Where the Ivy Hides Read online

  My painting projects for school take a turn for the darker in the months after. My stomach doesn’t allow me to keep anything down, and I rarely try and force it, so I’m not surprised when my hair starts falling out and I weigh less than ninety pounds. I would prefer my mother to stop worrying my father about it, but I don’t foresee that happening anytime soon, either. Other than work, if I’m not home I can be found at school in the studio with ‘In This Moment’ playing full blast past midnight.

  As depression and melancholy settle around me, I trudge forward, making progress in my life where I can, and muttering, ‘Fuck it.’ when I can’t.

  Reese left Seattle for Holley, Florida, the day after Christmas and then made himself invisible where I was concerned from that day forward aside from the flowers that start arriving weekly around Valentine’s Day. He never leaves a note in the bouquet arrangement. It’s just the flowers—white Lily’s.

  I wish I could care enough to call and thank him. Or call and check up on him. Or just call and say, ‘Hi.’, but I don’t.

  It’s Friday and I’ve just returned to work when Livvy, the new accountant comes strolling into my office after lunch, “Hey, I know you like to keep to yourself mostly…” She looks behind her and closes the office door. “But sometimes you get friends you don’t ask for.” When she looks back to me, she smiles and forces a hand forward. “I’m Livvy.” Her smile widens and immediately she reminds me of Delilah.

  I extend my arm to shake her hand and return her smile before explaining, “I’m not a bitch. I swear, I know it seems that way. I’m Ivy—I like shit easy. Nice to meet ya, Livvy.” We shake hands as her excited smile slides into a smirk and she winks.

  “I’m easy. I promise.” She turns to leave, but stops as she gets to the door, “I missed you at lunch, let me take you out for dinner tonight? My treat?” she asks.

  And without missing a beat the words fall out of my mouth, “Eating pussy isn’t easy, I’ve tried, but if you’re just offering Mexican, sure, I’ll bite.”

  Jesus, what happened to my social skills in the last two months?

  “Oh, no, there’s no way you’re getting any on the first date, it’s just Mexican tonight.” She laughs. “Plus, I’m engaged.” Her left hand comes up and reveals the pretty good sized diamond ring I must have missed until just now.

  “Perfect.” Suddenly my quick wit and easy comebacks completely abandon me and I would be embarrassed, but I don’t have the decency.

  “Meet you out front around six?”

  “Perfect.” I repeat myself as she leaves.

  Thankfully the accounts I’m in charge of are financially secure enough that I don’t have to be great at my job to get ahead. Just consistent.

  And I can produce consistency.

  Hand over fist.

  By the time I’ve finished sending marketing projections for this quarter to my newest account, Indian Motorcycles, I look at my watch and see it’s already a quarter till six.

  “Shit,” I mutter before finishing up and powering off my computer.

  Just as I step out of the building, the wind and rain whip past, and I gasp in shock at the decrease in the temperature.

  “Holy—!” I yelp as Livvy from accounting interrupts.

  “I swear it dropped fifty degrees! Shiiiiat! I guess Joe wasn’t lying.” Her long auburn hair is whipping around her smiling face. “We still on for Mexican?” she asks as a car’s headlights streak across the wet parking lot and spot light towards our direction.

  “Sure. Who’s Joe?” I hold up my hand and wave like a freaking dork. “Let me grab something out of my car, I’ll be right back.”

  She laughs, answering my question about Joe as I walk the three parking spots from her car to mine, “Joe, the meteorologist from channel three.”

  Okay, I don’t really need to get anything out of my car. It was probably a procrastination measure. To be honest—I just need a sec. One sec to catch my breath and squelch this social anxiety attack.

  Fuck, I wish I had some coke. Or a shot of Patron. Ohhhh, or a molly.

  No. No. No.

  After I get myself together and I feel like I can possibly walk across the parking lot, I close the door and click the automatic lock on the fob and head in Livvy’s direction.

  Only to freaking trip and break a damn heel when I see another car pulled up next to Livvy’s,—a ’67 SS Black Chevy Camaro. Two guys lean casually against the muscle car as they’re chatting it up with my, my new bestie.

  Fuck me to Sunday, they are two fine as hell guys. But that man bun, though.

