Where the Ivy Hides (15 page)

He pulls his face away from mine and smiles as he looks down at me. When his eyes finish scanning my face, they land on mine, and I finally see the pain I haven’t let myself see until now. “Then I went and fucked it all to shit the first chance I got. I’m sorry, love.” He clenches his eyes shut and turns his face away from me. “I’m so sorry.”

After he steps away, I’m left in his wake feeling like a life boat shoved away from the dock with no life out there to save.

Bereft.

Useless.

I don’t like the space he leaves between us. And I doubt I’ll like the envelope he pulls from the inside of his suit jacket either.

“Look, Ivy, we have to find a way to co-exist. With Lucky’s and Reesie…” He clenches his jaw before cutting his eyes back to mine and growling, “I don’t even want to discuss Reesie right now.”

Then he comes at me like a fucking man starved. He’s intense. Chaotic. Fierce.

And Jesus H. Christ, is it easy.

So much fucking easier than I remember.

It’s so easy to forget about the coke in my purse when his teeth nip at my lips seeking entrance into my mouth. It’s so simple to forget the past, to forget what happened at Where the Ivy Hides. It’s fucking effortless.

When his tongue slides and circles mine as a groan leaves his chest and his hard thigh pushes against me between my trembling thighs, it’s thoughtless really, to do anything but let go.

Be the someone who wants to be caught.

But as soon as he’s there, he’s gone again.

On his way down the driveway towards his bike, he calls out over his shoulder, “Read the letter, Ivy love. I jotted me number there at the end. We’ve got business to attend, love.” He straddles his bike and starts it, reeving the engine. After it idles he speaks, “No more of this hiding shit, Ivy. I’m not disappearing and you’re not dying. Everything else, it’s in the letter, love. We’ll talk soon. And remember,” he says sounding just as moronic as the Lucky Charms leprechaun, “We’re both adults. None of this waiting and dialing for three seconds. Thought you’d grown out of that by now, Ivy love.”

My eyes trace the lines he made across the paper writing my name for the hundredth time after listening to his bike drive away.

I know what I’m doing. I know I’m doing exactly what he told me not to. I know I’m procrastinating, but I can’t help it.

I don’t want to know what else he’s scrawled across the pages in this envelope. I don’t like deciding moments.

And that’s exactly what this fucking is.

Another deciding moment.

Chapter 18

Me dearest Ivy,

I’ll never forget the first time I laid me eyes on you. Me and Reese had just finished baseball practice and we were headed home, but instead of keeping right that day, I stayed right along with Reesie and took a left, headed to his house to check out a baseball card he was interested in selling. Bloody bastard, even then he could talk a good sale into a great. Anyway, right as me feet hit the driveway, I seen ya coming out of the house with a backpack on your back that was two sizes too big for ya, a big bright grin across your face, and all that long black hair hangin’ behind your back in curls. You were the sweetest face I’d ever seen. I think it’s safe to tell ya now, that’s about the time I started watching ya. When everyone else wasn’t looking, I was. At the birthday parties, when all the other kids were laughing and playing, I’d see ya off to the side, taking a break from wearing your mask, love. I saw the hurt and the pain. I just wish I’d have seen it sooner. That it wasn’t just being adopted that made you different. And you’ve always been different, only special. You’re a special and vital part of me, Ivy. On a visceral level. And somewhere between finally capturing your attention and creating our daughter together, that was solidified. We were solidified. What happened next and what happens after that, is up to you. Yes, I have someone in my life, someone who isn’t you, someone who will never be you. But if you can find a way to make us happen, hopefully you and I can move forward, then we will. On every level you would like us to, Ivy love, we will. No one’ll ever love you the way I do, me Ivy. I just need you to let me…

I’ll catch what can be caught. ~ Ryker.

I’ll catch what can be caught?

Even for Ryker David Killian that’s a little rich.

And I’ll what? Just find complete and utter happiness being his complacent whore?

Not in this fucking lifetime. Not no, but hell no.

So, for the life of me, I cannot explain why I can be found so frequently over the next few days re-reading his letter, adjusting the flow every which way, just to examine the many different ways his words could be taken.

