CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IVY
I f I could live only one snippet of life, it would be a string of endless Octobers.
Our days are nothing short of magical. Cinnamon and nutmeg infused gatherings.
The cool breeze rustling up vibrant-colored leaves while we train—running and climbing and hollering like kids on the cusp of freedom in a schoolyard.
The pumpkin coffee and hot meals Wells forces on me—nervous I’ve gotten too cold or worn out.
The smoke and flames that light up the inky sky when they spin campfire tales—stories that I lock away because although I don’t feel captive, the stories read like clues to my deliverance.
It’s been nearly a month and a half in this new world, edging close to three weeks since Wells and I became a couple between the sheets.
Everything before—before we met, before I was folded into this odd but comforting family, before Wells made me feel things I’d only read in novels—is like a distant dream.
I’m no closer to understanding what’s got him so shaken or what the threat to me is, but my trust in him has grown.
It’s not a gut feeling I’m relying on now.
I see it in all the tiny ways he cares for me.
The conviction in what we’re building is news I’ve wanted to shout from the rooftops, but being concealed from civilization makes that challenging.
The brief contact with the three women in my life has been enough to suffice.
My mother cried the last time I spoke to her, so relieved that I was well and happy.
Rena has been a constant source of encouragement.
And I finally received a response from Celeste the day after Wells and I had sex.
I should have known that would be what would wake her up.
She’s been busy, battling shoddy service, plunging into heart-stopping adventures, and being “fucked into a coma”—her words, not mine.
She was ecstatic for me, but I don’t expect her communication to be any better moving forward.
There’s no resentment on my end though. It’s good she has this experience before she signs herself away to be some politician’s mannequin wife.
And I can’t complain because it seems I’m meant to be right where I am.
Somewhere, among these men, is my purpose, or my sword, as Wells put it. I don’t know what that means or why I feel it, but it’s here. A belonging. Until I figure it out, I’m content to be swept up with Wells in this autumn retreat though.
As I sit at the dining table for our late afternoon dinner, I realize my thoughts have drifted because eight amused eyes are staring at me while I chew. I wonder how long I was chasing that shooting star.
Covering my dreamlike absence, I clear my throat and deflect. “How did you guys meet?”
Liam lifts a slice of pizza to his mouth, gaze still on me. “Military.”
Gage bangs his fist on the table, the pizza box jumping with a start. “The fuck, man?”
I’d love to know who burned him. Everything is always so melodramatic.
“She’s with us,” Ty snaps. “If we’re bringing her in, she’s in . Christ, she’s his fucking wife.”
Ty is best-friend-for-life material, which would make Celeste turn fifty shades of green, but we’ll cross that bridge when she’s done mounting things halfway across the globe.
Wells quietly studies them all before locking on to me. “We were Navy SEALs.”
“Wow,” I say, noting how quiet they’ve all become, like I’ve unlocked some mysterious treasure .
It certainly explains a lot. The way they silently communicate and bounce off one another. The power and authority they all seem to drip. While I don’t know much about the Navy SEALs, I know they’re hard-core. Maybe that’s the source of the burn marks and scars Wells refuses to talk about.
“So, you’re all from different parts of the US?” I ask.
Liam nods with a wink, unfazed by my questions, and yet the air feels thick. Although since they’re allowing me to pry, I don’t see why I should stop yet.
“And family? Your families must be all over then? Missing you.”
Gage huffs. “Wrong. Assumptions brought about by the cushy life others have sacrificed to give you.”
He’s obviously in one of his moods. Makes me wish I had a brownie to shove down his tonsils, but I won’t let his tantrum goad me.
My irritation splashes into guilt, but I’m not even sure for what. It’s not really me he’s mad at—can’t be—but I’ve certainly poured salt into an unhealed wound. Turning toward Wells, I cock a questioning brow.
He, again, looks them all over before acknowledging me. “No family.”
It takes a good ten seconds for my mind to latch on to that. When it does, there’s no stopping the gasp that falls from me, slicing through the quiet like the thwack of a fallen tree. “None of you … have anyone? I don’t understand.”
“Part of how we came together in the Navy,” Ty supplies, and while I don’t know quite what that means, he’s likely not referring to an orphan support group.
