Mended

CHAPTER 11 Feel Again

Xander

Daylight threatens to break at any moment. We’re lying here together, and it seems unreal. I can hear our heartbeats in the silence between us. In all the years we’ve been apart I’ve never found anyone that makes me feel like she does. It’s as if my heart closed off after our breakup and it took her letting me back in to reopen it. Hearing her say those three words to me last night and telling her I felt the same—it was the truest and most honest feeling I’ve ever shared with anyone.

I’m rubbing circles along her back and she’s tracing the lines that are inked down my side. We slept only a few hours, but I feel more rested than I have in weeks. I woke up this morning ready for her, so I put my hands between her legs and did everything to her I’ve wanted to do over the past month.

Now she’s lying on my chest and the sapphire earrings are still in her ears. “My grandmother would be happy that you still wear the earrings she gave you.”

She clutches one and twists it in her ear. “I never take them out. They’re the most special gift I’ve ever received.”

My hand catches the back of her neck and I tilt her head toward mine. Her statement makes me equally as happy and sad.

“I loved her too, you know. I’m sorry I didn’t make it to her funeral.”

“Yes, I miss her, and my grandfather. At least they didn’t have to be apart long. The six months my grandfather was alive without her, he was lost. I moved in with him when his depression took over. Really he just didn’t want to live without her. And at eighty—who could blame him? He had been with her for so long and he just really loved her.”

Silence takes over and we lie here together.

“Tell me something?” she asks, flipping onto her back and staring at the ceiling.

“Anything.”

“How do you see this going?” she asks, motioning between the two of us.

My lips twist into a sad smile as I pull her onto my chest. “We’ll take one day at a time together. Twelve years is a long time and we have a lot to learn about each other. But I’m not planning on spending any more days apart.”

“Do you think relationships can work that way?”

“What way is that?”

“That something once broken, irreparably, like us, can be so easily mended?”

I shift to hover over her, taking her wrists and pinning her arms to her sides. Kissing her neck, I slide my tongue up to her mouth before answering. “I think all relationships are different and each one has its own dynamics. There are no rules to follow. So, yes, I think if we both want this bad enough there’s no reason we can’t have it.”

Her eyes flicker from my eyes to my lips, and I take that as a sign not only that she agrees but also that she wants me to kiss her, which I most happily do.

We’ve spent the morning naked in bed, ordering room service and just talking. We talked about my brother and his decision to leave the band. I even told her about the difficulty I had accepting his decision. She told me about her years in Chicago and that she hasn’t seen her family in some time. She told me why she stopped singing last year, and I was really proud of her for taking a stand and trying to gain control of her own career. Then she finally told me about her money worries and why she doesn’t want to piss Damon off. We got lost in so many conversations that when I finally pick up my phone to check the time, I bolt straight up. “Shit, it’s almost eleven.”

She pushes up onto her elbows and looks up at me. “I have to go. We’re supposed to meet on the bus in less than an hour,” she says, rushing out of bed and quickly pulling her dress over her head.

I nod and stand to stretch.

She stares at me—her dark eyes gleaming and her mouth twisting into a smile that I can’t resist returning. Then I pull her to me so I can kiss her. She tugs on my lip and presses her body to mine and there it goes. Fuck, I have to get this under control.

“I have to get ready,” she breathes.

“I know.” I’m already pulling her dress back up over her head. “But you can be fifteen minutes late. The bus won’t leave without you. I promise.”

Ivy’s full of confidence and poise onstage without her trademark guitar. Both of her hands are on the microphone stand and her head is down, waiting for the music. She’s wearing a short one-piece black outfit with lace sleeves. When she slipped it on this morning, I thought we were going to be really late for the show. And when she started out the door with it on I had to stop her.

She smirked at me. “What?” she asked.

“Why are you wearing your pajamas to perform?”

She laughed so hard it took her a few minutes before she could say, “It’s called a romper, and it’s clothes, not sleepwear.”

As her sound fills the open space, the crowd cheers her on. It’s a midday show and the sun beats down on the stage, causing everyone to squint. But even though she’s only five seven, her voice is a powerhouse. She begins to sing a simple ballad. She pats her chest with her palm while singing, “With the beating of your tiny heart.”

