by J. Saman
Tilting my chin up to look him squarely in the eye, I say ever so calmly, “Did you know that I never knew you had a sister?” My eyes narrow. “Are you aware that I know absolutely nothing about you? Nothing.”
He sighs like this deflates him completely. “I know. I’d like to change that. I have so much to tell you, baby, and I wish you’d give me that chance. I want to tell you. I want to tell you things I’ve never told anyone. I thought a lot about this all week—all year—and though it won’t be easy, I think maybe, possibly, I’d like to try. I would have told you sooner, but I’ve was afraid you’d leave me if I did.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Okay, I’m lying. I didn’t want to tell you and I still don’t, but I’m willing to if that’s what you need. I’m willing to put almost everything out there for you.”
“Almost everything?”
“This isn’t the place for this, and in all honesty, I hadn’t planned to have this conversation with you yet. I just wanted to see you. That was all. But I realize the only way you’d ever consider trying again with me is if I tell you. If you decide to leave me for good after that, then I’ll understand and I’ll let you go. For real. I want you happy, Ivy, and if you feel that you can’t have that with me, then I guess I have to come to terms with that.” He’s practically rambling now and I’m having trouble keeping up. “But I can’t tell you everything. There are things I may never be able to tell you. That’s why I let you leave. I was trying to protect you. I was trying to do the right thing for once. But I’m not noble and I’m not good for you. I’m a danger to be near and you’re so pure and sweet and innocent and I’m . . . not.”
“You’re not making any sense right now.”
“I know.” He grins, though this doesn’t feel like the moment for levity. “Let me cook you dinner tonight, and we can talk.”
“I need to think about it. And I need you to leave because now I’m really running late and I’ll hardly have enough time to exercise before my shift.”
“I’ll walk you down,” he says, removing his arms from my wall and taking my hand.
I know I should pull away.
I know I should push him out the door and lock it and never look back.
That’s what the smart, responsible Ivy is telling me to do anyway, because his little speech back there? Yeah, that’s setting off all sorts of warning bells. He had mentioned some of that to me before when we took that nightmare of a ride on the Big Wheel.
He’s afraid I’ll leave him if I know the truth.
He’s a danger to be near.
He’s not good.
All of those should have me running from him, yet I’m oddly intrigued.
It’s like solving a mystery or finishing a ridiculously complex puzzle. Certain things are impossible to walk away from until you know how they finish, and Luke Walker may just be one of those things for me.
We step into the empty elevator and I press the button for the second floor where the gym is located, because now I don’t have enough time to go out for a run. The second the doors close, I feel that indescribable electric current. That palpable tension that sends your heart into overdrive and the best sort of tingles to hum all over your body.
He feels it too. I know he does, because his breathing has become erratic and his fingers twitch against my hand with restraint. He wants to grab me. He wants to push me into this wall and have at me. He wants to—
“Screw holding back,” he mutters before he does every one of those things all at once.
Luke grasps my shoulders, pushing me into the unforgiving elevator wall before he presses his long muscular body against mine. His hands cup my cheeks, drawing my face to his before he slams his lips to mine.
I gasp in a flash of surprise, but that sensation is instantly replaced with passion and desire, and fucking longing. He’s kissing me like he’s reclaiming me. Like he’s branding me to him, removing every single one of my arguments with each pass of his lips.
It’s so unbelievably easy to push sensible, sane judgment aside when you want something. It’s so unbelievably easy to rationalize why something that feels so right is not a mistake.
So that’s what I do, because that’s how he feels, like the best sort of mistake.
Moving on from someone or something that feels unfinished is impossible.
And that’s what Luke is.
Unfinished.
How do I turn away from that?
“Ivy,” he moans against my mouth as he delves deeper, gliding his tongue against mine. Holding me firmly in place, his body and hands shake with need. “Oh baby, I’ve missed you so goddamn much,” he groans against my lips before his mouth consumes mine again, his hard body pressing into me in a way that should be illegal. In a way that’s so unbelievably satisfying I can hardly stay upright.
A moan slips out from the back of my throat, which he greedily swallows down before the bell on the elevator dings, announcing our arrival on the second floor.
I push him back, that bell the slap of realization I needed.
Luke licks his lips as if he’s savoring my flavor before taking my hand and pulling me off the elevator like a small child in need of assistance. Maybe I am, because my legs feel like jelly and walking is a chore.
Wordlessly, he leads me down the hall, past the indoor pool and over to the gym before he presses me up against the wall adjacent to the glass door. He’s smiling at me like the cat who ate the canary, and though I don’t want to, I mean really don’t want to, I’m smiling back.
“I’ll see you tonight. Eight-thirty?”
“No.”
“No?” he chuckles, hovering over me.
“No,” I repeat.
“Why not?” He’s still smiling, but his expression is incredulous.
“Because eight-thirty is too late. I need to eat before that.”
“Okay,” he laughs, leaning into my neck and blowing his warm breath against my already heated skin. “What time does my girl want to eat then?”
“I’m not your girl, and I’d like to eat at seven-thirty.”
“Seven-thirty it is not-my-girl. Anything in particular you’d like?”