I take every sentence he spelled out and stretch myself to my own limits, wondering how far gone I will allow myself to become as his whore and side thing. How long can I live like that, I wonder. Many of history’s greatest, most patient women lived years upon years like that. Only to die as just that. A whore.

I don’t think I really ever fancied being written about, much less becoming a lesson in history. I’ll take my lesson learned.

But what I can provide Mr. Ryker fucking Killian with is a brand of Winter fucking Ivy he’s never seen.

He’s got a little someone at home, okay, that’s fine by me. Merry Christmas and Mazel tov. I can be every bit of everything, she is not. Mark my words.

After a quick call, during which I mention that no matter how skewed his beliefs, I am happy, in a healthy relationship with Bowen, and while I understand that he and I have a history, there’s no reason we can’t personally
and separately
move forward in business. It’s mostly quiet on his end beside a close-ended answer here and there. It surprises me. He used to do so much better when I showed my confidence back in the day.

I can tell his
little someone
at home certainly doesn’t keep him on his toes or frequently display any confidence.

When he hangs up after only saying, “I hoped your answer would be different, me Ivy love. I’ll make sure Ellie, my secretary, gets your contact information. She’ll be in touch.” The last hopeful pieces of my soul wither away and dies.

Even if he seems hungry enough to eat you alive, he’ll still just leave you fucked and wasted. A dirty little secret, a piece of his past, and his runner-up whore.

I don’t need things like him bleeding back into my life from my past. I left shit like this when I came home with my family. I left shit like this, like Ryker and our daughter in Holley, Florida.

To never be seen of or heard from again.

Once Livvy thinks whatever tension she imagined my and Bowen’s breakup caused is clear, she starts dropping by my office more and asking to hang out. I let her squirm for almost a month before I commit.

It’s a Friday when she swings by, a quarter past quitting time. “Hey, Ives. Wanna get a drink after work? I’m paying.”

“Why not?” I smile. My quick surrender must have surprised her because she falters and an awkward moment beats by. It’s just long enough for me to grab my purse and keys and head around the desk towards her. “You driving, too?”

She seems to get it together fairly quickly after my second question. “Umm…yeah. I’ll drive. Sure.”

We swing by her office on the way out of the building to grab her stuff and make small talk on the way to one of her favorite swanky bars off Seventh Street. Once we’re seated, the conversation starts off and stays mostly neutral.

It’s easy and I appreciate it.

I don’t make a big fuss when she orders for me, I categorize it for what it is… a drink with a friend.

I can still go to meetings. I can still speak openly and honestly with my sponsor, it’s just a drink. With a friend.

But, like all good intentions, this road too was one paved for hell.

And one drink turns into many and one hit too many more.

I didn’t mean to slip and fall so many times. I really didn’t.

I never wanted to be this girl.

This isn’t where I wanted to end up.

The business end of Ryker and mine’s relationship blooms and grows to incredible limits. Which is ironic when compared to how terribly we are doing on a personal level.

As soon as I step in as the CEO of Seattle’s newest company – Lucky Pipes, both his Northern Cali branch and mine supersede whatever we could have imagined and then some.

Personally or romantically, if that term can even be placed in, near, or around our two conjoining names as it’s mentioned, leaves a lot to be desired. Pun intended.

Neither one of us mentions the letter again. Other than to speak business or business affiliated issues, we don’t speak at all.

It’s funny how much more resilient you are than you think you will be. It’s funny how much further you can be pushed after you think you’re past your limit.

Every day we’re made to trek forward. Rain or shine. Pain or solace. We’re pushed and shoved to the breaking point only to do it all over again the next day. It’s a tireless cycle some refer to as ‘ruts’. And I swear it’ll be a rut that’ll be the death of me.

I’m in a rut when my world is knocked off its axis for the millionth time in my life, and I’m fucking certain it won’t be the last.

Days, weeks, months have passed where the ending credits spell out my weekend celebration being dampened, again, by a family weekend brunch. I still refrain from daily recreational use, but on the weekends, that rule does not apply. My meetings have been a little hit and miss, but with the increase in clients and the success of Lucky’s number thirteen store killing it in Seattle, I guess something’s gotta give.

