Mended

PROLOGUE Let Her Go

Xander, 18 Years Old

A black Jetta with heavily tinted windows swerves around the corner and comes to a stop in front of me, blocking my path as I walk through her school parking lot. The window rolls down and the thumping of the stereo’s bass assaults me. I grin, recognizing the song immediately.

Logan Taylor pokes his head out to meet my stare. “Hey, dude, where you been?”

“Hey, man. Good to see you. I’ve been here and there. You?”

He hangs his arm out the open window. “Same. It’s been weird not jamming with you every day.”

“I know. Talk to your aunt.”

“Do I look suicidal?” he says, then blows the hair out of his eyes.

I just shake my head because there’s nothing else I can say. Not wanting to discuss Mrs. Taylor, I check out the curves he’s sitting in. “New car?” I ask as my eyes sweep the sleek, shiny body in front of me.

He shakes his head. “I wish. It’s my dad’s, and anyway you know I’d never pick a yuppie-mobile if I had my choice. I’d much rather have a car like yours any day, but no chance of that.”

I laugh. I do love my car. It used to belong to my father—it was his sixteenth birthday present from my grandparents and he kept it all these years. When I was little I always admired it even if it only sat in my grandparents’ garage. My dad never drove it anymore. He said it wasn’t a family car. So when my dad gave me his shiny red Corvette for my own sixteenth birthday, I couldn’t have been more excited.

“You here to see my cousin?”

“You know it,” I say with a grin.

“She’ll be glad to see you, man. She’s been in a funk. Her mother has her going out on auditions almost every day.”

I roll my eyes and sigh at the same time. I can’t wait to get her out of this town. I take a deep breath before responding. “She told me you’ve been getting her where she needs to go. Thanks for looking out for my girl.”

“Hey, she’s family and I love her. I’d do anything for my cousin. . . . You know that. Listen, I have to jet, but call me and let’s get together,” he says, then speeds off.

I shuffle onward with a slight smile on my face from knowing I finally get to see her. I take the short walk over to our meeting spot and the bell rings just as I arrive. The doors open and she walks my way. Her earrings glitter where they dangle from her ears—the sun reflecting off the star-shaped sapphire stones that are the exact same color as her eyes. Watching the way she moves, I can’t help but think she’s the total package . . . looks, personality, brains, and a rocking body. There’s a mysterious allure about her that I can never explain—she has an innocence that I’d do anything to protect. She’s confident yet shy, strong but not, a rebel and a conformist all in one. And I fucking love her.

A huge smile breaks across her angelic face when she sees me standing near the basketball court and my heart goes crazy. Her small frame whisks in my direction and her long, platinum blond hair blows in the wind. She lifts her hand to her mouth and forms a perfect O as she blows me a kiss. She looks beautiful, and all I can do is grin. My gaze quickly drifts to her chest and then down to her narrow hips. She’s wearing a white button-down that’s a tad too tight and a navy skirt that’s a little too short. Don’t get me wrong—my body reacts to hers with just a single glance. That’s how much I love the way she looks. But I hate the thought of all the other guys seeing what’s mine, especially when I’m not around to put them in their place.

Pulling off my red Brent Academy polo and tossing it on the bench behind me, I slide my shades on and stand in my khakis and white T-shirt waiting for my girl, Ivy Taylor, to get closer. I keep my eyes fixed on her, ignoring all the other students around me. Sure, some of the guys walking by give me crooked looks, but that’s as far as they take it anymore. They’re used to seeing me by now—I’ve been waiting for her most days after school since I started driving. At first they didn’t like me on their school grounds, but after a few fights they learned to leave me alone or get the shit kicked out of them. Just because I dress like a preppy ass doesn’t mean I am one.

Today I skipped out of school early—leaving my brother at the pristine private school we attend so I could see my girlfriend. Ivy attends a magnet school in the heart of LA. She lives nearby in a rent-controlled apartment building with her mother and three much younger sisters. Their father took off on them long ago and Kelly Taylor, Ivy’s mother, is nothing if not resentful about it. In fact, her spiteful attitude is sometimes directed at me, and lately she’s restricted our time together. She says she got a new job with later hours, so now Ivy has to go home right after school and I’m no longer allowed over when she’s not there. Coincidental? I doubt it. I can see through her—she views me as a threat to her golden ticket.

There’s no one to blame except myself for not keeping my big mouth shut, but I couldn’t help it. Her vendetta against me started when she overheard Ivy and me planning our rehearsal schedule. She made the idiotic statement that her daughter was a born actress and she should be spending her time rehearsing for parts and preparing for auditions, not playing in a band. She even went so far as to ask me, “Don’t you agree, Xander, that with Ivy’s looks she should be an actress, not a singer?”

