Saving Ian Pope

Chapter 16

IVY

I recoiled from the emotions that played across Ian’s beautiful face—disbelief, fear, sadness, anger—they charged across his visage in a matter of seconds, but to me, each feeling lumbered by in slow motion, delivering a powerful, painful punch to my psyche.

I crossed my arms, digging my fingers into my biceps, welcoming the pain of my nails jabbing into my flesh.

“What?”

His voice sounded raspy, as if he’d just remembered how to speak.

“I-I thought about it, and I can’t go with you. I can’t move to England or even try it on for size. Your life...”

I flapped my hands in the air “...it’s not a normal way to live. I can’t exist like that. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

He knocked the hat from his head and dragged a hand through his hair. “When did you make this decision? How long have you known?”

“I’ve been feeling it the past few days but just decided.”

My tight throat made it difficult to form words. I didn’t want to cry.

“You allowed me to carry on like a complete idiot today, talking about our plans, and all the time you were thinking, what a wanker. I’m not going to England with this loser.”

He swept his computer from his lap and jumped to his feet. “It’s because of the pap walk, isn’t it? You think I do that sort of thing all the time. I don’t.”

“No.”

I pulled a throw pillow from the chair into my lap and hugged it to my chest, while he paced in front of me. “It wasn’t the paparazzi stunt. It’s the whole lifestyle. I can’t do that. It’s not normal. Surely, you can see it’s not normal for regular people. I’m a regular person.”

The lie rolled off my tongue. Not that I wasn’t a regular person—I was, sort of. I lied about not being able to do it. I could do anything with him. I wanted to do everything with him.

“I don’t want it, Ivy. I’m trying to get away from that lifestyle. I thought I could get away from it with you. Have something more lowkey. There are loads of celebrities who manage it. I could. I could manage it with you.”

The more he talked, the more my heart shattered and scattered into far-flung pieces. I didn’t think I’d ever get those pieces back together in the right order. What I’d have left for a heart would be misshapen and jagged, ripping into my chest with every beat.

“I do think you can have something different from before, but you can do that without me. You’re strong and brave and...”

“Don’t...”

He held up his hands as if to ward off my words “...patronize me.”

“M-maybe I could come and visit you, or if your tour takes you to LA we can get together then.”

Bad idea. Matt would be watching Ian like a hawk for the foreseeable future.

Ian threw his hands in the air. Apparently, he thought it was a bad idea, too. “I’m not doing that. You wanna come to England as a tourist? Oh, here’s the London Eye. Let’s do the changing of the guard next or maybe high fucking tea at Blenheim Palace.”

He’d put on a very posh English accent and pranced around the room. “I’m not doing that.”

“I’m sorry.”

I twisted my fingers together.

“Stop saying you’re sorry. I’ll get my shit and fuck off out of here.”

“What?”

I tossed the pillow aside and half-rose from the chair. “No. You don’t have to leave. Where would you go?”

“Umm, there are these things called hotels. They actually let you stay there overnight if you pay them.”

He spun around toward the hallway.

Those hotels also had those things called minibars. I raised my arms and dropped them. “Please, don’t leave. You don’t need to leave. It’s just one more night. We don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to. You can work here, and I-I’ll give you some space. You stay here, and I’ll take off for a while.”

Before he could answer, or worse, collect his bags, I launched myself out of the chair, grabbed my purse, my sweatshirt, my keys and slipped out of the house, leaving him with his hands shoved into his pockets and his head bent forward.

By the time I reached my car, I’d already shed enough tears to end the California drought. I couldn’t guarantee that Ian would stay at my place, but it would be easier for him to be there without me right now. Did he believe me? I’d raised enough of a fuss about his celebrity and getting recognized that it would make sense to him.

What wouldn’t make sense is how I could let the difficulties of his stardom override our deep connection with each other. He’d have to come to his own conclusions about that, but anything would be better than the fallout if I stayed with him and Matt found out.

Matt had already cautioned me about what lay ahead for me if I was really in a relationship with Ian Pope. He had proof of my involvement in Dad’s con. I’d seen the tape with my own eyes the afternoon Matt had called me.

He’d also done his research, like any good confidence man. While the crime of fraud might have a five-year statute of limitations, the scam Dad had pulled on the Browne family had also involved bank fraud, and Matt had gleefully informed me that the statute of limitations for that was ten years. I could still be criminally charged for my participation. Did I want to find out?

