39. IVY
39
IVY
The scent of burned coffee and stale doughnuts wafted around me as I shifted uneasily in the cracked booth of the hotel’s continental breakfast area. It was a welcome change to be in a hotel for once, even if the food left much to be desired. We’d chosen this place for the complimentary breakfast, but Red had warned us that we’d be back to motels soon, this time with a better plan for meals that didn’t risk exposing us at another diner. I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present moment.
Avoiding Mom’s gaze, I tried to swallow the words that I couldn’t say aloud. How could I possibly explain the depths I’d sunk to?
“Are you okay?” she asked.
No. I’m fairly sure I’m going to hell.
“I’m fine,” I claimed.
“What’s wrong?” she insisted.
Well, let’s see. I participated in murdering a man at a gas station, so now, the cops might also be after me and Grayson, and, oh yeah, I had sex with my father’s killer. You know, the usual.
Not that I’d tell her those details. My mom and I were close, but not confess to being an accomplice to murder close, ya know? Plus, I didn’t want to involve her in anything that might make her an accessory after the fact. Or send her into years of therapy.
At least we were together again. It had been such a relief to finally meet up with her and Red today after a virtually sleepless night with Grayson and I alone.
Ish.
Grayson stayed outside the hotel room door all night, gun loaded, sexy hat pulled over his damn face. What, exactly, he thought of our sinfully wrong fit of pleasure, I didn’t know. He hadn’t acknowledged it after his little kiss on my forehead.
Seriously, what is up with that? Last time I checked, a killer turned bodyguard isn’t supposed to give you such a sweet kiss after threatening to unload his gun into another man’s eye socket.
Mom flicked a pack of sugar, ripped it open, and dumped its contents into her black coffee. Red and Grayson sat at a table by a window on the other side of the small room, giving us privacy while being able to keep an eye on the comings and goings of this place.
We’d made it up to central Wisconsin at this point, but we weren’t headed in a direct line to anywhere in particular.
“Is this about me?” Mom questioned.
Huh?
She must’ve read the confusion on my face.
“I know you’re furious that I kept the truth of your father’s death from you,” she explained. “You were right; we should have told you what was going on.”
The hardening edges of anger I’d swallowed softened in my stomach.
“You were just trying to protect me.” There was something healing in those words. Not surrendering my belief she should have handled it differently, but recognizing her heart and intentions were always in the right place.
Mom’s softened expression told me it had healed a lot for her, too.
“But that’s not what’s bothering you now,” she realized. “So, what’s going on, Ivy?”
Mom fixed me with a probing stare, which immediately brought the coward out in me. How could I tell her about my complicated feelings without alienating her? She was the only parent I had left, and I didn’t want to lose her in any way. Not even emotionally. I mean, what if she was so repulsed by what I’d done that she never talked to me again?
“I’m sorry. With everything that’s happened—fleeing Daniel, your life turned upside down…” I twisted my hands in my lap. “How are you holding up?”
“Stop deflecting. I want to know what’s wrong. You’re more upset than the last time I saw you.”
Just then, the door opened, and a uniformed police officer strode in, his heavy boots thudding against the linoleum. Every muscle in my body tensed. In my peripheral vision, Grayson imperceptibly shook his head. A silent command.
Don’t run. Don’t do anything that draws attention to yourself.
I exhaled slowly, trying to plaster on a neutral expression as the cop leaned against the coffee counter. Mom followed my gaze, brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lied.
When his eyes swept the room, my heart slammed against my ribs like a prisoner pounding against the bars.
Does he recognize me?
“Do you think you’ll lose your job over this?” I forced myself to keep talking, keep looking as innocuous as possible.
“Why do you look so torn up?” Mom insisted. “Did something happen with Grayson?”
Damn it, Mom, say his name louder, why don’t you?
What if the cop was working for Daniel? Was on his payroll?
The police officer was speaking to a hotel staff person now.
“You first,” I demanded. “Do you think you’ll get fired over this?”
My mom evaluated me, and then, probably recognizing that I wasn’t going to move off the subject until she finally answered me, she sighed.
“I told them I had a family emergency.” She took a sip of her coffee, her red nails stark against the white mug. “They told me to take all the time I needed.”
Well, at least that was something positive.
