Terrified, I stare at the needle.
It’s large and scary, not that I’m particularly afraid of needles. But Smoke has already bandaged my hand, so what’s he doing with it?
Smoke looks at the massive needle and waves it in my face. “It’s time you and I had a little talk.”
Blood pounds loud in my ears, deafening me. I look around. Smoke took Mr. Whiskers when he bandaged my hand. Now, he’s gone.
Lightheaded and dizzy, my palms begin to sweat. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing you won’t want.”
“I don’t want a lawn dart in the arm. Polite pass.” I squirm as he stares at me. He’s trying to intimidate me, and his scare-the-hell-out-of-Ivy tactic is working. With controlled breaths, I steady my nerves. I need to remain calm. “Just let me go.”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “A lawsuit. Really? Even if you left now, there’s nowhere to run. You started this, Ivy. And I am going to finish it.”
Smoke holds out his own arm and hands me a rubber tourniquet.
I swallow hard. “You want my help shooting up?”
Smoke deadpans. “You worked in assisted living. Can you tie a tourniquet?”
I have no choice. My fingers tremble at first, but Smoke waits it out as I secure it the way I was trained. When I’m done, I sit and wait, nervous to see what he does next.
Smoke takes the needle, and carefully inserts it into his arm. He’s casual as he fills the small vial of blood. “You’re not the first long-lost relative to come knocking. But I’ll give you credit, you’re the first to make it through the front door.”
When he’s done, he motions for me to complete the next steps as he keeps a tight hold on the blood. Our blood.
His tone is calm, but his eyes are filled with pain. “I’ve lived my whole life worshiping a man you’ve accused of being a liar and a cheat. A dead-beat dad with no sense of obligation. Since you’ve been here, you’ve asked a lot of questions about my father. So, Ivy, what have you learned?” he asks with contempt.
My throat is dry, but I push through it. “Antonio D’Angelo believed that family was more important than money or power. He cherished his family and adored his children. He sacrificed everything for the ones he loved.”
Smoke nods. “Here’s a question you haven’t asked. Is there a chance in hell he’d ever abandon one of his children?” Smoke’s eyes well up, grief-stricken. It’s clear the old wound I just reopened had never really healed. I don’t want to hurt him or Trini or any of them. But what he’s asking isn’t fair.
“Don’t you get it?” I ask softly. “I want to believe in Antonio D’Angelo. Answer your question with a big, resounding no. But then I see this.” My finger glides around my silver curl. “And it’s my pain, too.” Defeated, my eyes fill with fresh tears.
We sit there for a long moment in silence before he places the vial in my hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Proving a point. I have nothing to hide. None of us do. If you’re a D’Angelo, no one will welcome you more than I will.” He busies himself with another syringe. “But if you’re not, and I highly suspect that to be the case, then your days in Chicago are numbered, and you better pray to God almighty that I never see you again.”
“I don’t want this. The anger. The hatred.”
Smoke says nothing. I may as well plead to the wind.
I choke back the tears and stretch out my arm. The pinch is so slight, I’m not sure he’s done anything at all. Then, it’s over. I tell him what I should’ve said the first day we met. “Getting to know you, and letting you get to know me, is all I’ve ever wanted.”
He doesn’t bother looking at me. Once he pockets the vial, he heads to the door. “Your car is waiting, and your belongings will be delivered to you soon. It’s in your own best interest that you don’t make a scene. And stay away from Trinity.”
“My pay,” I holler before Smoke reaches the door.
He turns, heated. “What?”
I can’t depend on Leo to pay for the meds. And I have to have that money. “I worked here—did everything I was contracted to do. You owe me two weeks’ pay.”
“You think I’m paying you after this?”
“I earned it.” And a bottle of pills is almost a month’s rent.
“Earned it? How? By fucking my chief of security. Pull out your contract and read the fine print.” He shakes his head, disgusted. “You want your money? Sue me.”
It’s been an hour since I’ve been sitting in my car outside of Aunt Grace’s house. I can’t go in. Not yet. Sobbing, I stare off into nothing.
All I had to do was say, “Hi, I’m Ivy. I might be your sister.”
I should’ve said it. Right upfront. Losing my father was one thing. But now, I’ve lost everything, and I’m petrified that if I don’t find a way to pay for those meds, I’ll lose Aunt Grace, too.
A fresh wave of tears washes down my face as I rest my head on the wheel. My cell dances on the seat beside me. It’s Aunt Grace. I wipe my cheeks and answer cheerily. “Hey.”
“Hey, Ivy Vine. Are you coming in? Or am I bunking in the car with you tonight? It seems a little squished, but by God, we’ll make it work.”
I love this woman more than sweet tea and muffins. I turn to find her standing in the open doorway, hair curlers and all, waving me in. I watch as she speaks into her cell. “Come on, baby girl. I’ve got a pint of mint chocolate chip calling our names.”
Mint chocolate chip. How can ice cream always manage to make a horrendous situation a little bit better?
Aunt Grace waves two spoons at me and raises a canister of whipped cream. I walk over, unable to rein in the tidal wave of tears. Her hugs are a forklift whenever my soul collapses, and right now, I’ve hit rock bottom at her feet.
“You know the drill,” she says softly.
The act is so juvenile, I instantly smile and open my mouth wide. The second I do, whipped cream fills my mouth.
“Mmm,” I sigh through sobs—my mouth full of sweetness, my heart full of pain.
Aunt Grace soothes me with a kiss to the temple and hands me the can. I take it, determined to empty the whole damn thing.
“Come on,” she says in her upbeat way. “I’ve got a tracksuit with your name on it.”
My laugh is half-hearted. “Is Ivy bedazzled on the butt?”
With an arm wrapped around me, she squeezes. “Sequins, baby girl.”
I hug her hard and remind myself that no matter what, she is my family. Aunt Grace has always been there for me, through happiness and heartbreak. I’m tethered to a woman who would never abandon me. She’s more than my aunt.
She is my home.