“It’s your house, Luke, you decide the food.”
“But not sushi,” he grins. “Who was the asshole last night?”
I’m shocked it’s taken him this long to ask.
“My date,” I say simply.
“Elizabeth told me he hit on her after we ran out, so I don’t think he’s the guy for you.”
“Probably not,” I muse, thinking back on Roberto. “Will Elizabeth be there tonight? Do I get to meet her?”
Luke shakes his head. “No, she only stopped here because Seattle was her layover. She’s on business in Juno, Alaska of all places this week. You can meet her when she stops in on her way back.”
I rest my head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as I let out a sad sigh. Where did my vigor go? Where is my perfectly crafted and calculated resolve to hate this man forever?
“Is she your only sibling?”
“Yes, she is.” The hard note to his words has me dropping my chin to read his expression.
“And your parents?” His eyes turn to granite and I can only watch as he shuts down.
“Not here, Ivy. I can’t—” He breathes out harshly. “Fuck, I have to work myself up to that and even then I don’t know if . . .” He steps back, lowering his head to look at the tan carpet, his clenched fists perched on his hips. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Do what?” I take a step toward him.
“Tell you about my family. Tell you about me.” He spins around and slams his fist into the wall–his injured hand at that–but he just shakes it out like it was nothing. Thankfully, the wall is no worse for the wear. “Dammit.”
“Luke?” He doesn’t move, but his shoulders are rising and falling like he just sprinted a marathon. “Look at me, please,” I say evenly.
It t
akes him a moment, but he does.
He twists back around and looks me dead in the eyes. His jaw is locked tight and his hands are balled into such tight fists that his knuckles are white, except for one that is oozing a little blood again.
“Go home and shower. You’re a mess from sleeping outside in the hall all night and your hand could use a new bandage. Then you need to go to work. Then you need to cook me something really fantastic—like lasagna.” I get a hint of his lopsided grin, dimple and all. “We’ll chat and you’ll tell me some stuff, and I’ll tell you some stuff, but there are no promises or guarantees here. This last year was rough, and I don’t know if I can look past that.”
He nods, but doesn’t say anything else before he stalks off down the long corridor and into the elevator that never left.
And once I’m clear of his spell, once I can no longer smell him or feel him against me or see those brown eyes that seem to look into me instead of at me, I regret agreeing to dinner.
He says he wants to talk to me, to tell me things, but he doesn’t.
He says he’s changed, but he hasn’t.
And maybe he does love me. Maybe he’s serious when he says that, but I’m not sure it really matters.
The first time he walked out my door, I didn’t exactly put too much thought into it, even though I was hurt. I mean, it was a one-night stand after all, and I was foolish for expecting more.
But the second time nearly destroyed me and I can’t do that to myself again. I just can’t.
I had a professor at university who once told me that love and fear are the only things that make the world work. Of course, being young and impetuous, I challenged that notion instantly, but he explained that often times it’s the love of something—like money, material possessions, or power—and the fear of losing them, that command people to act. That love and fear are really the only two things that can forever alter a person, whether for the better or worse.
That theory has always stuck with me, and every now and then, I find myself trying to refute it.
But right now, those are the only two emotions warring inside of me.
Love and fear.
Both equally, because I still love Luke. I really do. I might not fully understand it, but I’m so absolutely terrified of what that love will do to me to the point where I’m nearly paralyzed by it.
So do I try again?
Do I put myself out there and attempt to overcome my fear? Or do I allow it to keep me safely tucked away from its creator?
Chapter 30
Luke
I get a text at five to eight from Ivy saying she’s here. She called earlier to tell me she was running late and that was fine with me. I’m anxious to see her, but I needed the extra time to think this through some more.
I’ve never done this before. I’ve never told my story. And it’s still not something I want to do now. At all.
But the simple reality is that I love her, and if I want her to trust me, to give me another chance, there really can’t be anything like this between us.
I’m nervous as hell. My heart is thrashing wildly in my chest and sweat is slicking the skin at the back of my neck.
I can do this.
I don’t have a choice if I want a shot at a future with her. I want what Kate and Ryan have.
It’s funny, I never thought I’d be one of those people. Always figured I’d be single and alone. Not in a depressing, my life sucks and I’m unworthy way, but I just never figured I’d find someone.
Never really believed in love, if I’m being honest.
Happily ever after always seemed like a sucker’s bet.
I certainly never witnessed it growing up, and my first real taste of anything remotely embodying love came through Kate. The first time I saw Kate and Ryan together, it was no secret that they loved each other with all their hearts. I saw it when Kate left him and Ryan was a miserable bastard, but I wrongfully assumed it would pass and he’d move on.
I presumed that’s what people did when something didn’t work out the way they intended. They moved on. That logic makes me want to laugh, because clearly I have never been so wrong.
But Kate . . . man, that woman set me straight, long before Ivy came into the picture.
She recounted her marriage to her deceased husband Eric to me. How she had been with him since they were just kids and the extent to which they loved each other—really loved each other. I scoured through her pictures and listened with rapt attention to her stories, and for the first time in my life, I saw what a real family was supposed to be like.