Of course, I could always tell Ian the whole sordid truth about my life and how my father had used both me and my brother as his accomplices at various times. Matt’s tape wouldn’t have any power over me then.

I smacked the steering wheel as I pulled into the street. Who was I kidding? If I told Ian, and then told Matt I was staying with Ian, Matt could use that tape against both of us. He could blackmail Ian directly, and if Ian didn’t play along, I could go to jail.

Besides, did I really want to tell Ian about my criminal behavior? Ian hadn’t wanted to tell me he arranged the pap walk for fear I’d think less of him. The situation with the con was the pap walk on steroids. At least arranging photo ops for yourself wasn’t illegal, punishable by twenty years in the slammer.

And then there were the Brownes. Dad thought he could outsmart that criminal family, who had their fingers in auto theft, ID fraud, probably drugs. Figured the Brownes wouldn’t go to the cops due to their own illegal activities. The Brownes didn’t go to the cops. They’d taken care of Dad the old-fashioned way. They’d killed him. Sure, the hit and run looked like an accident and we couldn’t prove a thing, but both Matt and I knew better.

The Brownes hadn’t tracked down Dad’s accomplice that night. I’d played only a small role and had nothing to do with the money Dad had stolen from them, but it didn’t mean they wouldn’t be awfully interested in the footage that was stolen from their warehouse that night showing me as the accomplice who ripped them off. Also, Matt and I always doubted the Brownes had retrieved all their money from Dad. Matt had been feverishly looking for it ever since. What if the Brownes believed I had it?

I also had to consider Ian’s reputation. He’d been working hard to repair it. News that his girlfriend was a scammer could blow all that to smithereens. No, I didn’t have any other choice. Breaking it off with Ian would keep Matt out of Ian’s orbit and keep him off my back, too. Matt had already suggested that I could still orchestrate fake claims against Ian to make him pay up.

Dizziness overcame me, and I could feel an anxiety attack gathering. I parked in front of the dog park and buzzed down the window to gulp in the salty sea air. If I could just get through the horrible part of breaking up with Ian, I could protect him and protect myself. He’d get over me soon enough, and I’d be able to limp along, knowing I did the right thing.

I clambered out of the car and let myself through the gate around the big dog side of the park. I dropped onto a bench and watched the pups play, through eyes swimming with tears. The sun hadn’t quite set yet, but the lampposts stationed around the park were lit up, spotlighting the dogs as they ran and played and jumped without a care in the world.

An older woman with a gray braid hanging over one shoulder sat beside me, long skirt rustling, bracelets clinking on her arms, the smell of patchouli hovering around her. “Which one is yours?”

I sniffed and wiped the back of my hand across my nose. “None. I used to have a dog, but he passed away a few years ago. I just like coming here sometimes to watch them play. I used to bring him here.”

The woman patted my knee. “That’s rough. What kind of dog was he?”

“A Great Dane, harlequin. His name was Loki.”

“Aww, Loki’s over the rainbow bridge now, keeping watch over you.”

For some reason, this opened my tear ducts even more, and I covered my face with my hands. I couldn’t even get over Loki, how would I ever manage to move on after Ian?

“Do you know what works for me?”

Twisting my head to the side to look at the woman beside me, I asked, “What?”

“When I lost my Ginger, I got another dog a few months later.”

She tossed her braid over her shoulder. “I know it doesn’t help everyone, and some people would see it as traitorous, but it helped me, and I just know Ginger approved. They don’t want to see us sad, do they? So, my advice to you, my dear—get yourself another dog.”

“I don’t want another dog. I want Loki back.”

My bottom lip trembled. Was I talking about Loki now or Ian?

“Maybe you’ll find another Loki to love.”

The woman jumped to her feet and trotted over to a scrum of dogs. “Who belongs to the German Shepherd. He’s trying to hump my Saffron.”

My wet sobs sputtered into laughter. I’d have to tell Ian about Saffron and the horny Shepherd. I gasped as a wave of grief tackled me, leaving me breathless.

After another thirty minutes in the dog park, I peeled myself from the bench. Darkness had engulfed the park, and only the pit bulls were cocky enough to stick around.

When I got to the car, I checked my phone. Nothing from Ian. We didn’t have any food in the house, and lunch at the beach was a distant, happy memory. Ian needed something to eat—unless he was already at some hotel or out with one of his LA friends. I called my favorite Chinese restaurant and ordered some food.

