Chapter Ten #2
Their heads turn toward each other and they laugh. Ivy’s is warm and encouraging, like the first day of spring. Madison fights to stay hidden behind a thin veil of teenage nonchalance. But in that moment, the similarity in their expressions is unmistakable.
Ivy shrugs and guns the engine, veering right. The path narrows and steepens, challenging enough that it requires full concentration. For several minutes, there’s nothing but the roar of engines and the splatter of mud against my jacket.
When we finally break through the tree line onto the ridgeline, I kill the engine and dismount. The sudden silence is broken only by our breathing and the distant patter of dripping trees.
Madison and Ivy follow suit, removing their helmets.
The clearing offers a panoramic view of the entire estate.
From here, my house sits centered in the landscape.
The limestone structure with its slate roof stands surrounded by land I’ve left mostly wild, save for the trails and the small stretch of gardens visible from the east wing.
Madison stares at it all with poorly concealed envy, while Ivy’s eyes track the property lines that stretch to the tree line and beyond to where the creek cuts through the southern border.
Strange to see my place through their eyes.
To them, it’s probably just another rich man’s retreat, not the escape I’d designed it to be.
Not that it worked. No place has been home.
Not this estate, not Quebec. Not anywhere.
“Wow,” Madison whispers, stepping to the edge of the clearing. Despite myself, I note that she has the sense to keep a safe distance from the drop-off.
“It’s beautiful," Ivy agrees, joining her. Her caramel-colored hair has escaped its braid, curling wildly in the humidity. There’s a smudge of mud across her cheek that she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about.
I stay by the ATVs. From this distance, with their backs to me, I can almost forget the complications they represent. Almost.
Madison wanders a little ways down the ridge, examining something in the distance, giving me a momentary reprieve from her presence.
Ivy turns to look at me, head tilted slightly to one side. “You don’t strike me as the type to appreciate scenic viewpoints.”
“I’m not,” I say, then add, “but I used to come here when I needed space to think.”
“And how often was that?” she asks, moving closer to me.
“Often enough.”
She studies me, then asks. “Do you miss Kentucky?”
I consider shutting down this line of questioning, but something about the rain-soaked air and the distance from the house loosens my tongue.
“Yes and no. Like you, I’m a Kentuckian, through and through.
It’s in my blood and in my livelihood. But Quebec gives me space to breathe without my father’s shadow over me. ”
She nods. “And now?”
“Now he’s dead, and I’m back with his ghosts and mine.” The admission costs me, though I’m not sure what.
“There’s a path down there! Where does it go?” Madison asks, running toward us.
I’m thankful for the interruption. Fuck-knows what would have come out of my mouth next. I find it too easy to talk with Ivy. “To the creek. There’s a swimming hole at the bend.”
“Can we go there?” she asks.
“Not today,” I reply. “The current will be too strong after all this rain.”
Her face falls slightly, and I feel a twinge of... something. Not guilt, exactly, but discomfort. I look away, adjusting my helmet strap.
I look at the darkening clouds. The pressure drop signals an incoming downpour. “We should head back,” I tell them. “The rain’s coming in again.”
“Race you to the creek crossing,” Madison challenges me directly, already jamming her helmet back on.
I’ve never been good at turning down a challenge. “You’re on.”
She sprints to her ATV and takes off down the trail before I even sit on mine. “Shit,” I mutter, swinging a leg onto mine and kicking the engine to life.
The skies open up, going from light drizzle to biblical deluge in seconds. The sudden downpour turns the trail into a treacherous mess of slick mud and overflowing puddles. Madison chooses now to become fearless and powers ahead with a whoop of delight.
“Slow down!” Ivy shouts after her, but the rain swallows her words.
“Take it slow,” I tell her. “I’ll catch up to Madison.”
Visibility drops to almost nothing as sheets of rain pummel us. I keep a careful eye on the ATV ahead and keep glancing behind me to check on Ivy.
At a particularly steep section, Ivy’s ATV hits a slick patch and slides sideways into a muddy ditch. The machine tilts precariously, one wheel sinks in the mud, the other spins uselessly in the air. She tries to power out of it, but the wheel only digs deeper into the muck.