  The taller one has brown hair long enough to barely brush the tops of his shoulders, but it’s pulled up. I know men. Oh, I know men. I know the good ones, I love the bad ones, and I’ve met the sick and demented ones. This one though…this one is a different breed of fine.

  Hell, he’s a different breed of man.

  When he turns around I see his perfect profile flash before his eyes land on mine and I take my time taking him in for the first time.

  But before I can marinate in how incredibly gorgeous he is, I realize I’m in pain. So much pain, that the side of my brain that hasn’t gone stupid for this guy, is actually yelling out in pain.

  I watch as concern furrows handsome’s brow a second before he glances at my ankle.

  And one second after that, he’s holding me—sprawled out in the parking lot, sans shoe.

  I know his type.

  He’s fucking chaos.

  “Name’s Bowen. Let me wrap this ankle and buy you a drink. That’s all I ask.”

  Fucking accents! Seriously?

  It’s not an Irish accent, but it might as well be. Fucking brit. Without even realizing it, my mouth is spouting shit, it shouldn’t, “Why? Why do you have to be British?” I whine.

  His head tilts at the same time his huge warm hand cups my swollen tender ankle and his smile reveals dimples. “You know what? Fuck you.” I grunt, planting my palms on the asphalt before shoving myself up, one footed.

  Bad ass bitch. Ya’ll don’t know.

  Thankfully Livvy and hot guy number two are right there to break up the newly developed tension caused by my last retort and assist my handicapped-ness out of Bowen’s reach.

  “Damn, Ivy, you okay?” Livvy laughs but the concern across her face is enough to save her. She looks over her shoulder before turning back to help me hobble towards her car, “Well, I guess you met Bowen, that’s my fiancée, Brian. Brian, this is Ivy. Ivy, Brian.”

  I give a halfhearted wave as he helps Bowen up and scoops up my broken heel before handing it to Bowen.

  “Here’s your Cinderella’s shoe, chap,” Brian says before poking his hand out awkwardly. “Ivy, I’m Brian. You’ll have to excuse my friend here; he’s not used to the game rules on this side of the pond.” He chuckles as we shake hands.

  His comment rattles my defense for some reason and I spit out, “I promise, there’s no need for rules. There’s no games to play here. I’m just trying to get a bite to eat.” I smile at Livvy and honestly consider bailing for the third time in three minutes.

  After re-shaking Brian’s hand, I force myself to shake Bowen’s, and then somehow force my wobble walk to Livvy’s car where I sit in the front seat. I proceed to remove the four-inch heel from my other shoe and then slip both shoes on my feet. Drivers and riders are delegated their assignments and five minutes later I’m being escorted away from my bail-mobile, or mini cooper parked in Seattle Motorcycle, Inc. parking lot.

  “Sorry about Bowen. He’s…not very polished. He has a heart of gold, he does, it’s just buried under that hard shell of his.”

  I dust my hands across the top of my pencil skirt and reach for my cigarettes in my bag. After packing them in silence, I light one, pull a drag from it, and exhale, blowing smoke out of the opening passenger window.

  After counting to twenty, I speak, “Livvy, if this is some set up attempt, pull the plug. I was iffy about the friends and dinner thing, but th
is… this, ‘let’s get a new friend and boyfriend all in the same day for Ivy bullshit’ is not happening. Do you understand?” Point blank. To the point. I see no reason why not to be.

  Her shock seems genuine enough to save her, again. “Wha—? Ivy, no. That is not at all what I was trying to do. Brian and I just moved here, Bowen is letting us stay with him until Brian can officially start his job after he graduates, then we’ll get our own place. I didn’t know Brian would drag Bowen along. I guess I should have asked you, or just told him not to bring Bowen. Shit.” She glances at me and the concern is pure, “Ivy, I’m so sorry. You want to bail? I’ll drive you back…”

  Dammit.

  Dammit. Dammit.

  I sigh, “No, it’s okay. Look. I’m sorry, I lied. I am a bitch. Let’s get that straight right now. It’s my fault. We’re fine.” I nod, trying to convince myself of my words.

