Chapter 18 #2
He rakes his hand through the short strands of his hair. “You know I was married before, right?”
“Yeah, you told me.”
And if that reminder sparks just a tiny bit of jealousy inside me, it’s nobody’s business but mine.
“We got divorced because I caught her sleeping with her ex-husband. In our bed. And then she accused me of being a bad husband because I didn’t want to have kids.
The thing is, I’d always been upfront about that, and she always said she didn’t want kids either.
I guess she changed her mind, and when I didn’t…
cheating was the obvious next step, apparently. ”
My mouth falls open. “Are you serious?”
My restraint goes out the window when he nods. The way I would have a word or two with that woman—
“It’s water under the bridge,” he assures me, watching the murderous look on my face. “I don’t miss our marriage or want to get back together. Not at all. Our relationship wasn’t great to start with—too much fighting. We weren’t compatible.”
“How long did you stay married?” I ask, unsure if I even want to hear the answer. Talking about Ford’s love life is making me nauseous again.
“Married eleven months. Dated a year. So, two in total,” he explains.
“Thanks for telling me,” I start. “But I hope she doesn’t live in Harmony Hills anymore, or her tires won’t be safe.”
“Slow down, tiger.” He chuckles, pressing his thumb and index fingers together. “You’re, like, this big.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I know where you live.”
“I’m shaking.”
“You should be.” I smirk when he shakes his head. “Well, I hope you know her cheating had nothing to do with you or your decision not to have kids. That was her being a selfish moron. Don’t punish yourself for it.”
“I never do,” he says. “But thank you. I appreciate you saying that. It’s what I always tell myself, but it’s good to hear it from someone else.”
“If you need me to repeat that word for word every day, just ask.”
He chuckles. “You’re something else, Ivy.”
Our gazes meet, but it’s… different. Familiar, yet not. Because I’ve never felt out of breath before when I looked at him, not like this. Is his face closer than just a moment ago?
He’s not going to kiss me. I just threw up, for fuck’s sake. But even if I hadn’t, he doesn’t like me in that way.
I clear my throat. If my cheeks are flushed, I hope he thinks it’s because of my sickness. “So, did Joe say when he was coming back?”
“No, but I can text or call him for you.”
“It’s fine. If he’s at Ethan’s, he’s all right.” My gaze shifts to my laptop, which I hadn’t realized I’d left atop my chest of drawers. It used to be Joe’s until last summer, when his friends got him a gaming PC for his birthday. “Do you want or need to go home?”
“Neither,” he says firmly. “I’m staying until Joe gets back.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Thanks for clarifying—I was about to call one.”
That earns him an eye roll. “Movie, then? I promise I won’t throw up on you.”
“Bummer. I was looking forward to that,” he deadpans. “But sure. Do you want to go to the couch?”
“I’m too tired to move. Grab my laptop, pretty please?” I point to my chest of drawers. “It’s over there.”
We spend the next five minutes bickering back and forth over which superhero movie is the most underrated of the decade, only to settle on an early-2000s rom-com Ford has never watched.
I press Play, and he sits on the opposite side of my bed—literally at the edge of the mattress. Not that I’m looking at it, but I’m pretty sure his butt is about to fall off.
“You know you can lie down, right?” I pat the spot next to me. My bed is big enough for both of us to fit without touching each other. “You’re making me nervous, sitting there so awkwardly.”
He eyes me. “You sure?”
I pat my mattress again as a reply.
Wordlessly, he kicks off his shoes and repositions himself in my bed, still at arm’s length from me. He’s lying on his back, resting his hands on his stomach while watching the movie I should be paying attention to as well.
Only that my heart is beating too loud, and the warmth of his body is too distracting.
A body I was pressed against not that long ago as he carried me to my bedroom. I might have been halfway unconscious, but that didn’t stop me from wanting more. Needing more.
It also didn’t stop me from hearing him call me “baby” while he held my hair on the toilet. At least, I don’t think I imagined it.
None of that should matter. He will never see me as anything else than his mildly chaotic neighbor, a woman he likes well enough as a friend. It should be enough for me.
“How are you feeling?” he asks a few minutes into the movie.
“Better. I’ll be as good as new tomorrow,” I say in a quiet voice. “This bug has nothing on me.”
A pause. Then he says, “Ivy?”
“Mm.”
“Can I be blunt with you?”
Slowly, I shift my head in his direction and find him already looking at me. “You’re scaring me, but sure.”
“I don’t think it’s a bug that got you sick,” he says, each word careful. “I mean, it could be. I’m not a doctor. But when my brothers and I were kids, our mom would get sick all the time from stress.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s done speaking.
“Just hear me out,” he insists. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately with your aunt asking Joe to move in with her—”
I pause the movie. “How do you know about that?”
“Your brother told me,” he says calmly. “I saw him by the firehouse with his bike, and he looked upset. I asked him if he was okay, and that’s when he told me about your aunt.”
