Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Ivy
“Hey, Jennie. Everything okay?”
There’s a long, heavy silence on the other end, long enough that my stomach sinks before she even speaks.
“You need to leave. Now.”
“Jennie?” My voice closes in on itself. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Brody,” she whispers. “I found him outside some dive on Delancey. He’s beaten half to a pulp. And Ivy... he’s high. Really high.”
My heart thuds once, painfully. “Shouldn’t you take him to the hospital?”
“I tried, but he freaked out, says he’s scared they’ll find him.”
She pauses, letting out a shaky breath. “He keeps talking in circles, something about Dane, and a car, and how ‘they’re making him pay.’”
Heat flashes up my neck. “Dane?” The name tastes wrong, heavy on my tongue. “Jennie, what do you mean?”
“That’s all I can get out of him,” she says. “He keeps saying you’re not safe. That Dane’s using you to—” She cuts herself off. “I don’t know, Ivy. He’s terrified.”
My eyes lift automatically, finding Dane across the ballroom. He’s still watching me. Concern written in every line of his face. The man who held me like I was everything just ten minutes ago.
The man Brody is afraid of.
A chill crawls up my spine.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll come; where are you?”
“I brought him back to mine.”
“Right. I’ll be there soon.” I’m about to hang up when she speaks again—sharper this time.
“And Ivy, come alone; don’t tell Dane.”
The call ends before I can ask why.
My pulse is thundering loud enough to drown out the orchestra. I swallow, trying to breathe through the sudden, sickening tightness in my chest. Whatever this is, whatever Brody said... I can’t fall apart here. Not in front of Dane and not when I don’t know what’s true.
I tuck my phone into my palm and head back toward the table, schooling my face into something neutral. Dane stands the second he sees me, concern darkening his eyes.
I can’t tell him I’m leaving; he’ll insist on driving me, and I know this is something I need to face alone.
“I just need some air,” I manage, trying to keep my tone light.
“Ivy—”
“I’ll be right back.” I force a small smile, something soft enough to keep him seated, something that won’t invite him to follow. “Just a minute.”
His jaw works as if he’s fighting the instinct to stop me. To reach for me.
But after a beat, he nods.
I turn away before I lose my nerve.
I slip toward the corridor at the edge of the ballroom—past the donors, past the lights, past the version of tonight that felt so stupidly close to perfect.
My steps quicken.
I don’t look back.
I can’t.
Because if I meet his eyes now, I won’t be able to walk away at all.
The cab peels away from the curb, and only then do my lungs loosen enough for me to breathe. I sink back against the seat, fingers trembling as I press them to my forehead. Rain starts to spit against the window, and I stare through it without really seeing anything.
God, I hope he forgives me for leaving like that.
We were so close tonight. Closer than we’ve ever been.
The way he held me on the dance floor, the warmth of his hands tracing slow lines up my spine, the brush of his mouth against my temple when he told me he hoped the night wasn’t too much for me.
.. it all felt like a turning point. Like he was ready, finally, to stop living in the past, that he was ready to fall in love like I am with him.
And now here I am, running in the opposite direction.
“Don’t be dramatic,” I mutter to myself, dragging in a shaky breath. “You’re going to help someone who needs you.”
But the guilt sits heavy and immovable in my chest. Because a part of me knows the truth.
I’m afraid.
Afraid of what Jennie said.
Afraid of Brody’s panic.
Afraid that maybe Dane isn’t who I’m letting myself believe he is.
I rub my hands over my face. “God,” I whisper to no one, “what am I even doing?”
By the time the cab pulls up in front of Jennie’s building, my throat feels scraped raw.
I pay, step into the cold, and ring the bell.
It opens instantly.
Jennie yanks the door open, eyes wide and frantic. She doesn’t even greet me—she just grabs my wrist and pulls me inside, then shuts the door quickly and turns the lock, checking it twice.
“He’s in here,” she murmurs, voice as tight as a coiled spring. “Prepare yourself.”
The sight of Brody knocks the air from my lungs.
He’s slumped on the sofa like he’s barely being held together.
One eye is swollen completely shut; the other is red and glassy.
There’s a gash above his brow, crusted and ugly.
