CHAPTER TWENTY
IVY
W ells and I are lazing by the pond, drinking an after-lunch cup of coffee.
Both of us relish the quiet out here—the crisp air, the birds trilling their farewell tune before they travel south, the solitary, triumphant leaves boasting about hanging on the longest. The glassy surface of the water reflects a world of beauty.
It’s a placid stretch between an exhausting morning and his hectic afternoon.
He’s got something to take care of with Ty and Gage in a bit, so Liam and I will be hanging out.
It’s been four days since I met Daniel O’Reilly.
He’s a sweet man, but the kinship bond he was undoubtedly hoping for isn’t quite there for me.
I am excited to learn from him though. We haven’t heard anything from KORT yet.
Everything is hovering in limbo. I’m not sure what to expect, so I’m trying not to dwell on it.
While we’ve still been training each morning, our afternoons and evenings have been reserved for lighter activities, knowing the days ahead may be anything but.
Wells twines our fingers together, lifting our interlocked hands to his mouth for a kiss. “Still feeling positive, Ives? Confident?” He asks me this every day, gauging my anxiety level when I think his is far worse.
My gut might have felt good about him from the start, but I had no idea what a romantic he’d be—so doting. He’s more than I could’ve ever hoped for in a husband. It makes sense that my father approved, which gifts me an unexpected piece of my dad.
I fall against Wells’s shoulder, my free arm cinching around his waist. “I’m good. Promise. I was trained by the best after all. What’s there to fear?” It’s a flippant response. I’m actually super nervous, but the strength of Wells and the guys keeps me encouraged.
“Right, beautiful,” he says, kissing my hair and moving our tethered hands to my lower back so he can curl me into a snugger hug.
The crack of a twig alerts us that Liam is here to invade our peaceful respite. We twist to see him smirking.
“Time’s up, lovebirds.”
Wells turns back to me, eyes cavernous, as they’ve been every moment he’s stepped away from me this past week. His voice is marked by a hoarse tenor. “Time to part, Little Storm.” He grazes his knuckles over my cheek. “Have fun.”
“Oh, she’s gonna have the time of her life,” Liam says, twirling keys around his index finger with a jingle. “Want to drive the Shelby Cobra, High Society?”
I shoot up off the ground, hands covering my mouth. “No fucking way!”
When they told me my father drove the Bugatti, I assured them I would be far too nervous to burn the same rubber, but it would be a dream to drive the Shelby Cobra. So much has happened that I completely forgot about it.
Liam and Wells both chortle.
“Yep,” Liam confirms, tossing me the keys. “Thought we’d go get some of those hot cinnamon-sugar doughnuts you like too.”
After tackling Liam with a back-breaking thank-you, I jump down and smack Wells on the chest. His steel physique is unbudgeable. “Did you know he was taking me to do this?”
He chuckles, picking me up, plopping me into the golf cart, and scooting in beside me while Liam hops in to drive us back. “Wouldn’t have been as exciting if you had known hours ahead of time.”
As the golf cart wheels toward the house, his arm snakes around my waist, his fingers thread into my hair, and his lips meld with mine for a knee-weakening kiss. It’s good we’re sitting.
He rests his forehead against mine right as we pull up to the patio. “Love you, Little Storm. I’ll meet you back here later. Drive safe.”
“Love you too. Thanks for this, Chief . I miss you already.” I plant one more peck on his lips, adding a playful nibble, and hug him so tightly that my body aches from the lack of his warmth and security when I let go.
Wells heads to the garage to leave with Ty and Gage while I rush off to change, shouting to Liam over my shoulder, “Give me ten minutes.”
“No worries, Ivy. I’ve got all day, which is good because you’ll never make it back out here in ten.”
Accepting that as a challenge, I rushinto my room, swapping my lounge attire for jeans and a sweater.
And boots—boots weather should be a celebrated season in itself.
Unfortunately, Wells stored my brown leather lace-up boots, along with my other winter shoes, in the land where only tall people venture, so I hop and swat, too impatient to drag a chair in here.
My efforts pay off though, and I knock said vital footwear onto the floor in an ungraceful tumbling with three other boxes.
Liam is going to gloat at my inability to hurry, which will be terribly annoying.
Wrestling my boots on, I lace them up and start to reassemble the contents of the other boxes.
Two are pairs of my shoes, and one belongs to Wells—a pair of old combat boots.