“Do you even know Ivy?” I asked with a dry laugh.

“Yes, I know my daughter. And I know that with her beauty, she’ll be an instant superstar. She just needs a push in the right direction. She needs to put herself out there more is all. Did she tell you an agent contacted me?”

I looked at her, dumbfounded, shaking my head. Because no, Ivy hadn’t told me.

She grinned. “Well, one did—last week. He spotted Ivy when the band was playing at that school in Anaheim and thought she’d be perfect for a TV show airing in the fall. She auditions for it next week.”

Ivy’s head dropped as she spoke. “Mom, I told you, there’s no way I’m wearing a bathing suit on camera.”

Mrs. Taylor snapped, “Ivy, maybe the lifeguard part isn’t right for you, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t another role you’d like in the series. You need to go for the exposure, if not for the practice.”

“Mom, I don’t want to act,” Ivy reluctantly told her mother.

“We’ve talked about this. Singing in a band will take you nowhere. The money is in acting.”

“She doesn’t care about where the money is,” I retorted, glaring at her mother. I mean, come on, Ivy’s a modest, shy girl. It took forever for her to feel comfortable around me. Traipsing around a movie set half-dressed isn’t exactly her thing, and honestly, I don’t think I could handle it anyway. I didn’t even bother to address where the money is. That was just a ridiculous statement. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Taylor, but everything isn’t about money. Ivy’s never even expressed the slightest bit of interest in acting—it’s always been you making her go on auditions that she doesn’t want to go on. I think Ivy needs to decide what she wants to do herself.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Money has never been an issue for you or your family,” Mrs. Taylor said.

I didn’t respond. She was wrong. Yes, my grandfather had money, but my mother had been living paycheck to paycheck over the last couple of years. My father’s erratic work schedule never guaranteed enough to even pay the mortgage, and if it weren’t for my grandparents we’d have lost our house. But that wasn’t something I was going to get into with her. I may have had a smug look on my face, I don’t know, because she stared at me for the longest time and so did Ivy. The difference? Ivy’s stare said, “Thank you.” Mrs. Taylor’s stare said, “Fuck you.”

The truth is, I know Ivy very well. We’ve been together for four years. We met through Logan. He and I were playing on the same basketball team when he told me he was looking to put a band together. I asked who he had lined up. He told me he played the drums and he had a cousin who sang, played guitar, and wrote songs. When I asked what his cousin was like, he said, “She’s a talented girl whose voice draws you in the minute you hear it, and the beautiful tone of her guitar playing only sucks you in further.”

His description of her intrigued me enough to make me consider joining. When I met Ivy, I could tell right away that she was a soulful artist who sang about what she knew, what she experienced. Once I heard her sing, I definitely wanted to hear more, and before I knew it, I was playing guitar with Logan and his cousin, Ivy Taylor. We called ourselves Poison Ivy and modeled our band after No Doubt. Which is fitting, because Ivy looks like a young Gwen Stefani. For the record, I agreed to play in the band because I was hot for Ivy, but I stayed because she really could write a song, sing a note, and rock a rhythm guitar like no other girl I knew. It didn’t hurt that I fell in love with her the minute her fingers hit the chords. That smile she gave me when she played and sang was one I knew I couldn’t live without.

Now it’s been almost a week since we last saw each other, and my train of thought is instantly derailed the minute she jumps into my arms. “You made it! I’ve missed you so much.”

I fall back onto the bench with her on my lap, my hands gliding up her warm thighs, and I tug her skirt down. “Hi, gorgeous. I told you I’d be here. I just couldn’t skip out of school early this week until today. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I hate not seeing you. It sucks.”

Circling my hands around to her fine ass, I push her closer to me and grin. “I think what you mean to say is you love me so much you can’t bear to be without me that long.”

Her fingers travel to my hair and she yanks on it and says softly, “Stop putting words in my mouth, even if they are true.”

Reaching up, I take her hands in mine and stare into the depths of her blue eyes. Today they are the darkest of blues—stormy. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” I breathe out. Then after another moment I whisper, “God, I love you.”

A quiet sigh escapes her lips and the look in her eyes tells me everything I already know but still love to hear. She nuzzles her nose close to my ear and the warmth of her breath on my skin instantly excites me. “I love you, too, Xander. And I can’t wait until the fall so we can see each other every day without our family issues getting in our way.”

