Unravel Me (Aspen Ridge #1)

Chapter 1

IVY

“ T hat stupid motherfucker!”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Picking up my next shot of tequila, I gently knock it against my best friend’s before tossing it back. Wincing, I reach for the lime and press it between my lips, sucking the crisp tartness into my mouth.

“How is this my life? Honestly, Zoe, what the fuck am I going to do now? I can’t afford rent in Seattle on my own.” My voice leaks with desperation and I cringe. I need to be stronger than this if I’m going to keep it together.

Today I walked in on my semi-long-term boyfriend railing the bikini barista from the coffee stand down the street, doggy style, in our bed. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the asshole glared at me like I had done something wrong. He didn’t look shocked that I had come home early, no, his face reddened in anger and frustration that his orgasm was interrupted. You can’t make this shit up. As the severity of my situation sinks in, I drop my forehead down on the cold bar top.

The worst part? Because trust me, it gets worse. Not only is it his apartment that I was living in, but the restaurant I’m the sous chef for? His parents own it.

Yep. Let that settle in. Luckily my natural flight response kicked in—something I’ve become somewhat of a pro at—and I ran off to Zoe’s apartment to figure things out and process the dumpster fire that has become my life.

The alternative would have been to bash his head in with a table lamp, which was a thought that crossed my mind while watching him rut into the rando. Even though I’m fairly sure that’d be considered a crime of passion, I couldn’t take my chances. So, here I am sitting at a bar in Downtown Seattle with my best friend, slinging back shots like we’re twenty-one again. It’s this or jail time. I may project that I’m tough and can handle a whole hell of a lot, but that’s all a carefully built fa?ade, and I know I’m not cut out for jail.

“Well. I was thinking . . .”

“That’s never a good thing for me, Zo . . .”

“Don’t kill me, but, you could always move back home? Like, to Aspen Ridge. You’ve got your parents’ house just sitting there empty,” she suggests sheepishly.

“Ha. You’re kidding, right? I’d rather take my chances on the street. I have no interest in ever facing the ghosts that fill that house or live in that town.”

“Ivy. Listen. I get it. I know your heart and I hear you.”

I go to interrupt, and she puts her hands up to stop me.

“I know what you’re going to say. It’s the memories. It’s what the house represents. I get it, babe. I do. But it’s an entire house just sitting there. You sell that fucker and your situation would change drastically. I don’t want you to move for any amount of time, but damn. If it was me, I’d be pouncing all over that opportunity. How many people get left a paid-off house for fuck’s sake?”

I’m not hearing any of it. My parents got pregnant with me when my mom was nineteen and my dad was thirty-four. It was a huge scandal in town and caused serious heartache for the grandparents I never had the chance to meet. They cut my mom off when she chose my dad, completely ashamed of her decisions and unwilling to support her. Not long after, they moved out of state, and I’ve never had contact with them.

When I was a little girl, my mom used to tell me her dreams of becoming a writer who traveled all over the world and wrote about her experiences. She gave up the life she had dreamed for herself to be with my dad because she believed in the fairytale of it all, believed in him and his pretty words.

My childhood was spent being told how important it was for me to grow up and leave Aspen Ridge, to go into the world on my own and make something of myself. My mom was a dreamer and wanted to see me live the life she never got to. As I got older I watched her wither away, losing her dreams and the love she traded them for.

Once upon a time she happily changed the course of her life to be with my dad. She was in love. But he was rarely home, and when he was, I never saw them be affectionate with one another, never saw my dad show her love or support. He feigned indifference to both of us. Her heartbreak became more and more evident as the years passed and she sank further into depression. I thought that my parents had a fairytale love story when I was little, but the hard truth of it was that my father preyed on and exploited my mother and her naivety. She may have loved him, but he just wanted to own her. His something young and pretty that he kept at home, locked in her gilded cage. She never had the opportunity to build her own life. She was simply embedded into his already existing one.

My parents were killed in a car accident fifteen months ago and my mom never left Washington. While I work hard to keep the promises I made to my mother—that I would leave Aspen Ridge and create a life on my own—it’s hard not to ask myself if this is what I really wanted to begin with.

After all, I was happy in Aspen Ridge . . . at one point.

“It’s my dad’s house, Zo. I don’t want anything from him. He’s given me enough and I have the therapy bills to prove it. End of discussion.”

“Okay, okay, point made. You know you can couch surf at my place for as long as you need, we’ll make it work until you’re on your feet again.”

“I love you for it.” I drop my head back and take a deep inhale. “Why’s it so difficult to not stick your dick in things that you shouldn’t? Is monogamy really that hard?”

