Chapter Nine #2
She shook her head, cutting the thought off before it could finish forming. There was no point replaying it. No point wondering what she’d misread, or what she’d wanted that he hadn’t been willing to give. The conclusion had been clear enough.
He didn’t want her. Not really, and somehow, that knowledge had followed her straight into her work, poisoning it.
“Ivy?”
The voice startled her. She flinched, brush slipping in her grip, and turned to find Roach standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, expression unreadable beneath his perpetual half-smirk.
“What?” she said, sharper than she meant to.
He lifted an eyebrow.
“I asked if you wanted to break for lunch,” Roach explained.
“Oh.” Heat crept up her neck. “Sorry.”
He sighed, patient.
“I said it’s about that time. You want to grab something in the clubhouse?” he repeated.
She glanced back at the mural, at the section she wanted to rip apart and redo entirely. Her stomach gave a faint, traitorous twist, but she ignored it.
“I’ll eat later,” she said, already turning away. “I want to fix this while it’s still fresh.”
Roach studied her for a beat, clearly considering pushing back. Then he shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” he muttered.
She nodded absently and turned fully back to the wall, forcing her focus back into her hands. She mixed a new shade, lighter this time, softer. Ivy began laying it down carefully, correcting the angle of the bike’s frame, easing the tension she’d accidentally built into it.
Time slipped. The sun shifted overhead. Shadows crept across the yard. The steady rhythm of the compound continued around her, engines revving and fading, voices rising and falling, the low hum of a place that never truly slept.
Ivy lost herself in the process, correcting lines, softening edges, letting the mural breathe again. It helped a little. By the time she stepped back again, sweat dampening her hairline, her mouth felt dry as sandpaper.
She reached for her water bottle and frowned when her fingers closed on empty air. She could’ve sworn she’d set it down nearby.
Her gaze flicked to the side. A few feet away, perched on a low crate, sat a cold bottle of water and a sandwich wrapped neatly in plastic, condensation already beading along the surface.
Ivy blinked, surprised. She turned slowly and found Roach leaning against the fence, watching her from a distance. When their eyes met, he lifted his chin in a silent acknowledgment.
“Oh,” she said softly.
She walked over, picked up the bottle, and twisted the cap off, taking a long drink before the words could catch in her throat. The water tasted like relief.
“Thank you,” she said, holding up the bottle.
Roach shrugged like it was nothing. “You looked like you forgot how time works.”
She huffed a small laugh despite herself. “That obvious?”
“Only to people who’ve been there,” he replied.
She unwrapped the sandwich and took a cautious bite, realizing just how hungry she’d been. The simple act of eating grounded her, settled some of the restless ache in her chest.
King was paying her well for this job. Enough money that she could afford to take her time, afford supplies she normally hesitated over. Heck, Ivy could afford to breathe a little easier for the next few months.
She reminded herself of that as she chewed. This was work. Important work. She hadn’t come here for anything else.
Ivy straightened, squared her shoulders, and turned back to the mural with renewed determination. Whatever mess Havoc had stirred up inside her, it wasn’t going to ruin this. She refused to let it.
The rest of the afternoon went smoother. The lines flowed again. The colors cooperated. The bike on the wall regained its sense of motion, of purpose. Ivy lost herself in it, letting the hours slide by without watching the gate every few minutes.
She told herself she wasn’t waiting for him. She half expected to see Havoc at some point anyway. To feel that familiar pull of his presence, the way the air seemed to thicken when he was near. Maybe he’d stop by, apologize.
Or maybe he’d do the opposite, tell her plainly that last night had been a mistake and that whatever this was between them was over before it ever really started. Either would have been something, but he didn’t come.
As the light began to fade and Roach announced it was quitting time, disappointment settled quietly in her chest, unwelcome and stubborn. She packed her supplies with practiced efficiency, refusing to examine the feeling too closely.
“You want a ride back?” Roach asked as they walked toward the lot.
Her first instinct was to snap at him. To say she didn’t need anyone chauffeuring her around. The words were already forming when the memory of the art shop rose unbidden. The grin and those eyes that held ill-intent, and the way Havoc had stepped in without hesitation.
She exhaled.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’d be good.”
The ride was easy, the tension of the day easing as the compound fell behind them. When he pulled up in front of her apartment building, Roach cut the engine and glanced at her sideways.
“Forget about Havoc,” he said lightly. “You could do better.”
She snorted. “Is that your professional opinion?” Ivy asked, amused.
He grinned. “I’m available, you know.”
She laughed, genuine this time. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
They both knew she wouldn’t.
Roach tipped an imaginary hat and drove off, leaving Ivy standing on the sidewalk with her bag slung over her shoulder. As she turned toward the entrance, a prickle slid up her spine, sharp and instinctive.
She slowed. The street was eerily quiet. Ivy glanced over her shoulder, scanning the parked cars, the darkened windows, the stretch of sidewalk behind her. Nothing moved. There were no footsteps, no sound of car engines.
Still, the feeling of being watched lingered. Ivy tightened her grip on her bag as she walked faster, keys already in her hand. She unlocked the door and slipped inside, letting it shut firmly behind her before she allowed herself to breathe again.
The apartment felt safe, but as Ivy leaned back against the door, heart still beating a little too fast, she couldn’t shake the unease curling low in her gut.