Today I notice the band has really come together as a group—from Ivy’s adorable, awkward banter with the audience to Garrett making shadow puppets on the wall while Nix tunes his guitar. Leif seems introverted at times, turning his face and his guitar away from the audience at the deep emotional parts of certain songs, as if getting lost in the music, but it works. They’ve mastered the union of a band in such a short period of time—it’s incredible to watch.

My gaze automatically slides back to Ivy and my body starts to tremble when I think about how everything has changed between us in the last twenty-four hours. The only thing assuring me that it’s all real is her sideways glance at me and that smile she gifts me with before saying to the audience, “I want to come back next year. I love it here. Upstate New York, you rock!” The crowd yells louder and louder, and once again she’s a hit.

We got to New York’s Mountain Jam early enough that we could enjoy the other shows, but we can’t stick around. She exits the stage with Nix, Leif, and Garrett following her. The minute her foot crosses the threshold behind the curtain, she smiles at me and I can’t help myself. I pick her up and swing her around in a circle. Once I’ve set her down, she grasps my cheeks and pulls my face toward hers. My hands drift down her back while I press my lips to hers.

Garrett clears his throat. “Ummm . . . Xander, would you like to tell us what the hell is going on?”

Ivy laughs and we break free of each other. The guys are standing around us with their eyes wide open and their jaws hanging.

“Yeah, Xander, would you like to tell them?” Ivy mocks.

We played it cool on the bus ride over, since we hadn’t discussed telling the guys. And once we got here we went in different directions—I had to take care of a few things and she and Leif had some bands they wanted to watch. Ivy and I discussed Leif last night, and she assured me they’re only friends, so her hanging out with him doesn’t concern me anymore. Garrett and Nix know we used to date in high school, but that’s about all. I was going to tell them we were back together before the show, but there was no time. And when I saw her exiting the stage in all her glory, it made me feel like that eighteen-year-old boy . . . and all I wanted was to have my arms around her.

Now all I can do is smirk. I clutch her waist and pull her away from the guys. Leaning over, I whisper in her ear, “I think they can figure it out for themselves.”

She doesn’t know it, but I rented a car and have a short sightseeing trip planned for us. Ever since my father killed himself, I’ve kept such a tight grip on things. I control my emotions—containing things when I’m angry, pissed, or frustrated. I control my life—I decide where I go, who I go with, and what I do. Everything is planned. I never waver. There’s been such a driving force within me for so long, I hardly acknowledge it. But with her I can let my guard down; I don’t have to control every little thing. I feel free—free to have fun and explore the emotions I’ve locked away for so long.

Once we’re alone in the car, I pull out a blindfold.

She stares at it. “What is that? Part of Garrett’s sex swing?”

I smirk. “I’ll never tell. Now come on, I want where we’re going to be a surprise. So turn around.”

She laughs and does as I ask. I tie it around her.

“I hope it’s a short ride,” she says.

“It is.” I put the car in DRIVE and we carry on with our conversation like she’s not wearing a blindfold. I can’t help but steal glances at her the whole way.

When we come to a stop she asks, “Where are we?”

I put the rental car in PARK and open my door. “Stay there.”

“Where am I supposed to go? I can’t see anything.”

One thing I know is that I have a lot to make up for, and I’m not letting any more time pass. Striding around the car, I can’t help but admire how gorgeous she looks with that blindfold on. Her blond hair is sticking out everywhere with the small piece of fabric strapped around her eyes. It’s a perfect match to her ruby red lips. The material actually is a small piece of Garrett’s yoga swing that I snipped off the top. I considered bringing the whole thing and trying it as a sex swing, but I didn’t have time to figure that contraption out.

Slowly I open the door and take her hand. She pushes herself against me, snaking her arms around my neck. All the air leaves my lungs. “You have a habit of doing that. Not that I want you to stop.” I don’t tell her I have to work on controlling the hard-ons she keeps giving me the minute her body touches mine.

