Ivy
Las Vegas, Nevada
The restaurant is warm, loud, alive with the kind of easy laughter that makes everything feel normal.
Too normal.
Logan is halfway through a story about something ridiculous that happened on a sortie last week, Lila’s laughing into her wine, Wells and Townsend are arguing about whether Hadley could beat both of them in a footrace.
Hadley is sitting beside me, carefully scooping mashed potatoes like it’s a very serious responsibility.
And Dalton is on my other side, seemingly half engaged in the conversation and half somewhere else entirely.
I should feel happy. I do feel happy.
So why does my chest feel tight?
Why does the hum of conversation suddenly sound like pressure building behind my ears?
Someone at the next table mentions a club. Champagne. A bachelorette party.
The word hits like a dropped glass. I swallow, but my throat feels too small. My fingers curl tighter around my water glass.
It’s fine. It’s nothing. Just a memory. Just a trip. Just—
The air feels thick. Too thick.
I force a smile at something Lila says, but the sound around me is starting to blur, voices overlapping, the lights too bright, the room too crowded.
I can feel the carpet under my heels from another hotel.
Pink sash. White veil. Lila on one side of me, laughing, pulling me toward the elevator. Alinna on the other screaming, “she’s getting married!”
I was so happy. Or I wanted to be.
Kyler had kissed me goodbye at the airport, his rough hands warm on my face.
Come back to me.
I will if you do.
Always, baby.
We did. Always. Until we couldn’t.
My chest tightens again, sharper this time.
I set my napkin down too carefully.
“I’m just going to—restroom,” I say, but I’m not sure anyone hears me.
The hallway feels longer than it should. The long rug swallows my footsteps. My pulse is pounding in my ears.
Single door. Occupied. Another. Vacant. Lock.
The second the latch clicks, the air leaves my lungs in a rush I can’t stop.
My hands brace against the counter. The mirror shows someone pale. Wide-eyed. Barely holding it together.
I know this feeling.
I hate this feeling.
I press my palm flat against my sternum like I can physically hold myself together.
Vegas. Then we got married two days later.
I loved him so much it hurt sometimes. I loved how steady he was. How gentle. How patient. How he looked at me like I was something worth protecting. How he did protect me.
He found me.
He saved me.
My reflection blurs as tears fill my eyes.
I should have been okay after that. People get rescued. People move on. People go back to normal.
But part of me never did. Part of me never left that room.
It was cold. Humid. Air thick and stale. No windows. Always the smell of concrete mixed with the tangy scent of blood. My blood. Always the buzzing light overhead.
And questions. So many questions. Voices sharp, demanding. Accents I couldn’t place. Anger when I didn’t answer fast enough. When I didn’t know enough. When I knew too much.
My stomach twists.
They had my phone. I remember that. They beat the password out of me. Broke my jaw before I told them the right code. They were scrolling. Reading.
Then they saw his contact photo. A stupid move on my part, but he looked so good all kitted up.
His beautiful, colorful tattoos and the harsh lines of the Kevlar.
The sexy smirk he wore because he knew I’d love the picture.
I didn’t think anyone would ever see it.
But they did and they asked me about him.
Then they asked again. And again. And again.
What did I know?
Who did I know?
What did he do?
What did he tell me?
What did I understand?
“I don’t know,” I whisper now, like I’m still there.
The tile presses cold through the thin sole of my sandals as I shift my weight.
I can almost feel it again—
The sting across my back. Over and over. Sharp. Piercing. The sound more than the pain. The sound of a whip stays with you. It echoes. Forever.
My breathing fractures.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
I grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles ache.
Kyler carried me out of that place. Kyler wrapped me in his strong arms. Kyler kept whispering that I was okay, that he had me, that he’d die before anyone hurt me again .
He loved me through the nightmares. Through the silence. Through the pieces of me that didn’t come back.
I wanted to be whole for him. I tried. So hard.
But part of me always felt like I was still there. Still tied up on that floor. Still answering questions. Still waiting for the door to open.
A knock at the bathroom door makes me flinch so hard my hip hits the counter in a way I know will leave a bruise.
“Ivy?”
Lila. My eyes squeeze shut as more tears spill.
“Ivy, honey, are you okay?”
No.
No, I am not okay.
I unlock the door before I can think better of it. The second she sees my face, her expression changes. Concern. Softness. No judgment. Just Lila. “Oh, sweetheart…” Her hand comes up slowly, like approaching something fragile. “What happened?”
I try to answer. I really do. But the words catch somewhere between my lungs and my throat. All that comes out is a broken sound. “I’m sorry,” I choke.
Her brow furrows. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I’m ruining this,” I whisper. “This is your place. You and Logan…this is where you met and I just—I can’t even sit through dinner without—” My voice dissolves again.
Her hands settle gently on my arms. Firm. Grounding. “Ivy,” she says quietly, “nothing about this is ruined.”
“I shouldn’t still be like this.”
Still broken. Still stuck. Still afraid of rooms that look nothing like that room.
Her thumbs brush over my sleeves, steady. She doesn’t understand, doesn’t know because I didn’t tell her. “It’ll get easier.”
My chest shudders.
“I loved him so much,” I whisper, not even sure why I’m saying it out loud.
Her expression softens further.
“I know.”
“I still do,” I admit.
Because loving Kyler was never the problem. Losing myself was.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” she whispers, her green eyes glistening like they’re filling with tears, too.
My gaze drops to the tile floor.
She has it all wrong. I don’t deserve him.
Lila pulls me into a gentle hug and I let myself lean into it for one shaky second. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know.” Because I don’t. Because I’m crying in the bathroom of a random restaurant half a world away from home over a man who tried to love me and I wouldn’t let him.
Because I’m too shattered, too stuck, and too ruined to be the girl he fell in love with.
Because I took off my wedding ring and made him think I could even fathom life without him.
We may not have gotten divorced for almost two more years, but we didn’t recover from that. I’m not even sure we tried.
I don’t know how to explain memories that don’t arrive like memories.
They arrive like sensations.
Cold air. No air. A question you can’t answer correctly. Ever.
Her hand squeezes mine.
“I’m going to get Dalton.”
My head lifts quickly. Mortification flares hot through my chest. “No—”
But she just gives me a small, reassuring look. “It’s okay to need someone.” She slips out the door before I can argue.
And suddenly the room feels very quiet again.
Too quiet.
I stare at my reflection.
Try to slow my breathing.
Try to leave that room behind.
But the truth is, some part of me is still sitting on that floor, still waiting for that heavy metal door to open.