I arrived before my order was ready and sat in a chair in the corner, drinking hot tea and cracking open fortune cookies looking for hope. When Winnie, the owner of the restaurant set a plastic bag on the table in front of me, she asked, “Are you alright, Ivy? You don’t look so good.”

“Just a little sad news, Winnie. I’m okay, thanks.”

Winnie swept the discarded fortunes from the table. “I’ll throw a few more fortune cookies in the bag for you, so you have better chance of getting one you like.”

Not even a happy fortune could repair the damage I’d done today.

On the drive home, my foot alternated between heavy and light on the accelerator. I couldn’t wait to come back to Ian and make sure he was okay, but I dreaded it at the same time.

With the plastic bag of food banging against my leg and the spicy smells inside making me kind of nauseous, I tiptoed to my front door. I put my ear against the door first, and my fragmented heart rattled in my chest at the silence.

I shoved my key in the lock and bumped the door open with my hip. I almost collapsed with relief when I saw Ian on the sofa, hunching over his laptop on the coffee table, a Diet Coke next to it.

He didn’t bother to look up when I walked in. I hauled the bag of food onto the kitchen table. “I picked up some Chinese food for dinner.”

“Not hungry...but thanks.”

He didn’t ask where’d I been for over an hour. Didn’t offer up what he’d been doing in my absence. The gulf between us gave me physical pain. “Are you working on your music?”

“Uh huh.”

I’m the one who wanted him to stay here. I couldn’t complain about how he chose to handle the awkwardness. I scooped some rice onto a plate, spooned the two entrees on top. I couldn’t even remember what I’d ordered. I took out a pair of paper-wrapped chopsticks and ran them through my fingers. Maybe that squirrel had brought us bad luck when he stole my fork.

I stabbed a plastic fork into my food. I had enough bad luck to go around. If anything, I’d probably transferred my bad juju onto the squirrel. Some car had probably hit him on his way out of campus that day with my fork still gripped in his tiny, little paw.

Ian had put my glass of sparkling water on the counter, and I grabbed that on my way into my room. I called out to no one, “I’m going to eat in my room. Help yourself.”

I perched on the edge of my bed and shoved the food around my plate as I watched some show on the Investigation Discovery Channel about some poor sap who had married a woman who turned out to be a lunatic with a secret life. At least I’d saved Ian from an appearance on this show.

The food turned out to be a bad idea, and now the bedroom smelled like spicy chili and ginger. I shoved open the window and lit a lilac-scented candle and swept my hands in the air as if to usher out the bad smell and invite the good. If only I could do that with my life.

I picked up my mostly full plate of food and my glass and crept to the bedroom door. I peeked into the living room where Ian still sat, glued to his laptop. Did he really find it so fascinating, or did he just want to avoid interacting with me?

In the kitchen, I cleared my throat and dumped my uneaten food into the sink. “Do you want to eat something before I put this away.”

“No, thank you.”

The perfect English gentleman, even in the midst of this shitshow. “Do you still want to leave for the airport around noon tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to drive me. I ordered a car already, and I’m leaving earlier. I can wait in the lounge at the airport and do some work.”

I gulped back the lump in my throat. He was making this easy on me—too easy. I almost wished he would scream and yell at me, tell me what a horrible, lying, deceitful bitch I was. Tears stung my nose again. I didn’t want to sniff, so I let the snot run down my chin. Turning my back on him, not that he was looking at me anyway, I ripped off a piece of paper towel and dabbed my nose.

When he spoke next, I jumped. “If you have an extra blanket, I’ll take it and sleep here on the settee.”

I gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned white. I hadn’t even considered the sleeping arrangements. If I could’ve lied for another day, I would’ve been able to spend one more night in his arms before losing him forever.

“You don’t have to sleep on the sofa. It’s too short. You’ll be cramped and uncomfortable. The bed is big enough. I’ll take up just a tiny corner.”

He didn’t respond, so I finished putting the food away and washing the dishes. With everything in order, except my life, I decided to retreat to my bedroom again. On my way, I mumbled, “There are blankets in the hall closet.”

Closing my bedroom door behind me, my gaze swept over the room from Ian’s suitcase in the corner, mostly packed, to his shoes sitting next to his backpack to the Dodger baseball cap I’d bought him, on top of my dresser, to the bed. I lingered on the bed where we’d spent so many passionate nights, and a few days, exploring each other and being silly and falling in love. A first for me.