His shirt is ripped at the collar, exposing bruises that haven’t even settled into full color yet.
And beneath everything—beneath the injuries and the shaking and the sweat—he is unmistakably, painfully high.
“Brody,” I whisper, moving to him immediately.
He lifts his head with effort, like dragging it through mud. When he sees me, a strange, cracked smile tugs at his lips.
“You came,” he says, voice slurred and raw.
The guilt hits harder this time, sharp and unexpected. I left Dane. I left him without a word. And yet—how could I not come? How could I ever turn away from someone in this state?
I kneel beside him and help steady a water bottle in his hand. “Drink slowly.”
He tries. Water dribbles down his chin, and I wipe it with the sleeve of my dress, not caring in the slightest.
“What happened to you?” I ask gently. “Brody, we need to take you to a hospital. You’re hurt—badly.”
The change in him is immediate and terrifying.
“No hospital,” he snaps, recoiling as if the word itself could strike him. His entire body tenses, pain rippling through him. “No—no, Ivy. You don’t understand. They’ll come back. They said that they’ll come for me again.”
My blood runs cold. “Who? Who said that?”
He shakes his head too fast, like trying to outrun the question. “The accident,” he mumbles. “They caused it.”
A spike of confusion shoots through me. “Brody... you’re not making sense.”
“I am,” he rasps, almost offended. “You don’t know—you never knew...”
His words dissolve into mumbling. His eyelids sag. Jennie watches from the doorway, wringing her hands.
“I think he’s passing out,” she whispers.
And he does—slumping sideways, breath shallow but steady. Jennie brings a blanket; we settle him as best we can. Neither of us mentions the hospital again. He’s too terrified, too messed up, and dragging him anywhere would be a war.
Hours slip by.
Jennie eventually falls asleep sitting upright in an armchair, head lolling to the side.
My phone keeps lighting up beside me on the sofa—texts from Dane, one after another.
dane
Ivy, where are you?
Are you okay?
Please tell me you’re safe.
Each vibration sears through me, but I don’t answer. Not yet. Not until I understand what the hell is happening.
It’s close to three in the morning when Brody stirs, breathing uneven, head rolling to the side.
“Ivy?” he croaks.
I sit up instantly. “Brody. I’m here.”
He blinks hard, as if he’s trying to clear fog from his mind. There’s fear in his eyes, but something else too—guilt.
“What’s going on Brody? Who did this to you?”
He doesn’t answer straight away. His head drops back, and he stares at the ceiling, like he’ll lose the nerve if he looks at me.
“I didn’t leave you because I stopped loving you,” he whispers.
The breath catches in my chest.
He swallows painfully. “Or because I met someone. Or because I wanted out.” His fingers twitch, reaching for mine, stopping short. “I left because I couldn’t look at you and keep lying.”
“Lying about what?” I whisper.
His throat works. “About the accident.”
The room suddenly feels too small.
“I was there, Ivy,” he says. “I was in the damn car.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “No—that’s not possible—”
“The festival.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I was high. Mixed up with dealers. They were driving—fast, reckless—going to buy more. And when that other car wouldn’t get out of their way, they... Jesus.” He swallows. “They forced it off the road.”
Everything inside me goes cold.
“They made the wreck disappear,” he says. “They hid it.” His voice breaks. “And I let myself believe it wasn’t my fault because I wasn’t behind the wheel.”
Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.
His eyes meet mine, glassy, and I see the guilt tearing him apart.
He continues, voice trembling. “I’ve been mixed up with them longer than you knew. I owed them money and favors. They’d let me ride along on pickups sometimes—stupid runs, nothing major. Just to keep me in their pocket.”
He buries his head in his hands, trying not to break. “That night at the festival... they were heading to buy more. I was high, barely conscious in the back seat. They were driving like maniacs, laughing, swerving. And when another car wouldn’t move—”
His breath hitches.
“They ran it off the road.”
My stomach drops hard.
“That was... that was the accident?” I whisper, choking on the words.
He nods, and I sit there, trying to make sense of it.
“They panicked,” he continues, voice thick with tears.