She giggles and it’s so fucking sweet I want to remember this moment forever. I feel more alive than I’ve felt for years. My body hums with an energy she’s instilled in me. She’s biting her lip and I take a moment to mimic her gesture.

Staring at her lips, I trace them with my finger. “You ready?” I ask.

She brings her hands up to her covered eyes and I clear my throat. “Not yet.” I slip my hand in hers, my heart thumping at the boundary between happy and happier. Caressing her soft skin, I tug her forward in anticipation. The closer we get, the louder the roar becomes. Cold water plops on us from everywhere and drops glisten against her skin. One falls right on the corner of her lips and when I bend to lick it off, she catches my tongue with her mouth. The heat that arises between us is enough to ward off any chill from the icy water. Panting and out of breath, I slide my fingers up her cheeks and under the stretchy fabric, removing the blindfold and turning her around to see the crystal cascades of the roaring falls. We lean over the railing, both of us silent and staring at Niagara Falls. The air is warm and full of moisture, but the sky is darkening and the slight breeze seems to make her shiver.

“What do you think?” I ask.

When she doesn’t answer, I place my hands on the curve of her hips and turn her back around to face me. We’re chest to chest, and as my gaze meets hers I see tears streaming down her face. “Why are you crying? What is it?”

She shakes her head and manages to say, “They’re happy tears, not sad ones.”

I’m not the kind of guy who cries. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever cried, not even at my dad’s funeral. I may have shed a tear or two for my grandparents, but I swear I have to rely on all the self-control I can muster not to let one slip past me now. The joy I see in her eyes is enough to bring me to my knees. I take her face in my hands and kiss away each and every tear.

“I don’t want you to cry, gorgeous. I brought you here so we could experience something we both enjoyed together once.” Leaning back, I lift her chin so I can look in her eyes. “Talk to me, Ivy.”

She gets up on her toes and touches her lips to my ear. “This is the single best surprise I’ve ever received in my life.”

“I’m glad,” I tell her, and then I kiss her hard and hold her tight. We stand like that for a long time.

The smell of food wafts over to us from the nearby restaurants, and after the intimate silence I clear my throat and ask, “You hungry?”

“Very.”

“Me too. Come on, let’s find someplace to eat.”

Walking down the busy sidewalk, we reach the crossing. The light is red, so we wait with a bunch of other people. Cars screech to a halt behind the white lines that etch the road, and out of nowhere a driver slams on his brakes, obviously thinking twice about running the light. He comes to a standstill in the middle of the crosswalk, and I instinctively step in front of Ivy, who was closer to the car. I pause for a minute to look over at her, and it hits me. After all this time it’s not that I couldn’t love someone, that I wasn’t capable—it’s that the one I needed wasn’t there for me to love.

As we start walking again, I lean over and whisper in her ear, “I can’t wait to get you alone. To get your clothes off and do everything I didn’t get to finish last night.”

She looks up at me and a rosy blush covers her cheeks. Then out of nowhere someone screams, “You’re Ivy Taylor. Oh my God,” and snaps a picture before either of us can turn away. I move to go after the woman, but Ivy pulls me back. “Ignore it. It’s fine,” she says. So we keep walking and I reach for her hand as we look in the windows of all the tourist-trap shops that line the street. When we walk past a cheesy diner with a pink flashing sign that says ROSIE’S, we smile at each other. Diners were always our thing. In high school we searched them out for the best breakfasts, milk shakes, and burgers. Just as we walk into the restaurant, her phone rings and she retrieves it from her purse and holds it in her palm.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” I ask.

“No,” she says quietly.

My eyes narrow on her. “Who’s calling that you don’t want to talk to?”

“Xander, it’s nothing.” But she’s still stopped on the sidewalk, gazing down at her phone.

I take it from her. Ten missed calls from Damon Wolf. “Why is he calling you nonstop?”

“He wants to discuss our contract termination. My attorney says to let him take care of it.”

“I’ll take care of it when we get back.” I can feel that I’m glowering, but I can’t help it.

She shakes her head. “No. It’s best to let my attorney do it.”

I nod. Like hell I will. “Sure, gorgeous. Come on, let’s eat.” I lace my hand with hers and lead her to the diner I spotted.