“What about you?” Mom asked. “Do you think you’ll lose your job?”
I told myself I couldn’t worry about that right now; my bucket was full of so many other life-or-death battles.
“One thing at a time.” I shrugged, pivoting back to my original line of questions. “And emotionally? How are you?”
Going from a nine-to-five to being on the run from the CIA and learning your ex-boyfriend was responsible for your ex-husband’s death and now had a kill order out on your daughter—that was a big bucket of crap.
Mom’s eyes misted, and she blinked rapidly. “It’s a lot to process,” she admitted, her voice wavering slightly. “I loved Steve…not some man named Daniel. Learning that it was all a lie, that the man I loved never truly existed…well, I’m still struggling to come to terms with that. If I hadn’t let him into our lives, maybe…” Her thought trailed off.
God, poor Mom. She was a victim in all this, too. As I worked out what to say, a movement caught my eye—the cop cast a glance our way.
I tensed while Grayson shot me a silent warning, subtly flattening his palm, as if to say, Keep it calm.
If the cop had a canine in his car, trained on smelling fear, I was screwed. At least he was on the far end of the counter, well out of earshot, so he couldn’t hear how shaky my voice might sound.
“First of all”—I forced myself to shift back to the conversation at hand or else Mom would be tipped off—“Dad’s death is not your fault, Mom. It was the unfortunate byproduct of Dad trying to do the right thing. Everything that transpired from that point forward happened as a result of a bad domino effect. I’m not blaming Dad for going to authorities, but I’m saying you can’t blame yourself.”
Mom studied me.
“Are you blaming yourself ?” she asked. “Is that why you seem so upset?”
I pressed the space between my brows, where a headache was emerging. “Spending time with Grayson,” I said quietly, “is harder than I thought it’d be. Before everything happened, I had feelings for him. I thought those feelings would go away as soon as I discovered his role in…you know.”
I wanted to cling to the appropriate feeling I should have for him—anger, maybe even hate. Yet when I looked into his eyes, I saw a man haunted by his own demons, a pawn in a twisted game he never asked to play.
Could I really condemn him for the sins of others?
Mom pursed her lips.
“You’re mad at me,” I realized.
“I’m not mad.”
“I can hear it in your voice,” I insisted.
“Worried is more accurate.” She sighed. “There were many times I wanted to call the police, but Red convinced me that even though Grayson did what he did, he’d never hurt you.”
I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t even think of that—of course, Mom would be worried about me being alone with Dad’s killer.
“What did he say to convince you?” I wondered.
“He reminded me of Grayson’s actions. He saved you from that basement. He’s keeping you safe from Daniel. Everything he’s done has been to protect you.”
“But?” I pressed.
The cop said something to the person he was talking to. What was it? An order? Call 911?
“While I understand the complexities involved with…what occurred, and I appreciate everything he’s done to protect you…” She paused, folding her hands on the table. “Relationships are hard enough without throwing in the role he played in your father’s death.”
Right. See, this was what I needed to hear. A good old reality slap in the face.
“I can’t forgive Grayson for what he did,” I tried to assure myself. “I understand it wasn’t his fault, exactly, but it doesn’t change the truth that he…” Killed Dad.
Mom took another slow sip of her coffee, then set the cup down with a sigh. “I don’t know if I can ever fully move past what happened, but I am trying to understand his situation.”
I furrowed my eyebrows. “Why would you try to understand it?” Why would she give him that courtesy?
“I didn’t at first,” she admitted. “But without work or any other distraction, all I’ve had is time to think about everything that’s happened.” Her focus drifted to the boys. “And as far as Grayson goes, as much as I hated him after you told me he was the trigger man, keeping you alive was more important than my feelings.”
She shifted her attention back to me.
“And as much as I hate what he did, I’ve also seen him put his life on hold just to protect you. In the process, he’s putting himself in danger as well.” She wrapped her hands around her mug again. “That’s the part I struggled with the most. I wanted to either categorize him as the enemy who killed your father or the hero who’s saving your life.”
Emotion choked my voice.
“I didn’t want him to be both,” she admitted, her tone laced with agony. “But as I thought more about his past,” she continued, “from what you told me, Grayson was manipulated and lied to. He thought he was doing the right thing. It doesn’t erase his actions, but it makes them more…complicated.”
