It’s late. I should be focused on about a million other things, but Ivy curls around my mind like a vine. I now understand the reason for Grace’s nickname.
The woman has me by the balls and doesn’t even know it. That little stunt with Hunter earned her a punishment. A punishment I knew she’d enjoy. One I enjoyed.
That’s the thing with her and I. The very fiber of my being always knows exactly what she needs. Our connection shouldn’t make sense, but it does.
I’m always ready for combat. Quick to react. Suspicious of everyone. Ready for the kill.
And then, there’s Ivy. Too trusting for her own good. Kind and generous, even when it’s to her own detriment. Checking in on my humanity isn’t exactly on my bucket list. Ivy, on the other hand, cares so much for others, I imagine she’s a hop, skip, and jump from selling her own blood to get the necessary meds for Grace.
Ivy is the embodiment of good, and I am the antithesis. If opposites attract, we must be a super magnet.
For hours, I’ve stared at the computer screen and accomplished nothing. I’d rather be watching over my girl.
From my office, I can see Ivy curled up in the window seat, reading. The book is big and thick and looks like a textbook. Didn’t she pawn all her books?
It’s late, and she’s probably winding down. I don’t know what comes over me, but before I know it, my cell is in my hand, thumb on her number. I watch from my window, interest piqued as she stares at her phone, motionless. Answer it already. Is she seriously thinking about it?
After the third ring, and seconds from going to voicemail, she gives in, smiles, and picks up. “Hello?” she answers as if she has no idea who I am.
“You took your time answering the phone.”
“You took your time calling me.” She’s got me there. “A little past your bedtime, isn’t it?” Her voice is angelic as she yawns through a stretch.
My cock throbs to attention. “I had a hunch you might be up.”
Ivy wiggles her fingers out the window, waving hello. She knows full well I can see everything she’s doing. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”
“I guess it’s a shame neither of us drinks.”
“Yes. A shame.” She makes herself comfortable, settling back on the window seat and picking up her book. “Reading helps,” she offers.
“You don’t say. What are you reading?” She holds the book up to the window. “My vision isn’t bionic.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t have binoculars at the ready.”
Binoculars in hand, I focus and read the title aloud. “Trust after Trauma: Breaking Down Barriers and Building Relationships. So, you enjoy a little light reading on a Saturday night.” I guess she got her books back.
I turn the knob and amplify the magnification. What’s that little tag at the bottom of the spine? I magnify it more. What are those? Numbers? 616.852.
A library book.
I watch as she shrugs. “Did you know distrust is a self-defense mechanism?”
“Why do I feel like you’re about to shrink my brain?”
She giggles. “Like with a ray gun?”
“Something like that.”
“Wrong, Mr. Zamparelli.” She rolls her Rs. God, that’s a turn on. “I’m going to dissect your beautiful mind, one invasive question at a time. Bwahahahaha.” Her laugh is diabolical. And fun. And after the day I had, I’m up for a little fun.
But not for free. “Well, Ms. Palmer, if I’m about to become your guinea pig, I’m going to need something in return.”
“Mm-hmm,” she replies, scandal lacing her tone.
“Not sex.”
“Boo,” she scoffs with a frown.
“Here’s how this works, Dr. Palmer. Ask me anything. I’ll respond. Truthfully. Honestly.”
“Completely?” she asks with a tone of skepticism.
I don’t answer. And not because I don't want to answer period, but because I don't want to lie to Ivy. Not now. Still, I push back. “Completely could take weeks. Maybe months.”
“Maybe years,” she replies, holding up a pen and a fresh notebook. “Fine. We’ll stick with truthfully and honestly.”
“And once I've answered your questions, you’ll answer mine. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal,” she says with enough enthusiasm, my heart flips in my chest. It’s been years since I've been nervous. A wave of flutters run through my gut. Ivy does this to me, and I kind of like it.
She begins. Her first question blindsides me so hard, I choke. “What was your wife like?”
I take a deep breath in, releasing it in a slow stagger of thought. I don’t discuss Lori. But with the length of two football fields between us and the genuine curiosity in her voice, the cinder blocks of my defenses fade away.
“What was Lori like?” I start the way all snowballs start. Slow and steady. “Where do I begin? Lori was fun. Full of life. She never took anything too seriously. Never needed much. Life with her was as carefree as it was calm.” I pause for a long stretch. Ivy gives me all the time I need. “I loved her with all my heart.”
I'm sure Ivy can hear the sadness in my voice. “Leo, I’m sorry. We don’t have to—”
“It’s okay.” And surprisingly, it is. Somehow, I always thought speaking her name would feel like my soul would turn to ash from the pain of a white-hot flame.
I’m still here.
I do something stupid and brave and something I haven’t done in years. I pull up pictures of Lori. Happy ones. The ones that hurt the most.
If Ivy would just say one word, it would be enough of a speedbump for me to stop talking. And part of me thinks I should stop talking. But with Ivy quiet and patient, my thoughts have nowhere to hide. Ivy is a great listener. And I’m a shredded human being trying to shoulder a lot of messed up shit.
I keep going. “The worst part about losing someone you love is that most people don’t understand. It’s not something you get over or move on from. It’s a hole. A big, gaping hole in your life that you can work around or try to hide, but it never goes away.”
I pause. She says what they all say. “Go on.”