“Seeing as how I don’t have a dick, I’m really not sure. Brooks is an asshole, Ivy. But tonight we’re going to forget about that cheating fuckface and party like the confident, gorgeous, badass women we are. We’ll face this shitstorm tomorrow.”

I give her a halfhearted smile. I loathe going out. It’s never been my scene. I’m much more a “grab a beer and sit on the bed of a truck and watch a bonfire” kinda girl. But I love her for trying.

“Can’t we go back to your place, order a pizza, and binge on some trashy tv?”

“Uh. No. You need to get out and be out of your head.”

“You’re the worst.”

“But you love me.” She waves the bartender down, who she’s been checking out since we got here.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

“Hmm. I’m in the mood for a screaming orgasm if you can manage,” she says with a flirty wink.

The bartender’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead at her bluntness, and I let loose a nervous laugh.

“Don’t mind her. She’s absolutely insane. She means the shot, not her. Vodka, Kahlua, Irish cream, and amaretto, I think.” Quickly trying to recall her go-to shot.

As he walks down the bar away from us, she smacks me on the arm.

“You’re such a buzzkill.”

“We’re nursing my shitty life tonight, just like you said, not hooking up with bartenders, no matter how hot they are.”

“Hey, there’s an idea. You could always pick up some bartending shifts for extra cash. That’s an option!”

I groan. Loudly.

“I can’t go back to bartending, Zo, c’mon. That would be like going backward in my career. Actually, it is going backward in my career. Chef by day, bartender by night. No thanks. Plus, the men are such pigs.”

Add bartending to the list of things I’d rather not be doing. The tips were incredible at the restaurant I used to work at, but it was a taxing job in an environment that made me want to crawl out of my skin.

“It’s ’cause you’re such a smoke show, babe. They can’t help but want a piece of you.”

“You keep thinking that,” I say, rolling my eyes at her.

“If I didn’t think it’d ruin our relationship, I’d be trying to get a lick for myself.”

I toss my head back in a deep laugh.

When I say my best friend is crazy, I mean it. Her audacity knows no bounds. She is the quintessential life of the party. We met in California during our college days while working at the same bar. When I wanted to move back to Washington, she was down to stick with me. Our relationship was that insta-connection kind of friendship. We’re the epitome of opposites attract, though, and it’s obnoxiously obvious in most situations.

She has gorgeous ice-blonde hair that she keeps in a stylish bob, whereas mine is midnight-black and down to my waist. She’s loud, where I’m more quiet. She’s a vivacious extrovert, while I’m a textbook introvert. My circle contains her. If it wasn’t for her forcing me around others, I would be at home reading. She has made my life immensely better since she came into it and as cliché as it may be, I’d be lost without her. Craziness and all. She’s my ride or die.

My phone goes off for the tenth time in the last thirty minutes. Pulling it out of my purse, I slide it across the bar in Zoe’s direction, laying my forehead back on the bar top with a groan.

“Your turn. It’s him again, isn’t it?”

Zoe picks up my phone and glances over the texts before turning it to face me so I can read them.

“Man, he went from pompous dickwad to full-on maniacal overlord in the span of an hour. Fuck, Ivy.”

I read over the slew of texts that get progressively more intense.

Brooks: We need to talk about this. Come home and we will get through it.

Brooks: Ivy. You don’t want to do this.

Brooks: Answer your goddamn phone. I swear to fucking God Ivy don’t ignore me.

I push the phone back to her, unable to focus on any of it. I can’t let this get to me.

“Just put it away. Turn it off. Throw it out the fucking window for all I care. He’s just pissed he was caught.” I sit up and twist my hands together in my lap before shaking them out at my sides, doing my best to control my breathing. This will not get under my skin. The last thing I need today is a panic attack in the middle of a bar.

“C’mon then, my girl, let’s get you drunk and have some fun!”

We spend the next two hours sipping on drinks and dancing on the dance floor. Zoe does everything she can to help me forget the day and enjoy the moment, but my mind continues to flood with anxiety over how to move forward.

We take an Uber back to Zoe’s studio apartment around midnight and I fall onto her couch to hopefully get some sleep. Zoe’s suggestion that I move back home has been on constant repeat throughout the night. That damn house really is just sitting there. I lay awake in the dark room, doing my best to work through every scenario. I have some savings that can get me through for a while, but not if I want to stay in Seattle. With the cost of rent, I would plow through it too quickly. But maybe if I moved back to Aspen Ridge temporarily and sold my parents’ house, this could set up my life and give me the boost I desperately need. As I envision what it would be like to be back in my hometown for the first time in ten years, my mind drifts to thoughts of the boy whose heart I shattered by leaving. The boy who loved me so fiercely. Who planned our life together.

And I ran. Hard and fast and never looked back.

Until now.