Chapter 29 #2
“The money.” He lowers his voice again. “It’s hidden beneath a floorboard under my bed. It’s there. Take everything. It won’t fix my mistakes, but I want you to have it.”
The wheels in my brain start spinning. “You’ve been using that money since Mom died?”
That was ten years ago. How much money was there initially, if it still hasn’t run out?
But he shakes his head. “Only the first couple of years or so. Then I found a job, remember?”
I do remember. He worked at a car repair shop in the next town over, or so he told us.
“I didn’t want to spend it all. I wasn’t completely irresponsible,” he says. Does he expect me to agree? That’s a good one. “There was fifty grand at the start. I’m not sure how much is left, but it’s all for you and Joe. I only used it out of necessity.”
“That’s what drugs and alcohol are considered these days?”
He lowers his gaze to the table. “I’m sorry, Ivy.”
I glance down at the man who was supposed to protect my brother and me but ended up putting us in danger more times than I can count. He might have been a victim of his own circumstances, but that doesn’t change the fact that he neglected his children. And that’s something I won’t easily forgive.
Wordlessly, I turn around and leave the visiting room for what I have the feeling will be the first and last time.
“This whole thing sounds straight out of a movie,” Ford says as he helps me move my father’s bed later that day. To be fair, he’s doing most of the pushing.
“He was probably lying,” I mutter.
I haven’t been in my father’s room since he went to jail. His bed is unmade, the door to his closet slightly ajar. His work shoes are scattered on the floor, and a dirty shirt is draped over a chair. This place feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong with the rest of the house.
Once the bed is against a wall, Ford asks me, “Are you okay?”
I told him everything my father said on the drive back to Harmony Hills, and he insisted that we should at least look. We had nothing to lose except some of our time.
“I’m…” Fine? No, I’m not. “Angry, and sad, and confused. He had all this money and never used it to make our lives easier. If he had saved every penny, I could pay for Joe’s flight school right this second. I don’t even know why we’re doing this. It’s too late.”
“I understand how you’re feeling,” he says softly. “But if it’s true that there’s money here, it would be a waste not to use it. It may not be enough for flight school, but it’ll be something.”
“I feel dirty using other people’s money,” I admit. “I’m capable of making my own. I don’t need handouts.”
Isn’t this what my dad said about himself? We’re more alike than I’d like to admit.
“Let’s just see what we find, yeah? We’ll make a plan later.”
My eyes find his. We.
I grew up being independent. Relying on others has always made me uncomfortable because people always have hidden motives. When they offer help, they never show you the fine print.
But Ford is always here and has never asked for anything in return. Ever. Time and again, he’s proven that I can rely on him. That he’s got my back.
He’s become the person I trust the most.
The only man I’ve ever fallen in lo—
“Yeah, okay,” I cut my own thoughts off. This isn’t time, and it never will be. I told him I’m too much of a mess to think about relationships right now, which is true.
Kneeling on the ground, I palm the hardwood floor but don’t find any cracks or weird textures. Ford crouches next to me and pushes down on the wood, the muscles in his biceps flexing with every movement. The grunts escaping the back of his throat as he does it should be illegal.
All my dirty thoughts about Ford disappear when one of the floorboards jumps as he pushes it.
“Bingo,” he mutters, removing it to show a hole in the ground.
For a moment, I’m scared we’ve disturbed a nest of cockroaches—they’re my worst nightmare—but one quick look inside reveals there’s only a metal box in here.
Ford grabs it for me and places it between us. I inspect it from a distance, and it doesn’t seem to have a lock.
“Do you want to open it?” he asks.
I let out a shaky breath. “Might as well.”
Nothing could have prepared me for what we find inside.
Zip bags full of money—at least ten of them, filled to the brim with bills. It makes my head spin. But it’s the envelope at the bottom of the box that catches my eye.
I grab it between shaky fingers, only for the handwriting on the envelope to punch me right in the gut.