I kill my engine and dismount, I push up my helmet’s visor and shout, “Madison, stop!” Thankfully, she hears me and listens.
Slogging through ankle-deep mud, I reach Ivy. “Are you hurt?” I yell over the thundering rain.
She pushes up her visor. Rain cascades down her face. To my surprise, she’s grinning. “Only my pride.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound unexpected in the middle of this chaos. “Cut the engine,” I instruct. The ATV is wedged at an awkward angle, its frame sunk deep in the saturated ground.
Ivy climbs off, standing beside me in the pouring rain. We’re both already soaked to the bone, clothes plastered to our bodies. Her hair has escaped its braid entirely, caramel strands darkened by rain clinging to her neck and shoulders.
“We need to lift up and out,” I tell her, moving to the rear of the machine. “Get back on and give it some gas when I say so.”
“You can lift it?” she asks.
“One way to find out,” I wait for her to sit, then bend my knees and get a solid grip under the frame. One... two... three!”
I heave upward with everything I’ve got, muscles straining. The ATV shifts, lifting enough for the wheel to gain purchase.
“Now!”
Ivy guns the engine. The wheel catches, spraying an explosion of mud that hits me square in the chest and face. The force of it nearly knocks me backward.
The ATV lurches forward onto stable ground. I stand there, a mud-covered statue in the pouring rain. I can’t even see through the thick layer coating my face.
Ivy kills the engine. For a moment, there’s only the sound of rain pounding around us. Then I hear it. Her laughter, bright and unrestrained, cuts through the storm.
I wipe mud from my eyes to see her doubled over on the ATV, shoulders shaking with mirth. The sight is so incongruous—prim, professional Ivy West covered in mud, laughing like a child in a downpour—that I can’t help it. I start laughing too.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps between fits of laughter. “Your face. You should see your face!”
“You did that on purpose,” I joke, laughing.
“I didn’t!” she protests. “But I’m not sorry it happened either.”
I scoop up a handful of mud and take a threatening step toward her. Her eyes widen.
“Don’t you dare, Blackstone.”
“What are you going to do about it, Devil’s Ivy?”
She squeals and darts away, but slips in the mud. I reach to steady her, but her momentum carries us both down. We land in a spectacular splash, a tangle of limbs and laughter in the middle of a muddy puddle.
The rain pounds down on us as we lie there, laughing too hard to get up. Half on top of me, the front of her helmet bumps mine. Her face is inches from mine, mud-streaked and beautiful.
Our laughter fades, and I realize how close we are. She clocks it as well. Her breath whispers against my face, and I see the raindrops clinging to her eyelashes.
“Thorne,” she breathes, and the way she says my name sends heat through my veins despite the cold rain.
“You guys are weird together,” Madison announces.
Ivy jolts off me.
When the hell did Madison sneak up? She’s looking between us, that calculating expression I’m learning to recognize settling on her face. It means she’s scheming.
I stand and offer Ivy my hand. She takes it and asks her half-sister, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Madison says with false innocence. “Just an observation.”
Before Ivy can press for clarification, a flash of lightning followed by a boom of thunder damn near shakes the ground.
“We should get back before it gets worse,” I tell them.
The rain turns the final stretch of trail into a mud bath. By the time we reach the garage, we're soaked to the skin and covered in so much mud that it’s hard to tell where our clothing ends and the dirt begins.
Laughing, we park the ATVs and stumble back toward the house. Madison runs ahead, eager for a hot shower, leaving Ivy and me trailing behind.
“I didn’t expect this when I woke up this morning,” Ivy says, gesturing to her mud-covered clothes.
“Makes two of us,” I reply, not entirely sure what possessed me to suggest ATVs in the first place.
Ivy glances at me, her eyes softening around the edges, and she tucks in the right side of her mouth.
Shit. It’s the look she gets right before asking something that will strip away another layer of me. My shoulders tense in anticipation.
“You know, for someone who’s being blackmailed into this whole arrangement, you’re being... decent. Today, anyway.”
I shrug, “Don’t look too deep into it. I was going stir-crazy as well.”