“The dealers. They knew people—had connections—to clean it up. To hide the damage. To make it disappear.” He drags in a ragged breath.
“I didn’t help them, Ivy. I didn’t touch anything.
But I didn’t stop them either. I didn’t call anyone. I didn’t do a damn thing.”
I feel sick.
His gaze finds mine again, shame bleeding through every crack in him. “They came for me tonight because someone’s been asking questions about the crash. Someone who isn’t afraid of them. They don’t know who—just that it’s someone with money, someone smart, someone persistent.”
My blood runs cold.
Dane.
He doesn’t say the name, but the implication hangs heavy, suffocating.
“I thought it had to be him,” Brody whispers. “That he knew I was in the car. That he knew I didn’t stop it. I thought he was getting close to the truth, and that maybe—maybe he was using you to punish me.” He swallows, eyes filling. “I thought you weren’t safe with him.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding so hard it hurts, because nothing he’s saying sounds real, and yet every piece fits too well.
God, when he came back from that festival, I could see he’d changed.
I thought the success had gone to his head, that his life was moving on without me. I never could have anticipated this.
Brody’s breaths come uneven, like every inhale scrapes him from the inside. He pushes a trembling hand through his hair, smearing dried blood across his temple.
“Ivy...,” he whispers. “I left because I couldn’t face you. Not after I knew what I’d been part of.”
My throat tightens. Part of me wants to scream at him; part of me wants to wrap him in a blanket. Instead, I sit beside him on the couch, keeping my voice steady.
“Brody,” I say quietly, “you made a terrible decision. But you weren’t the one driving.”
“I didn’t stop it either,” he fires back, but there's no fight left in it. “I was high in the backseat like a fucking coward. They were laughing, Ivy; they were high as hell, swerving all over the road. And then—” His voice splinters. “I heard the impact. I felt it through the floor. And I didn’t do a goddamn thing.”
The room goes still. Jennie is asleep in the armchair, head tipped back, finally getting a break from the panic.
I stare at Brody—broken, guilty, terrified—and my heart aches for him, even after everything.
But guilt isn’t enough anymore.
I take a slow breath. “Brody... you have to go to the police.”
His head snaps up. “I can’t.”
“You have to.” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “You can’t keep living like this, and you know it. And I can’t sit with this information and pretend I don’t know what happened. I can’t do nothing.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “Ivy, they’ll kill me.”
“They almost did,” I murmur. “And they’ll try again if you keep hiding. You said it yourself—they think someone’s talking and you’re a loose end.”
He lets out a broken laugh. “So Dane will kill me, or they will. Great.”
“Dane isn’t going to kill you,” I urge. “I don’t even know if he knows anything. But if he doesn’t, he’s close. You said they beat you because he’s getting too close, right? If he uncovers the truth and finds out you stayed silent—”
Brody goes pale, completely bloodless.
“—it’s going to be worse,” I finish quietly.
He slumps back into the cushions like I’ve knocked the air out of him. His eyes are glossy, unfocused. “Ivy... please...please don’t tell him yet. Just...just give me a little time.”
I hesitate. My chest feels tight enough to crack.
I think of Dane on that dance floor, his hands steady on my waist, his breath warm against my cheek.
I think of how close we’ve become.
How real it feels.
How terrified he is of losing anyone else.
And here I am, sitting with the truth that could destroy him.
“How much time?” I ask.
Brody swallows, wincing. “Twelve hours. Just twelve. Let me get cleaned up, get my head straight, and I’ll go to the police myself. I swear, Ivy. I swear on my life.”
It’s stupid. It’s dangerous. It’s reckless.
But looking at him—bruised, shaking, hanging on by a thread—I can’t bring myself to say no.
I exhale slowly. “Okay,” I whisper. “Twelve hours. But if you don’t go... I will. And I’ll tell Dane everything.”
He nods, tears slipping down his temples. “Thank you. God, Ivy... thank you.”
I don’t feel like thanking him back.
I don’t feel like forgiving him.
I don’t feel like any version of myself I recognize.
I sit there in the dim light of Jennie’s apartment, my phone still buzzing with unread messages from Dane, and realize that no matter what happens next...
Nothing is going to be the same.