  And being the angel she is, she lightens it and detours ‘this’ back to easy. “Bowen is so fucking weird. I’ve never seen him act like that. Damn, girl. I’m glad I’m immune to whatever pheromones you’re putting off. And keep that shit away from Brian, or I’ll show you who’s a bitch.” She winks at me and lights her cigarette.

  Only after blowing out my last drag and flicking my cigarette out of the window I’m rolling up do I notice her smoke doesn’t smell like mine.

  I glance and catch a glimpse of her sparkling diamond engagement ring finger over an expertly rolled blunt between her middle and pointer fingers.

  Dammit.

  Dammit. Dammit.

  I let out an exhausted heavy sigh at the same time I let go.

  “Nahh…I promise, Brian’s safe. I don’t play like that, Livvy. Never have.”

  I don’t mention the fact that I have over six years of sobriety under my belt besides the one super-sized alcoholic eggnog a year when Livvy passes me the blunt.

  No. I don’t.

  I just accept it, flick it, and hold it between my fingers until the ash gets long enough to flick again.

  And before I hand it back to my new friend, I pull a drag from it and lock it in my lungs.

  I count to some nondescript number, but I couldn’t tell you what that number is…I was too high from the first hit to remember it when I got there.

  Hell, I was too high from the first hit to remember every hit that followed tonight.

  Chapter 15

  In hind sight, it’s always fifty-fifty. Always.

  I was distracted and very easily, over the next few months. Bowen, it turns out, was the perfect chaos and just what I needed. He, not only was in his last year of residency and on the path to follow in my father’s footsteps as one of Seattle’s greatest OBGYN doctors, but he was also Seattle’s biggest coke dealer.

  Like I said, I was distracted. And Bowen Teller was exactly what I needed.

  Romantic. Funny. Intelligent. Wealthy and hung. Bowen Teller was perfect chaos. The fuck buddy to end all fuck buddies and smitten with yours truly to boot.

  Bowen was fun. But he was most importantly, easy.

  It’s Rome’s birthday, and I’m running late to dinner with family after spending half the night painting out my aggressions. Thankfully, either Bowen or Livvy put Rome’s present in the back seat of my cooper, or I’d be double late and in double trouble.

  I toss my bags into the passenger seat, but not before grabbing my gold shiny vial out of my purse. After I inhale the line of powder I sprinkle across the top of my hand I squeeze my nose for a second, and sneeze. Then I throw the vial into the console and start my car, turning up the radio before pulling forward.

  When I glance to my right to turn onto the main street, Reese’s car pulls into the parking lot and stops right next to me as the window rolls down. “Hey, you headed out?” he asks.

  He looks good.

  Happy.

  “Yeah, it’s Rome’s birthday…” I start, but the silence that follows is too heavy for more.

  After a minute or so he says, “Yeah.”

  When we both go to speak at the same time, I motion for him to go first.

  “So, you may see Ryker around. He ahh…well, he went on and opened that Lucky’s in Northern Cali a year and a half ago, and I think I’ve had just about all of Seattle I can handle, so, he’s going to be coming and going between the two shops until we can find a third owner who’s interested enough.”

  And for some reason that I will never understand, I fucking ask, “What are y’all offering?” That was that, four hours and twenty-three minutes later, I had a three-way, no scratch that, a four-way date set up in four weeks with the main guests including none other than, moi, Reese, Ryker, and Bowen.

  Yeah. Karma’s a dirty little bitch, isn’t she?

  I drank more than I should have drank. And I popped more than I should have popped while Reese wasn’t looking. So when I stumble from the Italian bistro, of course Karma isn’t finished being a dirty little bitch, and of course, Reese is there to catch me.

  His seven something beers have him frisky as they usually do, and so when his hand lands on my bare thigh and squeezes, I’m not surprised.

  “Hey, come home with me, one more time. Come on, for old time sakes?” His hot mouth runs from my shoulder to behind my ear, licking and kissing along the way. “Please, Ivy.”

  When his hand slides up my skirt and his fingers delve between my legs, I push his shoulders with the heel of my hands.

  “Bowen, stop.” I mutter, turning my face away from his without noticing I called him the wrong name.

  He stops. Immediately standing us both to our feet and putting at least two feet between us. “Yeah, sorry. I ahh…fuck. I forgot, you—“

  He goes to turn away, but I stop him.