I shook my head. “We all have to take responsibility for what we do and the outcomes they create.”
Even though Grayson thought he was doing the right thing, following CIA orders, the result was that he ended the life of an innocent man. That fact would never change, and it scared me that I needed to keep reminding myself of that.
“That applies to your father, too, does it not?” she challenged. “He had the best intentions in his heart. But he did put you in danger because of it.”
“So, you think Dad should have what, turned a blind eye to the criminals? I think Dad did the right thing.”
“I’m not saying he was wrong. I’m saying he made a choice, knowing the risk it came with.”
The bitter taste of cheap coffee lingered on my tongue as I picked at the stale pastry, the sticky sweetness doing little to settle my churning stomach.
“I can’t believe you’re seeing Grayson’s side of this,” I admitted a little harsher than I meant to. But I needed her to talk me back into hating him. Not out of it.
“I just don’t want you to suffer any more unnecessary hurt, Ivy. You’ve let your father’s death destroy your life for over a year. You have to find a way to move past it, and right now, that means letting go of the anger and bitterness. It’ll only hurt you in the long run.”
I glanced at Grayson and Red, who were doing a better job of looking normal than I was.
“I can’t believe you’re implying I should forgive him, Mom,” I said, my voice tight. “Forgiving him feels like a betrayal to Dad.”
Bingo. That’s what had been driving a lot of my conflicting feelings. It wasn’t just that my heart longed for him; it was that I felt immense guilt for having any feelings other than disdain.
Mom’s eyes softened with understanding. “I’m not saying you need to forgive him right this second. It’s a process, and it might take some time.” She looked down, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “I blame myself for letting you spend a year agonizing over why Dad died. I thought I was doing the right thing by protecting his final wishes, but I see now that it was wrong. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to go through that kind of pain again.”
A lump formed in my throat. The guilt, the shame, the self-loathing of having slept with Grayson had all been overwhelming, but not as overwhelming as saying it was okay that he’d put a pistol to my dad’s skull and pulled the trigger.
Mom reached across the table and took my hand in hers. “Your father loved you more than anything in this world. He would want you to find peace and happiness, not spend your life consumed by anger and resentment over his death.”
She was right. If I didn’t find a path to forgive Grayson, the anger over his role in it would eat me alive. I still didn’t know if it would be possible, but maybe I needed to try.
As I sat there, digesting my mother’s words, I was struck by the depth of her love and the strength of her character. She was setting aside her own pain and anger, her own justified hatred, all for the sake of my well-being. It couldn’t have been easy for her, knowing that the man who killed her ex-husband was sitting just a few feet away. Yet here she was, encouraging me to find a way to make peace with the situation, to let go of the resentment that threatened to eat me alive.
In that moment, I realized just how selfless and brave my mother truly was. I doubted many other mothers would have the courage and the compassion to do what she was doing, to put their child’s needs above their own grief and rage. Her love for me was a tangible force, and a surge of gratitude and admiration made my eyes burn for the incredible woman who had raised me.
Mom squeezed my hand. “Can I be honest with you?” She was using that tone she used whenever she was about to make a deep point. “I don’t think Grayson is the one you’re struggling to forgive.” I blinked. “I think the person you’re having a harder time forgiving is your father.”
And just like that, Mom’s arrow hit the bull’s-eye in my heart. A lump grew so big in my esophagus, it was hard to swallow.
“I wish he would have found a way to protect me that didn’t include him leaving me forever.”
I felt Grayson’s gaze on me from across the room, and when our eyes met, the world fell away. In that moment, all that existed in the silent exchange between us was his concern over my pained expression. The depth of his worry was palpable, eclipsing everything else—the police officer, the CIA, the looming threats that hung over us. None of it mattered to him, not when he could see how much I was hurting. My pain was his pain, and the sight of my suffering seemed to tear him apart from the inside out.
I swallowed hard, breaking eye contact and focusing on my plate of pastries—unsure how to navigate the turbulent feelings that threatened to drown me.
The police officer, after taking one last sip of coffee, left the building and drove away.
But I was in too much agony to let the relief in.
“You have a choice to make, Ivy. To let the bitterness eat away at you like cancer. Or forgive him so you can be free.”