The momentum releases with a force I can’t stop. “Every once in a while, you trip and fall through it, and for a second, all the pain, all the sorrow, all the fucked up thoughts are gone because for one fleeting moment, you forget. You forget they’re gone. And when you realize it again, it’s like filling the hole with kerosene and lighting a match. The pain never goes away. It’s just not burning me every second of every day.” When the splash hits the face of my phone, I wipe it off, only then realizing I’m crying. I kill the photos and the torturous stroll down memory lane. The phone feels like a rock in my hand, and I nearly hurl it against the wall. But then, I hear it.
Traces of a sound through the phone. I raise my binoculars until Ivy is in view. She’s covering her face. She’s crying, too.
I clear my throat and move us along. “All right, Ms. Palmer. Your turn.”
She sniffs and grabs a tissue. “Yes. My turn.” Her voice chippers up. “Ask me anything.”
There are so many questions I could ask in this moment. But there’s one I need the answer to, and only she can give it to me. “Why are you paying for Aunt Grace’s prescriptions? Your payment plan in insane. There’s no way you can keep up.”
“How do you know about that?”
“It’s my job,” I say flatly. I know that won’t fly. “I know a lot about you, Ivy. Some from investigating. Some from your Aunt Grace. Some from just paying attention to all the things that lift you up and drag you down. I know that you do the things you do. But all the investigating in the world will never tell me why.”
“Because I love her.”
“You love her enough to give up your entire paycheck.”
“She loved me enough to give up hers.” Ivy is quiet. I give her all the time she needs to open up. And I sit there and listen. “She and Uncle Jerry gave up their life’s savings for me.”
I say nothing. I know exactly what she’s talking about but pretend I don’t. “Oh?”
“Aunt Grace tried to adopt me years ago. My mother strung her along forever. It was the entire reason she and Uncle Jerry moved to Chicago. Found a great job where they could rebuild their nest egg. And they needed the benefits.”
“Her health insurance.” I take another breath. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“And I don’t feel indebted, Leo. I feel…loved. There’s no other way to say it. Why do you do what you do? Give up your nights and weekends…your life for the D’Angelos? Isn’t it for love?”
“Ivy, I—” It’s then that I look up and realize I'm not alone. I catch the long tail of Enzo’s shadow lurking from the hall.
“I’m here for you, Leo. You can talk to me about anything. Even about your wife.”
Ivy’s paddling out to me in a life raft at the worst possible time. I have no options. There's only one thing to say. “I have to go.” I don’t let her get another word in. I disconnect before Enzo gathers any more ammunition. “You need something?” I ask.
Enzo leans on the door, studying me. I shut the drapes. Who knows how long the nosy fuck has been listening? “Just getting a nightcap.” He swirls a glass of whiskey in the air.
His stare is unnerving. “What?” I snap.
“You were…smiling.” He makes a sour face.
“So?”
“You never smile.”
“Maybe it’s just you. You tend to bring out the worst in people.”
He makes himself comfortable, sitting at the desk and rummaging through the contents. None of what’s in there is mine, so I shouldn’t care. Still, I make a mental note to wipe his pillowcase with my ass later. Just because. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“Who’s Ivy?” I hate the way he says her name. As if she’s a long trail of honey he’s dying to lick. It makes me want to take a nail gun to his tongue.
“She’s Trinity’s caretaker,” I reply, apathetic and unconcerned.
He cocks his head. “Since when did Trinity get a caretaker?”
I shake my head, staring him down like the idiot he is. “Weeks ago. If you’d bother checking in on her more than once every millennium, you’d know more about the life of your little sister.”
He waves his hand, bored. “That’s Smoke’s job.” The table at the end of the room holding a chessboard grabs his attention. With a single finger, he summons me, inviting me to play as he slides a pawn to the next square. “I hear you’ll be at Smoke’s side at Erede al Trono.”
I move my own pawn. “And?”
“That’s quite the honor—for one who isn’t family.” I say nothing, and he makes another move. With free access, I scoot a bishop across the board. The pieces flow quickly. Enzo is skilled at chess. Bummer for him, I’m better.
Locking his queen in under eight moves, I let him stew over the board while I talk. “I know this will come as a shock to you, Enzo, but Smoke genuinely likes me. We’re friends. This isn't just a role for his chief of security. Being by his side is an honor.”
“So, you’re not here to block my takeover of the estate?”
I clasp my hands. “Smoke’s my best friend. I’ll be there to support him as he accepts the honor of a dozen generations of D’Angelos.” I lean in. “Cock blocking you is just icing on the cake.”
Enzo snags my bishop, pointing it at me. “Careful, Z. I own half of Chicago and have a massive stake in the free world. From toy shops to tank manufacturers and all the little commodities in between.” He knocks over my pawn, giving his bishop room for the space. “Bad things happen to men who stand in my way.”
I stand with a finger on my queen. I warn him with a glare. “Is that supposed to scare me? Here’s something for you to remember. When all hell breaks loose, I’m the son of a bitch who reassembles it. You don’t have to threaten me. I’m here to cover the asses of all the D’Angelos. Even yours.”
I flick my queen over, sacrificing her to make a point. Enzo stands her back up. “We’re not finished.” His grin is convincing. The fucker thrives on this shit.
“I am.” I say nothing else and simply walk away.