Chapter 55
I'm staring at my phone, trying not to look like I'm counting the seconds since Ivy's last message. The text glares back at me:
Ivy: Sorry, can't tonight. Got hot yoga with Amelia at Brookside College Sports Centre.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard. Delete. Type. Delete again. Fuck it.
Me: What about after?
The three dots appear and my body goes tight with anticipation. Then they vanish. Left on read.
Again.
Perfect.
"Your character's about to eat shit." James's voice cuts through my spiral, but I'm too busy imagining Ivy in yoga pants to care.
"Unless the zombies are hiding in your DMs, you might want to focus," Brodie adds from my secondhand couch, his feet propped on my coffee table like he's trying to leave his mark on my sad attempt at furniture.
I toss my phone aside and grab the controller, but it's too late. My character explodes in a shower of gore that would be impressive if it wasn't the fifth time tonight. "Thanks for the heads up."
"We tried." James reaches for another slice of pizza. "Not our fault you're too busy frowning at your phone."
The familiar scent of garlic and marinara drifts up from Martin's finest work, reminding me that living above Cheesy Delights comes with exactly two perks: a permanent discount, and an apartment that always smells like an Italian grandmother's kitchen.
Though right now, not even a fresh slice can compete with the image of Ivy that's been stuck in my head since the tree farm.
My phone lights up, and I reach for it so fast I knock over my soda. James snorts as I scramble to save my controller from the puddle. It's just Mom asking if I've bought real plates yet. I haven't. Because being a functional adult is still a work in progress.
"That's it." Brodie pauses the game, his dark eyes zeroing in on me. "What's the play here? You gonna keep having a silent breakdown over your phone, or you want to talk about it?"
I groan, sinking deeper into my chair. "Every time I see Ivy, she finds some reason to be somewhere else.
" My hand rakes through my hair before I even think about it, frustration bubbling over.
"I get it, okay? I've got years of bullshit to make up for.
But how am I supposed to fix anything when she won't even let me? "
"At least she unblocked your number," James offers drily.
"Yeah, great. Now she can actively ignore my texts instead of just avoiding me in person. Such an upgrade."
James sets down his controller. "You already apologized, right?"
"Yeah. Doesn't mean she forgave me."
"Then show her you've changed," he says, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Break whatever this pattern is you've created."
"I'm trying." My voice cracks. "But I can't just show up at her place with takeout and bad movies anymore. Can't text her at two a.m. because I saw something that made me think of her. Those were our old patterns and look where that got us. Things are different now."
"Good." Brodie leans forward, elbows on his knees.
"Because this isn't about winning back your best friend.
The one you leaned on like an emotional girlfriend without giving her the commitment she deserved.
You're trying to prove to the woman you love that you finally understand what she means to you. "
He's right. Whenever I close my eyes, I'm back at that tree farm, lost in those impossible blues that made the winter sky feel dull. I can still picture the freckles scattered across her nose. I know she wanted that kiss as much as I did.
"So what's she doing tonight that's got her so busy?"
"Hot yoga at Brookside College."
Brodie and James share a look that makes my stomach drop.
"No." I shake my head. "Whatever you're thinking—no."
"Why not?" James's grin turns wicked. "You've got nothing else going on. Plus, you've spent years making jokes about everything she cares about. Time to suffer for your sins."
"Besides," Brodie adds, pretending to be serious, "she might be into flexible guys now. Hope you like to sweat and stretch, lover boy."
"Fine." I drop my head back with a groan. "If I die of heatstroke, it's on your conscience."
"That's assuming you survive the embarrassment first," James says.
"Hey, how's that apartment hunt going?" I ask, desperate to think about anything other than what I'm about to subject myself to.
"Got a few places lined up," he says, wadding up a napkin and tossing it at the pizza box. "Hard to sneak away without Daphne noticing though."
"I'll take her out for lunch or something so you can scout," Brodie offers. "Consider it your early Christmas present."
"You two are so domestic it's giving me hives." I smirk at James. "Though you seem pretty happy for a guy living in relationship purgatory with his parents down the hall."
"Jealous?" James grins, but there's real happiness there. "We make it work."
Brodie snorts. "Translation—they've gotten creative with when and where they fuck."
"Don't you have a class to teach in an hour or something?"
A faint blush creeps up Brodie's neck. "Yeah. College gig. Teaching Art and Design class. The foundation stuff I learned before going into tattooing—color theory, composition, different styles. Figured it might help some other artists find their path."
"And it definitely isn't about a particular redheaded apprentice who practically begged you to step in when Professor Stevens bailed?" James teases.
"Mia just mentioned they needed someone who actually understood how art translates to skin. Plus, I did my degree there. Makes sense they'd ask me."
"And she just happens to be in that class?" I can't help pushing, watching his fingers fidget with the silver band on his thumb. "Sure, bro."
"Exactly." Brodie's blush deepens, spreading down his neck. "We work together. She's in my class. That's it."
"Sure, sure. Whatever you say, man."
"Speaking of your impending doom," Brodie checks his phone, standing up with suspicious speed, "shouldn't you be getting ready? I checked the schedule for you, and class starts in forty-five minutes."
"Smooth subject change." I push myself up from the chair, already dreading what I'm about to do. "But yeah, I should probably figure out what people even wear to these things."
"Something that shows off your ass," James teases, gathering empty pizza boxes. "I'm sure Ivy will appreciate the view."
I shove both hands into my hair, anxiety already building. "You know this is going to end badly, right?"
"Probably." Brodie grins, shrugging on his jacket. "But at least it'll be entertaining. For us, I mean."
"Some best friends you are." I chuckle. But it's time to stop playing it safe, and show Ivy I'm willing to step out of my comfort zone for her.
"Text us how it goes," James calls as they head for the door. "I want a full report on whether you pass out or achieve enlightenment."
"Or both," Brodie adds. "Both would be hilarious."
The door closes behind them, leaving me alone with my impending yoga doom.