Chapter 8
CHAD
Ivy protested me carrying her to the car, but since she couldn’t even think about putting weight on her foot without gasping in pain, it was either that or an ambulance ride. She chose me—albeit reluctantly, I think—and only because her insurance isn’t great.
Holding her close was intense.
You think, in those kinds of situations, that you’ll be distracted by the emergency. She was in so much pain, she couldn’t keep from crying, although she was also surprisingly bright. My heart was breaking for her, possibly because just twelve short hours before, I’d been in her shoes.
And yet, I can’t stop thinking about how good she smelled—a light vanilla floral scent that I can still smell, it seems. And her silky hair was soft when it brushed against my cheek.
Now I’m waiting at the hotel and Law is with her at the ER. I’m blatantly keeping our suite room door open while the girls watch Elf, spying for when Ivy gets back. How much more obvious can I be about the fact that I like her a lot?
I force myself to stop thinking about stuff like that.
And since I can’t seem to focus on the movie I’m supposed to be watching with the girls, I think about Dane’s text earlier and the growing desire not to return to that schedule and the constant hustle.
There are options for me at the medical sales company I work for, like jobs in admin or on the finance side of things.
Jobs where I could be at work from nine to five and taking a day or two to spend with my girls wouldn’t be a big deal.
Shelby was a big spender, and she did rack up some serious credit card debt buying things to sell for drugs, but I’ve managed our money well enough that taking a different job will be fine.
Being here with the girls—no callouts, no worries—has been liberating. I want to be with them more and not leave their raising up to Carlie or some other nanny.
My brain automatically circles to Ivy again with that thought, and I swallow a groan at myself. I’m excited for her to get back to the hotel, and I have to get a handle on this. Allowing myself to get my hopes up for something with her isn’t a good idea.
“Miss Ivy!” Zoey shouts. She’s standing at the door, where she’s been doing periodic checks up and down the hall. Scarlett scampers up to join her, abandoning the Happy Meals I had delivered after we returned. Of course, I follow.
When I reach the door, Scarlett and Zoey have bounded across the hall to greet Ivy. Scarlett takes Zoey’s hand to hold her back, saying, “We have to be careful with Miss Ivy, remember?”
Ivy leans toward them on her crutches. “It’s just a broken ankle,” she says with a wink. “You can definitely hug me.”
Law swipes her key card and opens the door behind her. “I’ll grab her stuff to bring over to your room.”
I give him a thumbs-up while she stares at me, confused.
Law and I texted while she was getting X-rayed, and it will be easier if she stays over here so I can help her stay off her feet.
She doesn’t have a cast yet, just a thick wrap until the swelling goes down in the next few days, and she’ll need to be careful to protect it.
That will be easier if she doesn’t have to do everything herself.
I owe it to her, considering I’m a big part of the reason someone ran into her, distracting her with my emotional baggage.
Plus she took care of my girls and me when I needed it.
“What?” Ivy turns to scowl at Law as he starts gathering her things.
“I can help you stay off it easier if you’re over here with us,” I say. I need to subtly imply that if she stays in her room, it would be an inconvenience to me. It’s the only way Ivy will let me help.
“You don’t need to do that.” She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.”
“So is Carlie going to help you with everything when she gets here?” I raise an eyebrow at her.
“N-no. I just need to put my foot up and binge some movies.” She nods defiantly at me.
But she doesn’t move. She stays just outside her hotel room door, only turning when Scarlett and Zoey move farther into her room to watch Law.
I suspect she wants to come hang out despite her protests.
The idea that she wants to spend more time with me—with us.
With us!—makes something flutter in my chest.
“And how are you going to get dinner?” I ask, folding my arms.
She whips her gaze to me, standing a little straighter on the crutches. “I’ll order something to be delivered.”
“How are you going to answer the door?”
“With my crutches.”
“You’re supposed to be icing your ankle,” Law calls from inside her room. He pauses from where he’s zipping up her carry-on to turn to her. “Someone will have to run to the ice machine and bring stuff to you every hour or something.”
“I could do that!” Ivy insists. She holds her crutches out away from her and wiggles them for emphasis.
“I can help!” Scarlett says, clapping her hands and looking up at Ivy. “I know where the ice machine is.” That was a popular stop on our hotel tour the first day we were here, when I was trying to keep them entertained while my head split apart.
“Me too!” Zoey gives a little jump.
“The doctor said you needed to stay off your feet as much as possible.” Law sets her carry-on down outside the door and leans against the doorframe to eye her. “That would be kind of hard if you’re running around for ice and food and whatever else you might need all evening.”
“The fridge in my suite actually has an ice maker,” I say triumphantly.
Ivy leans over to peer into my suite, like she could see it from here. Then she eyes me skeptically. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” I hold back a laugh at the thought that I would lie about that to lure her into my room.
I hold my hands out in a pleading way. “I have plenty of room over here. The girls have been begging to sleep in my big bed with me, and Law and I will both worry less if you have someone with you to help.”
She frowns. “Guys …”
“Give in, Ivy,” Law says. “Let us take care of you.”
She shoots him a glare. They’ve been friends for a long time, so I can’t interpret what the glare means.
I thought this was as simple as me helping to care for her, but maybe Ivy has her reasons for not wanting to stay in our suite tonight.
I don’t know her as well as Law does. It’s just the last couple days and all the time we’ve spent with the girls that makes us feel closer.
Plus I’ve told her more about my relationship with Shelby than anyone besides my therapist. Talking with her is …
comforting, and it’s something we can do and still just be friends. I’d love to know more about her.
“If it makes you uncomfortable, Carlie will be here soon …” I start.
The last thing I want is to force her to do something she’s not okay with.
I’ve had to set a lot of boundaries with Shelby—that she doesn’t know about since she won’t answer when I call—so I don’t want to ignore any that Ivy has set for herself, as compelled as I am to repay her for all her help.
She waves a hand to stop me. “No. It’s not that. I don’t want to be a burden. I’m sure you have stuff planned with your girls. Not staying at the hotel and taking care of me.”
“Actually,” I say, “I wanted to keep all our same Christmas traditions that we do at home, and all of that involves staying in tonight. Carlie and Law are joining us as soon as he gets back from picking her up.” Even though I planned this trip for the holidays so there wasn’t an obvious Shelby-shaped hole missing from our celebration, I still wanted to keep the familiar things the girls love.
“Okay,” Ivy relents. She bites her lip, and the shadow of a smile starts.
“Speaking of Carlie,” Law says, picking up Ivy’s carry-on and slinging her backpack over his shoulder, “I need to head to the airport.” He strides across the hall and disappears into my room, coming out a moment later. “See you guys in a couple hours.”
We wave, the girls bouncing around and chanting something about seeing Carlie, and then I step over to pull Ivy’s door shut. “Let’s go. We’re watching Elf,” I say. The girls run into our suite, and Ivy and I follow at a slower pace. “I was about to make fancy ramen.”
She freezes in my doorway. “Fancy ramen?”
A smile breaks over my face. “You don’t have ramen on Christmas Eve? That’s weird.”
“Fancy ramen,” she repeats, emphasizing each word and raising her eyebrows.
I gesture for her to come inside and take a seat on the couch in the suite’s living room, then scoot the footrest next to her so she can put her leg up. She watches me, even as I help her situate her ankle in a comfortable position.
“There’s a story,” she says. I take her crutches from where she leaned them up against the couch and put them out of her reach, inside the closet next to the door, just in case. She shakes her head.
“There is.” I move to the small kitchenette and pull out a pot. “You can have fancy ramen with me, or you can order something.”
She tilts her head. “I want to hear the story, if that’s okay.”