She reaches up and wipes a streak of mud from my cheek, her touch unexpectedly gentle. “It was still very kind of you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I mutter, catching her wrist.
She stills. Her pulse beats against my fingertips, quick and strong. Heat radiates from that simple point of contact, dangerous and inviting. This isn’t what we’re here for. We’re cleaning up my father's mess, not creating a new complication.
But I don’t let go, and she doesn’t pull away.
The front door of the house opens, spilling light onto the gravel drive. I expect to see Madison, but instead, it’s Lillianna standing there, her expression amused. Damn little sisters.
“Well, well,” she calls, her laughter carries over the insistent rain. “I leave for a day and you turn into a mud monster?”
I drop Ivy’s wrist and take a step back. “Lillianna,” I mutter, running a mud-caked hand through my equally filthy hair. “You’re back early.”
“Lucky timing, I’d say.” Her eyes dance with mischief. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss... whatever this is.”
“ATV riding,” Ivy explains, a smile playing at her lips. “Thorne’s idea, believe it or not.”
“Thorne?” Lillianna’s mouth forms a perfect O of disbelief. “My brother, the human storm cloud, doesn’t remember how to play.”
I scowl at her, though there’s no real heat behind it. “The ATVs are mine, you know.”
“One is yours. The other is mine. When was the last time you went out with me on them, or even alone?” she asks, her grin widening. She turns to Ivy. “Did he tell you about the time he—”
“We need to get cleaned up,” I interrupt. “Before we catch pneumonia.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Lillianna says as we squelch past her into the foyer.
A shiver wracks Ivy. “You’d better get in the shower,” I tell her.
“I don’t want to track mud through the house.” We see Madison’s prints through the foyer and beyond. “Sorry,” Ivy mutters.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “Go ahead.”
She nods and tries to step in Madison’s marks. At the stairs, she glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes warm. “See you at dinner.”
I nod, and when she disappears up the staircase, I turn to find Lillianna watching me with undisguised delight.
“What?” I demand, crossing my arms and squaring my shoulders.
“So,” she says simply.
“So what?”
“You and Ivy.”
“There is no me and Ivy,” I say flatly.
Lillianna smiles. “The way you were looking at her suggests otherwise.”
“Drop it, Lilly.”
Her lips turn down. “Why?”
“Because there’s nothing between us. She’s here because of Madison, not me.”
“Why not both of you?”
“What’s the point? When this is over, she’s going back to New York. I’ll be returning to Canada.”
“You don’t know how this will all end. And stop worrying so much about tomorrow. Enjoy today. You deserve a bit of happiness and fun.”
“No, I don’t.” My self-exile in Quebec gave me way too much time to reflect on what a shitty person I am. I want to change, but that doesn't mean I can. Or that I deserve something good.”
“Because of what you did to Sebastian?” Lillianna asks, her voice gentle but direct.
“That. And other things.”
“You’re not Dad,” she says, resting a hand on my mud-covered arm. “You never were. You just thought you had to be that way to survive in this family.”
I don't reply. The truth of her words cuts too close to the bone. “I’m getting in the shower,” I tell her.
She pats my arm and grimaces at her now-dirty hand. “Good idea. You look like something the dog dragged through a swamp.”
I climb the stairs to my room, and Lillianna’s words follow me. You’re not him. You never were.
I wait for the usual rebuttal in my head. The list of reasons why she's wrong. The catalog of every way I've proven I'm exactly like him.
It doesn't come.
Just mud drying on my boots and the echo of Madison's laugh on the ridge. Ivy's warm eyes when she said "see you at dinner" like she actually wanted to. The memory of wind and speed and not thinking about Quebec or escape or anything except the trail ahead.
For the first time in three years, Lillianna's words don't feel like a lie I want to believe. They feel like something I might actually be becoming.
Maybe that's progress. Or maybe one muddy afternoon doesn't erase three years of rot.
Yet as I pass Ivy’s door, hearing the shower running behind it, I wonder if staying away from her is really the selfless choice, or just another form of cowardice. And if choosing happiness—even temporarily—would really make me my father’s son, or finally, truly, my own man.