alerting me to their presence from behind had heard the completely absurd conversation about diuretics. And now, I had no choice but to turn and face them.
My smile was brittle, forced at the edges and unnatural in shape, but it was there—I was an actress, after all. But Grace’s mother’s was radiant.
“Thank you so much for coming, Ivy. It’s so nice to finally see you in person.”
She reached for my hand, catching it in hers and squeezing it like a life preserver. I clasped back, fairly willing to let her take my hand and keep it if that would make her feel better.
Sure, I was Ivy Stone, a famous actress from Hollywood, but not to Mary. To Mary, I was the closest thing she’d seen to her daughter in years, and a kid to the nurturing yearn only a devastated mother could feel.
“It’s so nice to see you too,” I said and meant it with every ounce of my heart. “And I’m honored to be here. I completely understand that it can’t be easy to—”
She shook her head, and the pinch of her hand grew tighter. I stopped speaking.
“No. I don’t know that I can really even…” She paused, momentarily silenced by emotion. I fought against the sting in my nose and gave her all the strength my lowly hand had to offer. “You being here is good. Just…know that. I feel the closest I’ve felt to doing something for my daughter—something that means something for her—than I have since she died. People are going to know her again. Love her. Learn from her. She’s finally got the chance to give them something I thought she’d never have.”
My throat was thick as I answered. “I’m glad. I’m doing my best to do her justice.”
Mary smiled wistfully, her mouth curling inward at the corners as she recalled a memory. “Grace was stubborn. Almost to the point of maddening. I’ll catch myself sometimes, trying to glorify all of her best qualities and smear them over the flaws. But I’m always disappointed by how hollow it makes my daughter seem. She was real. She was flawed. And she was magnificent. Keep those things about her in mind, allow them in yourself, and I have no doubt you’ll find a way to bring her to life.”
Wow. That was so nice. Grace’s mom was probably one of the coolest women I’d ever—
�
�What are we doing?” an elderly man’s voice broke in from behind us. “Trying to resurrect a ghost?” I spun quickly to face the voice, but there was no actual satisfaction in it, and Grandpa Sam made sure to point it out. “Geez, girl. Slow down. Move that fast again, and you’re liable to give me whiplash.”
“Hi, Grandpa Sam,” I said instead of arguing, smiling with genuine happiness at the opportunity to see him in person. We’d spent plenty of time calling and texting back and forth, but face-to-face contact, besides that one FaceTime call, had been nonexistent.
“Hey there, beauty.” His eyes flashed to Camilla and back to me again, widening. “And there are two of you. Well, I’ll be damned.”
I laughed. “This is my twin sister, Camilla.”
“It’s nearly blinding, doll. The two of you standing together.” Camilla and I both giggled at Sam’s compliment. “We might have to separate the two of you. Just to prevent party casualties.” I shook my head, and he spun me back around, throwing an arm around my shoulders. Mary was nowhere to be found, and instantly, I felt bad. God, I hoped she wasn’t upset that I hadn’t even—
“I can see your face headed straight for the ground like a plane on fire. Don’t lose the smile now. I’m about to introduce you to some folks who need to be charmed to be won over.”
Mary and my faux pas temporarily forgotten at his proclamation that I was about to meet people that didn’t want to meet me, I froze. “What? Why would I go over there if they don’t like me?”
He scoffed. “To win the fuckers over. Why else?”
“I really don’t want to step on any toes here, Sam. I really appreciate you—”
“Hogwash. Sometimes you gotta stomp on some toes to really wake people up.”
“Stomping on toes breaks them,” I asserted.
He shrugged. “Eh, maybe. But it’s necessary. If they don’t break the toes, they don’t go to the doctor. And if they don’t go to the doctor, they don’t mend.”
My head spun trying to keep up. “What?”
“Forget it. Just be fucking charming, okay?”
“Holy moly, Sam. Dropping f-bombs now?” I questioned with a quirk to my brow, and he just smirked like the devil in response.