I attach my lips to hers and kiss her with the passion that always ignites between us whenever we touch. I think about the freedom we’ll have to be together, and I get lost in just the idea of it. Pulling away, I brush my tongue across her lower lip. “I can’t wait either,” I murmur. The thought of us on our own together has my body going into overdrive. The muscles in her thighs tighten and the sound of her breathing becomes louder. I hold her face in my hands and just look at her—she takes my breath away. She always does . . . she always has and she always will.

She leans in and kisses me slowly. It’s not the same as the way I kissed her. Her kiss is one of need, not want, and I can feel it. I respond with slow, steady flicks of my tongue, but before I’m done letting her know I’ll always be here for her, someone is tapping me on the shoulder. I twist around to see a short, gray-haired woman in a yellow suit pointing her finger at me. “Excuse me, young man, but that kind of behavior is not allowed on school grounds. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Ivy scurries off my lap, smoothing her skirt. “Sorry, Vice Principal Myers. It won’t happen again.” She forces a smile at the woman, who has scolded us a few too many times over the years.

“Oh, Ivy, I know it won’t, my dear,” the iron-faced lady says while shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

It happens every damn time, and I wonder if she remembers me or thinks Ivy’s kissing a different guy each time she catches us. I try to apologize, but like usual she turns around in a huff and marches toward the other end of the basketball court to break up another couple heading in the same direction we were. Standing up, I wrap my arm around Ivy’s waist and lead her to my car. Leaning over, I whisper in her ear, “Your skirt is a little short, don’t you think?”

She looks down as if she forgot what she’s wearing. She shrugs her shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t.”

“All you have to do is bend over and every guy will think your ass is just begging to be spanked.”

She laughs. Before I can comment further she snakes her arm around my waist. She looks up at me trying to stifle her laughter. “Xander, I’m pretty sure you’re the only guy that thinks that way when he looks at me.”

“Trust me, baby, I’m not. But keep it up and I’ll be doing more than just thinking it.”

She giggles again. She thinks I’m kidding—but I’m not.

The hot sun beats down on us and reflects off the paint of the cars in the parking lot, nearly blinding Ivy. I turn to face her. I walk backward and remove my sunglasses to place them on her pretty face. Twisting back, I slap her ass and clutch her by the hand, then sprint for my car, about fifty yards away. We are both panting when we reach it. After I open the door for her, she pushes the seat forward and throws her red sack on the floor, but fails in her attempt to swat me with it first. I shake my head and grin. When her eyes adjust to the shade, she removes my sunglasses. Her face is a vision as she props herself back on her elbows and pulls her red combat boots into the car. With love written all over her face, I decide to drop the clothing issue. “You all set?” I ask.

She nods and I quickly close the door and dart around to the driver’s side. By the time I slide in, she’s buckled up and grinning at me. As I start the engine, the throaty roar of the 5.4-liter V-8 comes to life. I turn to her, barely able to speak with thoughts of what I hope to have time for shifting through my mind, and ask, “What time do you have to be home?”

She leans over and slides her tongue around the shell of my ear. “I have at least two hours. I was hoping you’d make it today, so I told my mom I had a study session and to ask Mrs. Cooper to babysit if she couldn’t get home before the girls’ bus.”

Turning my Corvette around the corner a little too fast, I drag my mind back to the road, but my dick twitches as I try to decide where we should go. My grandparents are in the process of moving from their house in Brentwood to a condominium in Beverly Hills and I’m pretty sure yesterday was moving day, so the house should be empty today. I know they have until the end of the summer to fully vacate, but I think we’re safe going there now. I glance at her as she settles back in her seat and fumbles through her bag with a look of concern on her face.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

Her eyes flutter as we turn the corner and the sun makes them sparkle. “Of course,” she says with a smile.

“Where do you want to go? Pool house or pier?” I ask. Of course, getting her naked is what I really want to do, but I’d be cool with just hanging out and talking if that’s what she’s up for. I know she has a lot going on with her mother.

Pulling a CD out of her bag, she ejects my Nirvana disc and tucks it into the sleeve above her visor, alongside the many others. Then she inserts hers into the player and kicks her feet up. Staring at her legs has me wishing I hadn’t given her a choice of where to go. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she reaches for the sunglasses she threw on the dash and puts them on. Then she looks my way, raises her head, and quietly says, “The pool house is fine with me.”

My mouth goes dry and my breathing becomes forced. I’m a little more than excited with her choice. I try to deflect my anticipation by pointing to the player. “What CD is this?”