We walk in and it’s like a scene out of Happy Days. The front counter is lined with classic candies—Sugar Daddys, Bit-O-Honeys, Sixlets, Oh Henry! bars, candy necklaces, Sky Bars, and Cherry Mashes. Betty Boop memorabilia is everywhere. The waiter waves us to take our own seat, and we find a booth in the very back. The restaurant looks like it hasn’t been remodeled since it opened in the 1950s. The booths are ripped and the table is sticky, but I could care less because we both look up at each other and grin. There’s a shiny chrome Seeburg Wall-O-Matic jukebox sitting at the end of our table. Jackpot!

I ask the waitress for some change and when she brings it to the table, I push it all over to Ivy. “Your choice, baby.”

We both order pancakes with bacon and then she selects a number of songs. We listen to the singles spinning round and round somewhere we can’t see, while we wait for our food. Once we’ve eaten, she uses the restroom and I snag a candy necklace for her, pay the bill, and stuff the little sugar beads in my pocket before she comes back.

We spend an hour or so walking around Niagara Falls and really talking. Telling each other the things we have done in our lives—what we feel we’ve accomplished, what we haven’t, and what we want out of life. As strange as it is, I think we both want the same things. It’s too early to talk about a future, but I see mine with her in it.

Back at the small private cottage I rented on the lake, she pushes me flat on my back on the bed as soon as we walk in. I give her a knowing look as she peels off her top and then removes her bra. The tears are long since gone and an entirely different emotion has taken over. I raise my head to suck on one of her nipples, but she pushes me back down. I try not to laugh and decide just to roll with it. She runs her hands down my arms and I try to grab her fingers, but instead she lifts my shirt up slightly. Again I let her. She traces the letters inked along my side. Another moment passes and she drops her lips to my skin to kiss each and every letter of my tattoo. A raw ache from her touch emanates from every nerve in my body. When she sits up, her hair rests on her shoulders and she takes it and swirls it around as if knotting it.

Even in the dim light I soak up the curves of her body, the angles of her face, the way they light up the room. I move to sit up, so she straddles my lap and I pull her close to me. She tugs hard on my hair and I kiss her even harder. Her breasts rub against my bare chest and I clutch her ass and press her more firmly into my lap. By the time I break away, after she rocks forward on my erection, I’m nearly panting. With boldness she never exhibited in our moments of intimacy before, she unbuttons my shirt and takes it off, then pulls my undershirt over my head but leaves it tangled around my wrists.

“Are you okay with this?” she asks, her voice shy but smooth.

I grin at her and then close my eyes. I’m so turned on by this side of her, but I don’t want to ask whether she’s done anything like this before, because I might not like the answer.

My cock is so hard against the fabric of my jeans that I decide the “have you ever” question will definitely have to wait. I tug the shirt the rest of the way off and capture her hips. “Yes, I am,” I tell her as I roll us over so she lies beneath me. I’m just not okay with giving up control. I reach into my pocket and pull out the elastic candy necklace. “I got you something,” I murmur to her. But instead of putting it over her head where it would sit snugly around her beautiful neck, I pull her wrists to me. She stares at me with a glimmer in her eye and I know she’s fine with this. After all, she started it and it’s a tame, harmless first attempt at something I’ve never thought about doing until now.

She draws a line with her tongue from my mouth to my ear. “Go ahead,” she whispers in a sexy, ragged voice. “But I can’t use my hands if you do,” she adds.

I smile at her as I wrap the elastic in a figure eight around her wrists and then stand up, kicking off my boots, and taking my pants off in record time. Hovering over her, I remove her remaining clothes—everything except her lacey black thong. Then I slowly pull her arms over her head and pin them there. With my other hand I slide my fingertips down her bare stomach to the edge of her panties. Creeping along their edge, I feel her wetness and quickly slide my hand inside them to cup her pussy.

She gasps. “I want you inside me.”

I answer against her skin as I lap my tongue over the peaks of her hard nipples. “I want that too.” My lips move farther down the swells of her breast. “Keep your hands pressed together,” I groan as my lips move toward her taut stomach and I let go of them.