The somber mood of the table has me anxious. It’s as though they’re waiting—waiting to see if I pity them or dig deeper than they’re willing to let me go. But if they’re truly accepting me, letting me become the family they lack,I’m going to make it the easiest decision they’ve ever made .
I snatch another piece of pizza from the box with a sigh. “Well, thank God. That’ll make Thanksgiving a lot fucking easier.”
Ty and Liam immediately burst into laughter, which has Wells chuckling too. But while Gage is smirking, he seems unsure, so I test the waters.
“Especially yours, Big Guy. If genetics are any indication, one of you is more than enough. I can only bake so many pies.”
He nods with a faint grin, and while I don’t think that means he suddenly trusts me with his past, he’s more at ease.
Dinner continues with our usual light banter, but once it ends, I chase Wells down in the library. He’s lounging in the reading chair he likes with a scotch in hand, some symphony I don’t recognize rumbling quietly in the background.
I slide myself onto the arm, planting my feet in his lap and sweeping my fingers through his hair. “What happened to your family?”
His emeralds dance all over my face while he sips his drink. “They were killed in a tornado when I was sixteen. I was at a friend’s house, the next town over.”
My heart cracks wide open, but I fight the emotion, for fear it will close him off. “Your mom and dad?”
He nods. “And my younger brother.”
I clutch my chest, tears brimming my eyes, barely able to hold it in. “Jesus, Wells, that’s awful.”
He sets down his drink and drags me onto his lap, so I’m curled in his arms. “It was another lifetime. I’m okay. I have you.”
Another lifetime. Like the tattoos.
“Don’t do that—gloss over it and shut me out. Don’t you miss them?”
“Of course, but holding on to the past won’t bring them back.” His fingers string through my hair, and I lose myself to his pacifying touch for a few moments—until a baffling connection jolts me alert.
“Your family died in a tornado, but you call me Little Storm. Why? ”
His arms tighten around me. “Sometimes, storms come to decimate everything we deem important. Other times, they come to clear our path.”
“Which one am I?”
“Both,” he rasps.
I don’t know what to do with that. Wells has a poetic side to him, the part of him that loves literature, that chooses books with lost love and unmet longings. Maybe he sees our love story as a tragedy rather than a romance.
“Both?” I squeak, the emotion finally dripping onto my cheek.
He wipes my tear and cups my chin, securing it in place so I meet his eyes. “You changed everything, Ivanna. Turned it all upside down. The moment I saw you, I knew I was lost to whatever path you carved for me.”
Sometimes, the way he touches me or phrases things, it’s like a whisper in disguise. A ripple in a pond.
It’s my eighteenth birthday party—a masquerade ball, like I requested—but I’m angry.
This afternoon, my father informed me that I have to attend the local university and that my security detail will be increased.
I love him, trust him, and want to make him happy, but I was hoping to go away for school.
I wander out to our terrace. It’s my favorite place, overlooking the pond.
The cold December night air causes my bare arms to erupt in goose bumps, but I don’t care.
I can’t go back in there right now. My hope was that the masks would add an element of mystery while also veiling how alone I always feel surrounded by people. It didn’t quite work.
As I’m staring at the way the moonlight capers off the water, a stone suddenly skips across the glassy surface, ripples bleeding out to the rim. I jerk my head up, searching for the author of the enthralling ripples.
On the other side of the terrace, shrouded in shadows, beneath a black-and-silver mask, and devastating in an impeccably tailored suit, a man peers back at me. I’m not usually afraid, nor am I bold. Social etiquette generally has me evaluating someone’s actions before choosing my own.
But here, masked and facing an equally hidden man, I don’t feel the need to be meek. He doesn’t say a word as I walk toward him. He only watches.
When I’m inches from him, I pluck one of the stones from his palm, rubbing my thumb over it and noticing how smooth yet unbelievably ordinary it is.
“Skipping stones—one of those simple yet captivating activities.” I send it to hop on the water like the one before it.
“It’s remarkable how something so ordinary can skirt the surface of something so much larger, causing ripples that shake the entirety of the pond. ”
He chuckles a little under his breath. “Why stand out here in the cold, alone, on your birthday?”
I lift my chin, curious to who lies beneath the mask. His voice is mesmerizing and not one I’ve ever heard before. But he knows who I am.