Dropping her feet, she turns toward me and just a glance has me looking at her tits overflowing from her pushup bra. Fuck, a week has been a long time. How am I going to make the two months this summer? I hope my mom will let me make calls from France.

“Stop staring at my chest,” she chastises me, not even attempting to pull the puckered fabric of her shirt together.

“How can I be staring when I’m driving?”

“I don’t know, but you are,” she says, turning bright red.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I tell her.

“I’m not,” she says shyly and searches in her bag again. She offers me a piece of gum and I decline as she sticks one in her mouth. She blows a bubble and pops it before hitting PLAY. “I made you a mix tape so that when you’re thinking of me you can listen to it and know I’m thinking of you. I also made you a photo album,” she says, pulling a black canvas album out of her backpack. Glancing at it, I can see it has a picture of us inserted in the front. It’s a photo from last summer when we went with my family to Niagara Falls to see Third Eye Blind perform. Ivy and I are standing on the Maid of the Mist in yellow ponchos—both of us have a look of awe on our faces as the water rushes all around us and the sound of the falls roars above us.

“The pictures aren’t to share. And don’t look at them until you’re in France. This is to keep you away from all those hot French babes.”

“Baby, I’m only interested in you.”

“Two months is a long time, though.”

“It is. But all it means is a lot of hand action,” I joke.

Her face blazes with color. “That’s why I’m giving you a few pictures.”

I glance back at the album with what I know must be a shit-eating grin.

“Caution” plays through the speakers, and the song pulls me back in time. It was the first song she wrote that we played together and the only song I ever had a vocal spot in. Both of us seem to lose ourselves in our memories. We’ve been dreading the time we’ll be apart this summer. I thought I was taking it harder than she was, but I’m no longer so sure. Sometimes I forget that underneath her seemingly hard exterior is that fragile, sensitive girl who captured my heart. She always seems undaunted, unmoved—but I know she’s not.

Taking her hand, I pull it to my lips. “You’re crazy with those thoughts. You know that, right?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “We’ve never been apart for two months.”

I hesitate, trying to find the right words, but I’m not sure what they are, so I settle on, “It’ll be okay. It’s not that long. But thank you.” I pause, then chuckle. “How did I get so lucky to snag a girl like you?”

She leans over the console and kisses the corner of my mouth, then whispers in my ear, “It’s because you’re so good in bed.”

She quickly sits back in her seat, but I capture her hand first and look over at her. “You know it, baby,” I joke. Her cheeks blaze and I laugh. We were both virgins when we met and have only been with each other, so really there are no comparisons, and I like it that way. “Caution” ends and so does the playful mood in the car when Keane’s “She Has No Time” starts playing. The lyrics of the song cast a wave of sadness over me and I swallow the huge lump in my throat as it plays on. Ivy isn’t one for openly expressing her feelings, but sometimes she tells me things that make me want to snatch her and just run away. And this song triggers that protective instinct I have for her. It reminds me of her life so much that I have to press STOP. I think it’s better for me to listen to this CD when I’m alone.

This is one of our last days together for a while, so I want to keep things light and fun. I always tell her our relationship is so entangled with our messed-up family lives, but really it’s hers that is the sadder. My father might have turned into a drunk, but my family is close—something she doesn’t have. She loves her sisters, but they are so much younger than she is—she’s more like their mother than their sister. And her mother—I don’t even want to think about her.

As the CD ejects, I turn to her and mouth, “Thank you.” Then I tell her, “I’ll listen to it later,” and place the CD in the console.

“Technically, do people really make mix tapes anymore? Or are they called mix CDs?”

Laughing at her attempt to lighten the mood, I say, “I have no fucking idea, but great question.”

She twists sideways to pick up the photo album again and freezes. “Whose pink bag is that?”

I quickly glance back. “Tessa’s I think.”

“Why are Tessa Bloom’s things here?” she asks. Her voice is harsh.

I shrug. “She must have left it in here when I gave her a ride home.”

“Why are you giving her rides home? Doesn’t she have her own car?”

I place my hand on the bare skin of her leg. “Baby, not rides. A ride. And her car was in the shop, so she needed a lift.”

She leans back in her seat and fidgets with the seat belt. She turns away but replies, “I don’t really like her or her friend Amy hanging out with you when I’m not around.”

I squeeze her thigh and inch my fingers under her skirt. “Don’t be jealous. We’re just friends. You know that.”

She pouts. “I can’t help it. I know she likes you, Xander.”

“She doesn’t. But even if she did—I love you.”