“Xander, I want you inside me,” she moans.

“I know, Ivy. Soon. But first I want to devour you until you can’t stand another minute.”

My tongue dances around the lace of her panties and I peek up at her. She’s staring at me with her hands where they’re supposed to be. Her sexy, hooded eyes make me throb even more. “I’m so hard right now,” I whisper as my tongue continues down over the lace. Her hands start to move. “Keep your hands together over your head.”

“Xander!” she screams out when my hands tug so hard on her underwear that the crotch rips apart.

I laugh against the wetness of her pussy as she pushes herself toward me. With my mouth, my lips, my tongue, I can’t get enough—she tastes so good. “I’ve wanted your sweet pussy in my mouth, around me, on me . . . all day. I’m going to feast on you.”

She giggles and I’m sure she must turn red. Talking dirty to her is something I know she likes. But as I slide my finger inside her and circle her walls, she stops laughing and I can feel her muscles tighten—she feels so good. I circle her clit over and over, licking her and stroking her at the same time. I want to devour her, every inch of her . . . lick her all up and then do it again and again. The way her body reacts to my touch, the need between us—it’s raw and real and I never want it to end. But I settle on savoring her—slowly bringing her to the brink and pulling back to do it all over again.

When she starts to tremble, she digs her heels into the bed and I know she’s climaxing—that puts a huge grin on my face. I run my tongue up her body all the way to her lips, and she attacks my mouth greedily. She twists the necklace off her wrists and tangles her fingers in my hair. “I want to suck on you,” she says, letting her fingers slide down my back, pressing into my skin.

Rolling over onto my back, I bring her with me. I catch both her wrists and try to make my voice sound serious. “You let your hands free.”

She bites down on her lip. “I want to suck you. Please,” she says in that same sexy, raspy voice.

Her look melts my insides. “Fuck,” I growl, lifting my ass off the bed, offering my hard cock to her. Her warm lips are on my neck, my chest, my stomach. Her hand wraps around my base and her lips lick around my tip. Fuck. I might lose it before she even starts—I have got to get the horny teenage boy under control. Her tongue licks down my shaft before her mouth wraps around me. That feels so unbelievable. I throw my head back and brace my hand on her head. A low groan steals past my mouth and I can feel her lips move in an upward curl.

The next minute she’s taking all of me and I close my eyes and just let this feeling that I wish could last forever take over. I try as hard as I can to hang on, but I have to let go and feel what comes next—that feeling that puts me on top of the world, the one that is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt. I start to shudder and release at the very same time my phone on the nightstand starts to ring. I ignore it and continue to ride out the feeling as she swallows everything I have to give. I never let my phone go to voice mail, but today I do. The message light flashes, but my attention is for her right now. “Fuck,” I mutter, pulling her up to me. I kiss her hard, feeling out of breath and completely satisfied.

The smell of sausage and bacon wafts through the small one-room bungalow. I sit up, immediately blinded by the assault of light from the large picture window with a view of the lake. Rubbing my eyes, I sniff again and the sound of percolating coffee catches my attention. I glance around and see her, not very far away, but still not close enough.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Come here,” I say with a grin.

She walks toward me with a coffee mug in her hand and I accept the cup, but immediately set it on the table beside the bed and pull her down to me.

“Why are you dressed?”

“Did you want me to go the store naked?”

“No, but I’d like you next to me when I wake up.”

“I am now.” She starts to kiss me.

“But you’re not naked.”

She stands up and takes her layers off before sliding in bed next to me. “I am now,” she repeats.

My hands slide down her body. “Morning,” I whisper in her ear, pushing my erection against her stomach.

“Good morning again.” She giggles as her hands follow a similar path to mine.

An hour later I sip the cold coffee and tie the laces of my boots. “What do you want to do today?”

“Are we staying here?” she asks with a hopeful tone to her voice.

I cross the room as she’s stirring batter in a bowl. “Yes, it’s the Fourth of July, so I thought we would. We don’t have to be back to the bus until tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”

“I’d love to stay here. It’s beautiful.”

I pull her hips to mine. “No, you’re beautiful.”

She blushes, but the crackling of oil has her easing out of my grip way too soon.

