17. Hank
Chapter 17
Hank
T he bar buzzes with chatter and laughter, the air warm from bodies and booze. I'm at a corner table, nursing a beer, my gaze fixed on our little houseguest. She's swaying to the music, caught between Holt and Wyatt. Each step she takes, each smile she shares, it twists my gut like a damn wet towel.
"Look at them go," someone near me says, but I don't take my eyes off her.
Ivy's laugh cuts through the noise, clear and bright.
"Hey, Hank." A voice breaks into my thoughts, but I grunt something noncommittal, my focus still on Ivy.
Her hair glistens under the dim lights, the waves bouncing with her every move. She catches me staring and offers a small, apologetic smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. It's like she knows I'm sitting here with a chest full of lead, watching her dance with anyone but me.
But her carefree smile doesn’t last. The change is subtle, but I notice. I notice everything about her. I can’t take my damn eyes off her.
The throng of women vying for Holt and Wyatt's attention doesn’t seem to care that Ivy’s their girl tonight. The two of them eat it up, their smiles as wide as the sky. They're all charm and easy words, hands brushing hips, shoulders, any piece of skin they can touch without seeming too eager.
A woman with a flirty grin sidles up next to Holt, her hand lingering just a bit too long on his arm. Wyatt laughs off another, her fingers trailing down his back. They don’t stop them. They don’t tell them to back off.
And Ivy starts to notice, too. She doesn't seem like herself. She ducks her head as another round of laughter erupts from Holt and Wyatt's crowd, and I can tell right away—she's hiding.
It's subtle, the way she turns her body and angles her face away from the lights, away from the eyes that seek her out. It's a dance I've never seen her do; one step forward for every two steps back. A flicker of irritation passes through me, not at her, but for her. Why is she holding back? Why are they giving their attention to any of those vultures when they have the perfect fucking woman right in front of them?
"Hey," Holt calls out to another lady passing by, his arm snaking around her waist. Wyatt joins in with a chuckle, tipping his beer to his lips but not before sneaking a glance at Ivy. They're caught up in their world, the one where they're the stars and everyone else just orbits around them.
Ivy, apparently having had enough, slips away from the throng, shoulders hunched more than I remember ever seeing. When she sits down across from me, there's a tremor in her fingers as she reaches for her drink. I want to ask, want to reach out and smooth away the crease in her brow, but I don't know how. Not without crossing lines that have always been there between us.
"Everything all right?" I manage, trying to keep my voice even.
She nods, quick and sharp, but her eyes dart around, never settling. They catch on Holt, then Wyatt, who both shoot looks her way when they think no one's watching. It's a silent conversation, one I'm not privy to, but it's clear they're aware of her every move, even if they pretend otherwise.
"Fine. Just...tired, I guess," she says, but the words are hollow.
"Hm," I reply, letting it drop. We sit in silence, the din of the bar wrapping around us like a shroud. There's a story here, in the way she's tucking into herself, in the way they watch her, but it's not mine to uncover.
The door swings open and lets in a gust of chill air along with Mason. Lily is trailing behind. Ivy perks up, a real smile breaking through the facade she's been wearing all night.
"Hey, Ivy," Mason greets her with a nod and a grin that's all warmth as they approach our table. His daughter bounces on the balls of her feet, eager.
"Love your dress, Ivy! Where'd you get it?" Lily's eyes are wide, taking in every detail of Ivy's simple yet chic attire. It’s not as over the top as some of her other outfits. It’s still not quite what women here would wear, but it’s tame for Ivy.
"Thanks, Lily! It's just something I picked up on a whim. I need a bathroom break. Why don’t you come with me? I'll tell you all about it." Ivy stands, and the two of them weave through the crowd, leaving me with Mason.
"Girls and their fashion talk, huh?" He chuckles, taking a seat.
"Seems that way," I grunt, watching the space where Ivy disappeared. My hands feel too big, useless resting on the table.
Mason's smile quirks up at the corner, like he's got a secret or he's just won a bet. "Ivy seems to have a way with people. My Lily loves her," he says casually, as if he’s commenting on the weather.
"Hm." I reach for my beer, the glass cool and slick in my hand.
"You've known her long?" His question is light, but his eyes are studying me.
"No." I take a swig, let the bitter taste linger. I'm not about to spill my guts to Mason, no matter how good of a guy he seems.
He leans back in his chair, easy, relaxed. “She’s got a way with you, too.”
My jaw tightens. “Not sure what you’re getting at.”
Mason lifts his hands, all innocence. “Nothing, nothing. Just saying—it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you take to someone new. Especially someone like Ivy.”
I level him with a look, but he doesn’t flinch. “Someone like Ivy?”
His smirk deepens. “You know; flashy, big personality, a little reckless. Not your usual type.”
I roll my shoulders, irritation prickling under my skin. “Didn’t know I had a type.”
“Oh, you do,” Mason drawls, taking a sip of his drink. “And Ivy? She ain’t it.” He pauses, then adds, “But you like her anyway.”
I don’t answer, but the way Mason’s grin widens tells me he sees more than I’d like.
We sit in silence for a moment, the clatter of pool balls and laughter filling the gaps between us. Then Wyatt's loud voice cuts through, drawing my gaze.
"Hey, where'd Ivy go?" Holt trails behind him with the same question in his eyes.
"Restroom," I say, pushing back my annoyance at the fact that they only seemed to care when she was out of sight.
"All right," Wyatt says, shrugging. He throws himself into a chair, sprawling out with easy confidence. Holt leans against the wall, his eyes scanning the crowd until they find the path Ivy took.
"Kid's a magnet," Mason comments, half to himself, before standing. "Nice talking to you, Hank."
"Likewise." But my mind's not on the conversation anymore. It's stuck on Ivy, wondering what she's telling Lily about that dress, about herself, and whether she's still smiling.