My social life mainly consists of being a shoulder for Livvy to cry on because Brian got cold feet and went back to Vermont. I think I’ve always underestimated the amount of illegal drugs there is involved in a heartache.

And between Livvy and I, there isn’t enough coke without having to involve Bowen. To be honest, I don’t remember if it was I who fell into bed with him again, or vice versa. We just weren’t one day and were again, the next.

And that’s the rut.

That’s where I was at when the beginning of the end happened.

I was closing up shop at Lucky’s when my cell phone rang. Without even looking at the screen of the phone I roll my eyes and answer, “An hour tops. Livvy, is Bowen even finished at the hospital, yet? We’ll get there when we get there.”

Livvy has recently and much to even my surprise, been smitten by our friend, Reese Bonacci. There are a few minute issues that need to be addressed and it may or may not involve Livvy’s substance abuse. But who am I to judge, I’m sure they’ll work it out.

It may be Reese’s birthday we’re going to attend tomorrow, but she’s gonna dress like it’s hers and I’m going be the one she drags around town for the perfect dress. “The sale ends in an hour though! We should have gone after lunch, I knew it,” she sighs and I hear the defeat, but I just can’t commit to another shopping trip with her right now.

“Right, well I still don’t understand what’s wrong with the red dress you bought last night. It looks perfect on you. Let me just finish up here, I’ll call you on my way home, okay?”

After some bitching and complaining on her part, we finally agree and I hang up.

I hear him before I see him. As I slide my phone in my purse I flick the lamp off on my desk and grab my bags when his voice cuts through the darkness and pierces my dark, hardened soul.

“How long can you do this, Ivy? Push me away?” His voice is beautiful in Irish tatters. It’s almost agony to hear.

“As long as it takes, Ryker.” I narrow my eyes on his profile in the dark as I turn around and approach where he’s standing beside the office door. “I’ll promise you this though, you’re wasting your time here waiting for me to conform and become your little complacent whore. Business here only, hon.” I mock his Irish accent.

“Ay. Right. Not mine, just every other bloody bastard’s whore in a five-mile radius, is that it, love?” He shouts before spinning and heading out the side door towards the bay. “Every bloody time. I get an inch and ya push me back a mile. And fer what?” He trails off as I storm behind him, following him towards where his bike is parked. “I’ll bloody tell ya, fer what.”

I barely recall him stopping, much less running into his back before his hands circle my wrists and spin me around until I am sitting in front of him on his bike, with my face staring at the metal of his zipper.

Without process or much thought, when he unzips his jeans, I don’t hesitate. I follow suit. I wrap my fists around his thick shaft and squeeze. When the tip drips pre-cum after a few strokes, I take him into my mouth and suck hard enough to hollow my cheeks until I feel him hit the back of my throat. As soon as I hear him mutter Irish obscenities, I moan around him and suck harder.

“Goddammit, me Ivy. The fuck are ya doin’ to me, love?” he growls before his fists squeeze in my hair and his hips pump forward.

Little to no thought or process is also afforded when he scoops me up and shoves me against the tin metal wall of the garage and kisses me again like a man starving.

His words are guttural even from a life time ago, but they hurt just the same. “As soon as you learn to give into me, Winter Ivy, I’ll give up on you. Deal?” His broken smile cracks my soul. And whatever sting is left hurting by his words, he lessons with his warm kiss.

Just like always and before I know it… I’m under, again.

Ryker David Killian is chaos. He’s everywhere and in everything. He drives me mad. He uses me up then leaves me for dead, and I’m okay with that. Because as long as we’re here, right now, and I am his everything, then nothing else matters. Nothing.

I want to be enough. I do. I don’t want to be his whore. But it looks like I am.

“Deal.” I whisper.

Ruts are funny like that. No matter how low you think you are, you can always go lower. And even though a few months ago, I would have rather died than given into him… yet, here I am.

Giving in.

Willing to do whatever it is he bids and then beg for the scraps of affection left over from his time with his ‘other someone’.

And it doesn’t take long for me to find the balance needed to sustain a semi-healthy extra-martial affair while maintaining my extra-curricular, recreational drug use.

How you may ask?

By doing what I do.

Adapting.

I move forward.