I saw what love was supposed to be like.
What a marriage actually was.
It’s a partnership. It’s knowing you’re never alone and that you have someone to love you unconditionally. That was also a foreign concept to me, but by watching Kate and Ryan together and hearing Kate’s story, I started to get it. Long for it.
And now they’re blissfully expecting twins, their relationship stronger than I’ve ever seen it.
I knew eleven years ago when I met Ivy that she was something special. Something worth committing to and having, but I was twenty and engrossed in uncertainty and felony charges.
Now I’m thirty-one and I want her forever.
I want my ring on her finger and my baby growing in her belly. I want her here with me every single day, and in my bed every single night.
I want that shot at normal that she’s so desperate for, and I don’t even think it’s boring.
Fuck, after more than a decade of too much excitement, boring sounds like a heavenly respite. Like a dream come true. If that’s the life my girl wants, I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen for her.
I doubt I’ll ever be able to fully walk away from Ronaldo or the company, but it’s not nearly what it used to be. Truth be told, I sort of enjoy it now, but maybe the middle ground I now exist in can be the perfect compromise.
I don’t know, but fuck it all if I’m not going to try.
I buzz Ivy in, unlocking all the doors and watching her enter and head toward the stairs. She’s nervous. I can tell because she’s chewing on the corner of her lip.
Opening the door wider, I pull her into me, and for the first time in a year, she doesn’t pull away.
“You smell like the hospital,” I tease.
She playfully smacks my chest. “Not my fault. You told me to come over right after work. I can shower if you’d like.”
“Nah, you must be hungry. I can deal with a little hospital stink.”
“Good, because it smells amazing in here and I don’t think I could wait much longer to eat.”
She pushes me away, heading for the kitchen. I smile like a stupid bastard as I shut the door behind her, my nerves on hiatus for the moment. Having her here with me seems to do that. It’s been a long time coming.
She pops a piece of cheese into her mouth from the tray I have set out on the counter and pours herself a glass of red wine. I love that she’s making herself at home.
“Bloody hell, I could eat the whole house. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
“Then sit your adorable ass down, and I’ll feed you.”
Ivy moves over to the dining table that I have set and waiting, looking around the apartment as if she’s expecting something to be different since she was last here. Nothing is, and once she realizes that, I see a small smile pull up at the corner of her lips.
“I made you that pesto chicken lasagna you like.”
She beams at me for remembering, and I can’t even begin to describe what that feels like.
Ivy eats everything I put on her plate times two. She’s voracious and I enjoy the hell out of watching her eat like that.
“That was so good.” She takes a sip of her wine before setting the nearly empty glass down. Her eyes spot something across the kitchen on the counter by the stove. “Are those . . .” She sits up further, leaning forward against the table that serves as a restraint. “Are those Tim Tams?�
� She’s smiling like a little girl as she gets up and flies across the kitchen. “Is this a bribe, Luke? Are you trying to butter me up here or what?”
“I am.” That’s really not a lie. I’m hoping to get her high on food so she’s content and too full to run away.
“Bugger, this must be bad.” She walks back with the entire package in her hand, shoving a cookie into her mouth and groaning out her pleasure as she chews. “Yum, these remind me of home.”
“Come and sit with me by the fire.” She stops chewing with a mouthful of cookies. It would be adorable if I wasn’t so edgy. I’ve never told anyone the things I’m going to tell her, and just thinking about them makes me want to throw up.
Ivy swallows hard, setting her cookies down on the dining room table almost absentmindedly, her expression stoic and her features wooden. I turn on the fire through the app in my phone and it starts with a whoosh as the flames come to life.
Sitting down on the couch, Ivy follows, taking off her sneakers before sinking down. She lays her head back against cushions, wrapping the throw blanket over her legs and chest. It’s like she’s settling in for a story, which I guess she is, but her getting comfortable tells me she has no interest in leaving me once she hears it.
At least that’s what I’m hoping that means.
My heart is hammering away and I know hers is too because she takes my hand, resting it on top of her chest so I can feel it thrum beneath my palm. It’s such a small gesture, but it means everything to me. She’s in this with me and that gives me the necessary courage to start my story.
Taking the deepest of breaths, dread fills my chest and clouds my vision with tormented memories I wish I could forget.
Our eyes lock.
“I grew up in Oklahoma in a small farming town where people had their land, Jesus, and not a whole lot else. My family was worse off than most because my father had a penchant for gambling and a knack for losing,”
I sigh, already needing a fucking break. Jesus Christ this is so damn hard.
“Go on,” she whispers.
I nod, my eyes staring sightlessly at the glowing fire. “It’s not like you can go on food stamps because your father is a degenerate gambler, and my mother refused to seek help because she was too proud to allow the neighbors to know what they already suspected, so we went hungry a lot.” That thought makes me shake my head. I still don’t know how my mother did that to us. “My earliest memory was when I was three and my father beat my mother to the point where she was unconscious on our kitchen floor. And the first time I remember him hitting me I was no older than four, though I know that wasn’t the first beating I sustained. My mother used to try and intercede a bit, but that stopped after my father beat her into the hospital for doing it.”