I pack them all away and ready myself to return them to the high shelf.
Until a glimmer catches my eye, taking my breath away.
It’s a ruby necklace on a platinum chain.
And it’s mine.
No, it can’t be. That’s ridiculous. I flip it over to check for the numbers that were engraved on the back of mine—a serial number imprinted on high-valued jewelry.
I remember the number—one of those odd things stuck in my head.
It was a necklace I was forbidden to wear, kept in my mother’s jewelry box for when I grew up, which made it the most enticing prize in our home.
My fingers brushed over that number more times than I could count.
Doing the same now, I see it matches. What the hell?
I don’t understand why he would have this since I lost it when I was fourteen or fifteen, away at camp—an offense that devastated my parents and got me grounded for an exorbitant amount of time.
It was a fatal mistake because I had spent months asking to attend that camp, and that transgression guaranteed I’d never go again.
My pulse thumps in my eye sockets and temples and ears as I wonder what else Wells has left out, but I bury that thought. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. We’ve been through too much to leap to conclusions.
I stack some empty suitcases to stand on, return all the boxes to their rightful spots, and jump down, the necklace still in my hand, twirling in circles.
Undecided. Finally, I mosey into the bathroom, pull out my makeup bag, and stick the necklace in an inside pocket—for safekeeping and easy access later. I’ll ask Wells about it tonight.
Banishing the uneasy feeling swarming my stomach, I pluck the keys off the dresser and scurry out to find Liam, his arms crossed and snickering.
“Not a word,” I snap.
He holds up surrendering hands and follows me to the garage.
Once I’m seated in the driver’s seat, windows down in spite of the chill, Liam grinning ear to ear, my only thoughts are about freedom and the wind flapping my hair.
We buy a plentiful stash of the warmest, gooiest, coziest doughnuts in existence, along with two lattes—pumpkin for me—and stop at a nearby park to enjoy them.
The mid-afternoon sun is peeking out from behind the gray clouds, a snug golden blanket enveloping our snack break.
The autumn perfection keeps beckoning my mind to drift into dandelion dreams—damp earth and yeast and pumpkin spice floating on the breeze—but Liam is an agitator, bugging me with a childlike nagging to stay present.
In his defense, his phone is lying on the table, but he hasn’t touched it, offering me his full attention. So, I return it .
We’re perched side by side at a picnic table, giggling like kids over the fact that we’re eating far too many of these delicacies. If we don’t stop, there won’t be any left to take home—a crime against Gage, which is punishable by slow torture, surely resulting in death.
“Thanks for giving me your afternoon, High Society.” Liam is straddling the bench beside me, and I can feel his arrogant twinkle on my face.
I knock him in the ribs with my elbow. “Seriously, Liam? You didn’t have to bribe me with sugar and your sweet ride to spend time with you, but this was amazing.” My mouth twitches into a gratified beam as I think about the drive here. “I really opened her up, right?”
“You sure did.” He chuckles, wrapping a friendly arm around my waist for a tickling pinch. “And you looked good doing it—so dainty .”
That earns a scowl from me, so I turn to share my glower, and a cinnamon-sugar doughnut smashes into my mouth as he howls.
I shake my head like a bulldog biting into a steak, tuck my chin back, and attempt to chew while laughing and shoving the other half into his mouth, crushing it so the granules of cinnamon and sugar disappear inside his golden scruff.
“You should know better than to mess with me,” I quip as he smirks and scrubs his hand over his stubble.
We both breathe for a beat, swallowing the remainder of our desecrated treats. He reaches over and dusts my wind-chilled nose. “You’ve got a little something”—he circles his finger around my face—“right … there.”
“What? Here?” I point at my pouted lips, coated in the powdery grains, and cross my eyes with a teasing giggle.
And I lose my damn breath because his hand glides over my cheek at the same time his mouth presses into mine, his sweet and smoky fragrance invading my nostrils as my heart pounds against my sternum.
My hands move to his chest, shoving him away. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Jesus , Wells is going to fuck him up for that .
Blood rushes to my face, heating me with equal measures of fury, terror, and sadness.
He scratches his chin, a stunned expression on his face, and a haunting ache pangs in my chest. Maybe he got swept up in the moment.
This is Liam. I should give him the benefit of the doubt.
My mind says that, but my lungs have forgotten how to function.
He’s not saying anything, and I’ve never seen Liam speechless, so I try a different approach.