My eyes darted to some clothes piled next to his suitcase. He’d mentioned today that he wanted to do some laundry before he left, but with his earlier departure time, he’d probably scrapped those plans. He wanted to get out of here and away from me ASAP.

I crept toward the heap of dirty laundry and pawed through it. I snatched up a white T-shirt and held it to my face, breathing in the unique scent of Ian Pope—some sweat, some saltiness, a hint of his spicy deodorant. I could probably market this masculine smell and make a mint.

Balling it up in my hands, I tossed the shirt into my own laundry basket in the closet. He’d never miss it.

I got ready for bed and for the first time since Ian came into my life and spent that first night with me and many after, I pulled on some pajamas—a pair of blue, cotton PJ bottoms with white, fluffy sheep and a white camisole.

I climbed into my lonely bed and curled up on one side, just in case he decided to join me. The glow from the TV flickered in the bedroom, casting shadows and hues across the walls. I tried to fall asleep, but the activity of my mind kept me alert, prolonging my misery.

After an hour with no progress in the sleep department, I slipped out of bed and padded to my bedroom door. Again, I listened before easing open the door and stepping into the hallway.

The blue light from his laptop illuminated the angles of Ian’s face, and turned the tattoos on his arms dull, all the images and words running together into an incomprehensible blur.

He’d slumped back against the cushions, tilting to one side, as his computer teetered dangerously on the edge of his knees. I tiptoed toward the sofa and moved his laptop, securing it on the coffee table and shutting the lid.

He stirred, emitting a soft moan from his lips. He couldn’t sleep like this. He’d be stiff and sore for his plane ride tomorrow. Bad enough he hadn’t eaten anything all night.

I circled the sofa, coming up behind him and putting my hands on his shoulders, stroking his neck with my thumbs. “Baby, come to bed. Don’t sleep out here.”

He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes, looking around him as if he’d found himself in some alternate universe, less real and more unwelcome than his dreams.

I floated back to my bedroom. He could make his own decision.

Lying back in bed, I closed my eyes; I held my breath as I tracked Ian’s footsteps to the hallway. Would he stop, take a blanket and return to the sofa? I’d left my bedroom door ajar, and Ian eased it open.

I eked out the pent-up breath and froze under the covers. I didn’t want to scare him off.

He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and splashed some water around. When he opened the bathroom door, I raised my eyelids ever so slightly to watch his movements. He stripped down to his briefs, and my heart caught in my throat.

Then he glanced at the bed, turned his attention to his suitcase on the floor, and made a move. Crouching before his bag, he dragged out a pair of gray sweat shorts and a T-shirt. I hoped he wasn’t looking for the one stashed in my dirty laundry.

And like me, for the first time since we met, he slid under the covers wearing nightclothes. At least he’d decided to come to bed. He settled on his side, his back to me, his body on the very precipice of the mattress.

I didn’t move a muscle, almost forgot to breathe. I’d left the window open, and the misty night air made its way into the bedroom, cooling down the room, spreading goosebumps across my chest.

I inched my foot close to his leg and combed the hair on his calf with my toes. He shifted away from me. A sob rose in my throat, but I clenched my teeth and beat it back. I gave it a few minutes and then stretched my arm toward him and ran my knuckles down his back. He stiffened. But he didn’t scoot away this time—of course, he had nowhere to go except the floor.

Heaving a sigh, he rolled onto his back. “What do you want from me, Ivy? Do you want me to fuck you? What would be the point?”

The sharpness of his tone sliced me open, and his crude statement poured acid into the wound.

“I...”

What did I want? I wanted Ian on top of me, inside me, his hands all over my body, his lips in my hair. I wanted him to love me again. I found my voice, high and breathy. “I know I don’t have any right to ask you, but could you just hold me? Just for tonight. Just one last time.”

His arm shot out, and he curled it around my waist and dragged me toward him. My body met his, and I molded my form to his muscles and hard planes, soaking in his warmth, a perfect fit. My head dropped naturally to his chest, and my hand covered his heart over the soft cotton of his T-shirt. It pounded beneath my palm.

Tears rolled down my face, soaking his shirt, but I couldn’t stop them this time. Couldn’t pretend that I didn’t want him, need him.

Stroking my hair, he soothed me. “It’s alright. It’s gonna be okay.”

Why was he comforting me when I was the one who’d taken an ice pick to his heart?

“Go to sleep, Tinkerbell. I’ve got you...for tonight.”

In the safety and comfort of Ian’s arms, I managed to drift off. The next day, he left.