She looks at me uncertainly. I reach my hand over and catch the back of her neck, pulling her in my direction. “Do you hear me?”

She nods and I let the silence sweep the car. Again, I want to keep today light, not argue about a girl who doesn’t matter. I finally pull into my grandparents’ driveway, and as I park my car, I see that she’s looking straight ahead, ignoring me. I lean over and kiss her cheek, then nip her ear. “Come on—we don’t have much time. Don’t be mad at me over a stupid ride.” She turns her head and I tug on her lip.

She finally smiles and playfully tries to tug mine back. Then, knuckling me in the side and wrinkling her nose, she says, “No more rides.”

“Okay,” I reply. “No more rides. Now stay put.” I push open my door and head over to her side of the car.

We walk quickly, straight to the pool house. It’s where we’ve spent most of our alone time over the past four years. Lately, I’ve had to share it with my brother, but when I found out my grandparents sold their house, I told him in no uncertain terms that the pool house was mine for the time we had left.

I swing open the unlocked opaque glass door. Ivy walks in first and I follow. The built-in window seat, ceiling fan, light blue walls, and bamboo wooden floor are all that remain. The furniture and pool table are gone, but I don’t think either of us cares. Once I close the door we become two silhouettes in a darkened room. She turns around and stands on her tiptoes. With the blinds closed, there is barely enough light to illuminate anything, but I can see the gleam in her eyes. I bury my face in her neck. “Fuck, I missed you,” I say again.

My hands roam her body, and her fingers skim mine right down to the front of my pants. Her fingertips trace up the length of my zipper and when she finds the tab, she slowly pulls it down.

“Fuck,” I say, and let my head fall back—her gentle touch only excites me further. When I can’t take it another minute, I circle my arms around her waist and suck on her earlobe. “Ummm . . . that feels so good.”

She drops her hands and leans into me—and the strain in my pants actually becomes painful. I quickly pull her shirt over her head and feel my way to the inside of her bra. “Unsnap it,” I tell her and when she does I feel the full weight of her breasts in my hands and then with my mouth. Heat blazes through me and I can’t help but think about the looming summer separation that’s just a few days away—it’s really going to suck. I’m going to spend the next two months in Paris with my aunt, and Ivy will be taking her sisters to their grandparents’ place in Indiana. I hope those pictures she gave me help me get through it. I’m sure I’ll be doing a lot of fantasizing, so I try to capture every second of right now to use then as well.

When my lips return to hers, she’s trembling. “Are you cold?” I ask her.

“No,” she responds, her eyelids fluttering.

In the next moment, with our breathing loud and heartbeats louder, she pulls my shirt over my head. Running one hand along my abdomen, she teases, “Wow, have you been working out more?”

I catch her hand in mine and her smile lights up the room. I yank her to me and cover her mouth with mine in a hungry kiss. She responds immediately. My mouth caresses her soft lips and I want to taste every inch of her sweetness with my tongue.

Once I feel like I have thoroughly kissed her, I pull away, “Yeah, I’ve been working out every day, trying to exhaust myself to keep from climbing in your bedroom window and fucking you. And if I didn’t think your mom would have me arrested, I would have.”

She laughs halfheartedly. “It won’t be long and we won’t have to worry about my mom.” I can hear a sadness in her voice and I hope it’s only that she’ll miss her sisters when she’s away at college She kisses the very corner of my lips and runs her hands back down my stomach.

I hold her tightly and claim her mouth. With her eager return, my breathing quickens and my pulse races. It doesn’t take long for me to lean back and crook my finger, leading her over to the window seat. Feeling a sense of uncertainty in her that isn’t usually there, I take my time. I want her to feel how much I love her . . . to know she doesn’t have to worry about us being apart. I unbutton her skirt at the waist and then tug the zipper down, and the skirt falls to the floor.

“Open your legs,” I command.

When she does as I ask, I cover her pussy with my hand and slip my fingers inside her panties. She is so wet. I suck in a breath, wanting to savor the feeling. It’s hard to believe two people could ever want each other as much as we do.

The room transforms around me. I see nothing but her as I quickly remove my pants. She watches me, and then I clutch her hips so I can lower us to the cushion, where I plan to spend all of the hour we have left making love to her. This time the sex won’t be frenzied, the fucking won’t be hurried—no, it will be a reflection of how we feel about each other. I wish we had more time . . . I wish we had all the time in the world. However, right now we don’t. I know I have to get her home and then head back to school to pick up River. But I push those thoughts aside and sink into her. As I thrust in and out, the world as I know it fades away and pleasure is all that remains.