I recognize it. It’s my mother’s.
There’s a small piece of paper inside the envelope, folded in two. And on it, my mother’s unmistakable handwriting once again.
John,
I know you don’t want to accept my situation, but I don’t have much time left. Ignoring it won’t make my cancer go away. We should plan for when I’m gone. This letter is what that is—a plan.
When my father passed last winter, he left me $52,000 in cash.
His life savings. He never kept it in the bank (you know how he was), but I have his will and the estate papers that show it came from him.
I don’t want you to worry about getting into trouble over it. I’m sorry I never told you about it.
This money is for Ivy and Joe. Ivy may not want to go to college, and Joe is too young to decide what he wants to do just yet, but I want them to have this money. All of it. For the future, to do whatever makes them happy because they deserve it.
Please, remind them every day that I love them more than anything in this world.
Yours,
Anna
A tear falls next to my mother’s name. When a sob escapes the back of my throat, Ford pulls me into his arms, not saying anything. At least, I don’t hear it. My ears are ringing.
Reading my mother’s words, seeing her handwriting, makes the dam I’ve constructed around my grief crumble at once. I didn’t mourn her ten years ago, not in the way I needed to, because I had to be the strong one.
I don’t have to be that person anymore. I don’t want to.
Ford tightens his arms around me as I weep into the fabric of his shirt. Before I know it, I’m in his lap, my mother’s note crushed between our bodies.
Now that the dam has collapsed, the memories come crashing in—Mom drawing with me in bed, kissing me good night, taking me to school, telling me that I would be a famous artist one day. She was the first person to ever believe in me.
“Can I read her note?” Ford asks softly.
When I nod, he gently peels it from my fingers. A few moments later, his arms tighten around me.
“I miss her,” I croak out. “I miss her so much.”
“I know you do,” he says. “You would’ve made her so proud, Ivy. So, so proud.”
“I don’t want to keep crying,” I mutter. “All I’ve been doing lately is cry.”
His chuckle reverberates through my body. “Only you, Ivy. Only you. You’re allowed to grieve, baby. Especially since you’ve been keeping all these big feelings to yourself since your mother passed. They’re coming out now because you’re finally letting yourself feel them, and that’s a good thing.”
“Stop being right about everything all the time.”
Another soft chuckle earns him a playful pinch on his side. Before I can land another, his hand closes around my wrist, stopping me. Suddenly the air between us thickens, heavy with something unspoken.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline still pulsing through my body, or the walls I’ve built around my heart finally cracking, or the fact that I’ve been lying to myself all this time about him.
But when his eyes lock with mine, they burn with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.
There’s a hunger there, raw and undeniable.
I know I shouldn’t hope for things anymore, but I want to hope for us.
I lean in, pressing my lips to his. When his tongue gently parts my lips and his hand curves softly around my neck as he kisses me deeper, the truth slams into me.
I love him. Goddamn it, I love him.
“Ford….” My voice sounds rough when we pull away, as if I haven’t used it in a long time. I bite on his lower lip, drawing a moan out of him. “I can’t take it anymore.”
His nose brushes against mine, the promise of another kiss a whisper between our lips. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you,” I tell him, allowing myself to say out loud what my heart has known for a long time. “I want you to take care of me.”
A curse word falls from his lips. “In what way?”
“In all the ways. But right now, my mind is going to dirty places.”
His chuckle sends a thrill between my legs. “Is it?”
I’m quick to nod, our noses still brushing. It feels like torture.
“Are you sure?” he asks, less playful than just a moment ago. “You’re upset, and I don’t want to do something you’ll regret later.”
“I know what I want,” I tell him decisively. “And what I want is you.”
I tug at his lower lip with my teeth, pulling the way I suspect he secretly likes.
“Fuck. Okay. Message received,” he groans.
He closes the distance between us again, capturing my lips with his. And in this moment, something shifts in my head and in my heart.