For nearly an hour, I’ve plucked a dozen wild daisies in the hopes of answering the one question I wrestle with daily: call or don’t call? So far, it’s a tie.
When his usual text pops up, my heart tugs extra hard.
How was your day?
That’s it. I can’t keep hoping Leo will move along. He won’t. I decide on the bravest course of action I can think of. I call.
“Hey, angel,” he answers, his voice growly and tired because, shit, it’s late. “Before you say anything, I want to show you something.”
My cell pings, and Leo has sent a photo of a box. “What is this?”
“When we were in the thrift shop, you asked me about the box I was carrying.”
I smile, remembering.
“Don’t you want to know what’s in it?”
“I don’t want to see what’s in your box of guy stuff porn if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I know you’re curious,” Leo says with a confident sales pitch. “Inside this box is everything you ever wanted to know about me, and it can be yours for a price.”
I listen, already knowing whatever he’s about to ask, it’ll be more than I can give.
“Come back to Chicago.” Pause. “There are fourteen days before the Erede al Trono reboot. Smoke wants you there.” Pause. “And so does Trinity.” Pause again. “And so do I.”
I want to be there with them—with him. But I can’t, and I can’t tell him why. Leo is a lightning strike. White-hot in the moment. Devastation in the aftermath. Even without Andre’s contract keeping me from Chicago, I can’t crawl back to Leo. I’ll hand him my heart, and he’ll demolish me again.
I swipe hot tears from my face, and whisper back, “I can’t.”
“Is this because of Andre?” he spews. “Tell me what it is, and I’ll fix it.”
“You can’t fix this, Leo.”
“At least let me try,” he cries, unnerved. The strain in his voice settles. “I know I broke us,” he whispers. “Let me make this right.”
I want to say there’s nothing to make right. Nothing to forgive. But I’d only be prolonging the inevitable. “Leo, your world is wrapped up with the D’Angelos, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s over.”
“What are you saying?” He unleashes his emotions. “You said you loved me.”
“And you said one night,” I cry and rip off the rest of the bandage. “Trini needs you. And so does Smoke. You need to get over me. And I need to move on.”
“Ivy, don’t do this.”
I smother a sob and force the weak breath from my throat. “Please don’t call again.”
“All right,” he says, and I can tell he’s hurt. “I’d better let you go.”
“Goodbye, Leo.”