  Reaching my hand out, I gently pat his arm, “Hey, it’s okay. Shit happens. It’s alright.” I smile.

  “Is it, Ivy? Are you alright?” The concern on his face is strong enough to be portrayed, no matter how drunk he is.

  “Yeah, Reese. Of course I am. I can’t afford to not be.” I shrug and loop my arm around his waist before jerking my head towards the curb. “Come on, my boy toy will be here in a sec. We’ll pop a squat and wait for him, ‘kay?”

  “Deal.” He grunts as we sit. “So, you’re okay? Sobriety obviously isn’t still going okay. Just drinks?”

  His voice slurs and he winces. “Yeah. Sure, captain Moral Compass. Whatever you say.” I laugh at him while internally wincing.

  “Good girl. Good girl. Sorry, I just—“I stop him for more reasons than the obvious.

  “Reese, it’s okay. You were being a good friend. A good friend who just molested me, but still…” I laugh, “A good friend. You know I love you.” I tell him as Bowen’s RX7 pulls into the drive and I wave him over.

  “There’s my little drunken woman, Rome’s been calling. You’re in a bit of trouble with the ol’ fam fam, dear.”

  Shit. This is gonna cost me.

  “Well they didn’t call my phone.” I pull out my phone and see six missed calls. “Shit.”

  I barely notice as Reese introduces himself, then out of fucking left field, he does what he does.

  He takes my easy and fucks it all to hell.

  “—and your little woman, drunken as she may be, is also—or WAS a recovering addict. Now, as much as I would like to believe that my presence affects her that strongly, I have a hard time believing a little business meeting would have her falling back after six years. So, what, I say you?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now, Reese? Seriously?”

  And of course he doesn’t stop.

  No, that’s too fucking easy.

  “What? No, Ivy, he needs to know just whose girl he’s fucking with. You’re not his. You may be his girlfriend, but you’re not his,” he slurs.

  Bowen’s eyebrows shoot further up, if possible, and he smirks, thinking…hell if I know what he’s thinking.

  I feel like I can barely breathe, and so without much thought or process, I blurt out the
first thing that comes to my head, “Yeah, well, I’m not yours either. I’m not his. I’m not yours. I’m fucked up fifty shades past Grey’s fifty and that’s on Sunday. I’m a social recluse, a recovering, non-recovering addict—depending on the day, and I doubt I’ll ever be able maintain a growing, loving adult relationship with anyone other than myself. I’m mine and I love me, and that’s all I’ll need in this life and the next, so everyone else can go fuck themselves. Bowen, let me out at the light. I’m getting out at the light.” Determined as fuck. If I could use one word to describe my emotions in this moment, it is determined. I am no one’s. Mine—that’s what I am.

  Bowen glances over towards me as he pulls the car to a stop, and I watch as my words catch up and process, flashing across his face a bit too late. I unlock the passenger side door, step out on the curb, and start heading down the main street towards mine and Rome’s house on foot.

  A few minutes later after a hushed, angry exchange overheard from the car, I hear feet jogging up behind me, “Ivy. Fuck that fucker and whatever he says and thinks, he doesn’t know you, babe. Not like I do. We’ll deal with this later. For right now, though, let’s me and you get this drunken chap home, do some more candy.” Bowen’s hand magically appears with a long line from his wrist to the end of his pointer finger, and like a good girl, I inhale all of it. “Then take a nice hot shower. Fuck until our muscles tremble, and pass the fuck out. Come on, Ivy, love. Easy does it.” He pulls me towards the car.

  Easy.

  I hate it when he calls me Ivy, love. Almost as much as I hate who I’ve become.

  But, like a good girl, I follow him back to the car, and ignore the fuck out of everything that falls out of Reese’s bitch ass mouth on the way to drop him off.

  It takes a handful of mornings waking up and running to the toilet gagging, to alarm any bells. But like every woman knows, one warning bell is too many, and one morning tossing your crackers is too much. By ten o’clock, Livvy’s walking into mine and Rome’s house and up the stairs to my floor, blabbing the entire away, “That sexy ass brother of yours here, or did he have to run off to work?” She says as she walks into my room with plastic bags hanging from both arms, I heard them. That’s how loud they were. I heard them, not saw them.