On the counter sit a box of pancake mix and a bowl of blueberries. I know I must be wearing the biggest shit-eating grin when I see them. She’s busy taking the bacon from the pan when I open the drawer and grab a black rubber spatula. I hide it in my back pocket and once she’s finished, I scoop her up and set her on the table.

“You know what you haven’t had in a while?” I ask her.

“No,” she says, with more giggles.

I pull the spatula from my pocket and move it back and forth under her ass. “The Aunt Jemima Treatment.”

She laughs some more, and her blue eyes match the color of the water in the lake. “No, no, stop it!”

Channeling my best Bill Murray from Stripes, I ask, “Who’s your friend?”

“You.”

“Who do you love?” I question.

She places her hands on my cheeks and in a moment that takes my breath away she says, “You, you, always.”

We eat breakfast on a blanket out on the grass and then take a walk around the lake. The water looks like a mirror—clear and calm—and we decide to take out the small rowboat that’s tied up to the dock. We stop in the middle of the lake and lie back, absorbing the sun and each other. With my arms stretched behind my head, I can hear fish breaking the surface of the water, and it takes me back to when my grandfather and my father would occasionally take River and me fishing. Those days were good ones—dropping a pole in the water, sitting back, waiting for the fish to bite.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, raising her head off my chest.

I wrap my arms around her and look straight at her. “River. He was so impatient when we would all go fishing. He’d put his pole in the water for about five seconds and then get upset that he hadn’t caught anything.”

“I’ve envied what you have with him and Bell.”

My hand finds hers and I give it a squeeze. “Did you stay close with any of your sisters?”

“No, not really. Not the way you are with your brother and sister.”

I kiss her head. I have no words to respond. I am lucky in that way—in the way that I have a family that will do anything for one another. It’s always been that way. Even when my dad was a drunken mess, even when I caught him in bed with his guitar student and he claimed their relationship had not escalated to sex, we stood together—my brother and I and my sister.

“Ivy, I have some things to explain to you about my family. Things I probably should have told you years ago.”

She sits up and I pull her back to me. I want her close as I tell her about my father’s suicide. I tell her everything, everything except the fact that I’m to blame and what his last words to me were—that he muttered the name of her ex-fiancé before he died. And it’s strange, but in a moment of clarity I suddenly get why River didn’t want to tell Dahlia what he knew about her ex-fiancé—that Ben Covington had cheated on her with our sister, Bell. I get it. Damn it, River. I get it.

She lifts her chin, offering her mouth to take and do with as I want. I kiss her for a long time and then we lie quietly as the boat rocks us back and forth and I’m lulled to sleep.

The next thing I know I can feel her soft touch creeping up my chest. I snatch her hand and roll her over, but the rocking of the boat has me second-guessing my agility. I’m not sure I can actually fuck her in here and not tip it over.

“We should get back and figure out what to eat for dinner,” she says.

I look down at her, now pinned beneath me. She is so incredibly gorgeous, especially right now—her blond hair shines in the sunlight, her eyes reflect the color of the water, and the warmth from her body makes me wish we could stay like this forever.

“I know what I want for dinner,” I growl in her ear.

“Blueberry pancakes?” she asks.

“No,” I say, pushing my hard-on against her pussy.

“Bacon?”

“No, try again.”

“Me.” She giggles as I dip my tongue in her belly button—having decided I may not be able to fuck her in this boat, but I can certainly put my face between her legs.

When her cries of passion subside, I manage to row us back to shore. We take a shower and she very nicely relieves me of the tent I’ve had in my pants for the past hour. Then we finally get dressed and head to a small local pizzeria for dinner. Being together like this and having fun—it’s the way it used to be, and the way I hope it will stay.

Later, fireworks blaze above the lake as we watch bursts of color paint the sky through the open windows. The air is warm and we lie together in bed, entangled in each other’s arms, discussing our remaining stops and the things we want to explore in each city. When my phone rings, I pick it up and glance at the caller ID. It’s my sister.

“It’s Bell. Let me just see what she wants,” I tell Ivy.

She nods, her fingers skimming the letters down my side.