Something burns inside my chest, stings, and it has nothing to do with sickness. It has nothing to do with Ford either; these are my own insecurities speaking.
“I said something wrong, didn’t I?” he asks when I say nothing.
“It’s not that.” I exhale, debating how much to tell him.
I press my lips into a thin line. What if he hates me for this?
He turns in bed, facing me completely, and says nothing. But it’s precisely that, his silent encouragement, that makes me realize how dumb I sound even to my own ears.
This is Ford. He’s on my side.
“You look out for Joe a lot, which means so much to him. And to me. Truly,” I start, thinking every word through.
“It’s just that… I don’t know. Since we’ve known each other, you’ve come to my rescue way too many times.
First I faint, then I have a meltdown on my front porch, now I throw up, and you’re there for all of it. ”
“Ivy—”
“Let me finish, please.” I let out a shaky breath, and he nods.
“I’m going to sound extremely ungrateful when I say this, but I feel like you pity us.
Like you feel obligated to look out for us because I’m twenty-six and taking care of Joe by myself.
I don’t know. Maybe everything is just in my head.
I’ve been on my own for so long that asking for help makes me uncomfortable. ”
Out of all the things I expected him to say, none of them are: “You’re right.”
Now’s my turn to frown. “I am?”
“My mom has always said I have a white knight complex. I think that’s what it’s called anyway,” he says.
“She says all of us have it—my brothers, my dad, and I. Which also explains what we do for work. My dad and I are firefighters. Rhys is a deputy sheriff. And Nash has always been protective. So yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry I’ve been overbearing.”
I blink. “Has anyone ever told you how self-aware you are?”
He barks out a laugh. “No, but I appreciate the compliment. I’m glad my years of therapy are paying off.”
Maybe I should give it a go too. Joe sure could use a few sessions.
“I get where you’re coming from,” he continues. “And no, you don’t sound ungrateful. You have every right to feel that way. Do you want me to leave you guys alone from now on?”
“It’s not that,” I say, tracing the flowers on my comforter. “I don’t want you to leave us alone. I consider you a friend.”
“Good, because I consider you a friend too,” he says firmly.
“I feel guilty for dragging you into my multiple messes, that’s all. I’m sure you had better plans tonight than to hold my hair back while I puked.”
“I didn’t.”
I give him a look.
“I didn’t,” he repeats. “Come here.”
My pulse jumps when I realize “here” means in his arms.
Pulse racing, I cross the distance between us, extremely aware that we’re lying in my bed. He wraps his arms around my middle, pulling me against him. I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in his clean scent as my anxiety levels go down, down, down.
I could fall asleep here, in this very spot, if he keeps holding me like this.
“You never drag me into your messes because you and Joe aren’t messy people,” he says quietly, the vibration of his voice soothing me.
“I don’t pity you either. I care about you, which is different.
I care about both of you. But if I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll step aside—unless you’re in literal physical danger.
Then nothing you’ll say or do will stop me from coming to get you. Deal?”
How is he real? How is any of this real?
I close my eyes and hug him a little tighter. “Deal.”
“But as your friend and chronic worrier,” he adds, “I meant what I said about needing to put yourself first.”
My chest heaves with a sigh. “I don’t think I know how to do that.”
“Want an idea?”
“Mm….”
“Come with me to the bar on Sunday,” he suggests, and I’m pretty sure he heard the massive leap my heart has just taken. “You don’t work on Sundays, right?”
My mouth is dry. “Right.”
“Good. Then come with me and unwind for a while. Some of the guys from the firehouse go to this trivia night thing on Sundays. I never join them because I’m more of a homebody, but it could be fun if we do it together.”
“I can’t remember the last time I went to a bar,” I say, more to myself than to him. “Does that make me pathetic?”
“Just a workaholic. So, are you in?”
I peel myself away from him just enough to meet his eyes. But my gaze betrays me, dipping to his mouth for an infinite second. Heat curls low in my stomach, and I hate myself for even thinking about crossing any lines with him when all he’s done is be a good friend.
When I force myself to look back up, I catch him watching my lips too. The flicker of his gaze upward—slow, deliberate—makes my pulse trip, then hammer like it knows a secret my heart refuses to admit.
“I’m in,” I murmur.
“Good,” he says, his voice rough. “Let’s finish that movie, yeah?”
With a nod, I quickly retreat to my side of the mattress, forcing a safe distance, yet the imprint of his warmth lingers against my skin like it’s made a permanent home there.
Every shift of his body carries the faint trace of his scent, and my heart betrays me, beating too fast for something as innocent as this.
By the time my brother returns and Ford leaves, I’ve tucked my hands under my pillow to keep from reaching for the space he’s filled. I’m scared I’ll never be able to sleep on that side of the bed ever again.
Before I fall asleep, I repeat in my head like a desperate mantra: Not now. Not ever. Get him out of your head.
It doesn’t work.