“Hey, Bell. This isn’t the best time to chat. Can I call you back?”

“Xander.” I tense at my sister’s tone. It sounds like she’s crying, but then she falls oddly silent.

“Bell, what’s wrong?”

“It’s bad, Xander. It’s really bad.”

“Bell, just fucking tell me.”

“It’s Dahlia. She’s on her way to the hospital. I was over there watching movies with her one minute and then the next minute there was blood everywhere. So much blood.”

I sit up, as alarm and concern course through my body.

“What are you talking about? What happened?” A sick knot forms in my gut.

“I don’t know. I was talking to her and the next thing I know I see blood seeping through the bedsheets. I called nine-one-one, and the ambulance just left. Xander, it’s too soon for the baby.”

I feel myself tremble. “Where’s River?”

“I called him. He’s on his way to the hospital. Xander, you have to come home. We need you.”

Ivy lifts her eyes and I take her hand, holding on tight, wanting to never let go.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me when you get to the hospital.” I stare silently at Ivy after I end the call. “I have to go home,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her to me.

We leave Niagara Falls in a blur. The one-hour car ride is an emotional one. I don’t want to have to leave her, but I can’t pull her off the tour. For some reason I bring up my father’s suicide again. We discuss it in more detail than I’ve ever told anyone—breaking down, I tell her I think I pushed him too far and that I’m the one who broke him. She’s quiet for the longest time and then she leans over and says, “Xander, people make their own choices—don’t blame yourself for your father’s.”

I squeeze her hand, remembering all those sessions in therapists’ offices when they would say the same thing. The difference when she says it is that I actually want to believe it. She runs her fingers through my hair and around my ear. “I wish you would have told me then, but thank you for telling me now. I understand so much more now.”

We fall quiet as we both immerse ourselves deep in our own thoughts. I blink when I feel her smoothing her fingers through my hair. “I need you. You know that, right?”

My throat tightens as I shift my eyes to hers. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’d bring you with me if I could.”

“I know,” she whispers quietly, fidgeting in her seat in the dark.

I stop at a light and turn toward her. I tip her chin to look at me and run my thumb over her lip. “Hey, we are going to be together. We might not know how or where, we might not know what comes after the tour, but we’re going to figure it out and we’ll figure it out together.”

Tears spill from her eyes and I gather her close to me. By the time I pull up next to the bus, I’m a fucking wreck. Thoughts of her and of my father are mixed with worry for my sister-in-law and my brother.

When we finally arrive it’s really late and everyone is asleep. As soon as I set foot on the bus my phone rings. “Bell, what’s going on?” I answer.

“Oh, Xander, Dahlia had a miscarriage. She lost the baby. She was hemorrhaging and the doctors had to perform an emergency C-section.”

I can’t breathe. I have a hard time saying anything as I sit down and bow my head.

“How is she?”

“I don’t know,” Bell says between sobs.

“I’ll be there soon,” I manage to say and then I hang up.

Ivy’s hand finds my shoulder and I place mine over hers and a few moments later she leads me to the galley. She helps me throw a few things in a bag and within fifteen minutes I’m ready to set off for the airport to catch the red-eye. Tossing my bag in the trunk, I slam it shut and turn to her and pull her to me, holding her tightly. Anxiety and nervousness pulse through me at the thought of leaving her. It’s an incredibly familiar, yet somehow still foreign, feeling.

I place my fingertip over her lips and outline them, then cup the sides of her face and lean in to kiss her. “Bye, gorgeous. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

She nods reluctantly. Her expression softens as she runs her hand down my cheek. “Call me when you land, even if it’s early. Okay?” Exhaling deeply, she adds, “And, Xander, I’m here for you if you just need to talk. Remember that. I love you.”

Her words catch me off guard—I’m not used to people baring their feelings to me and I’m not used to baring them back.

With a heavy sigh, I tighten my grip on her. Kissing her hair, I whisper, “I love you too” into her ear. Then I notice she’s wearing the candy necklace. I bend down and gently bite a piece off. Chewing it, I say softly, “I’ll call you,” and without looking back, for fear of not being able to leave, I quickly get into the car.