Chapter 14
Micah
An hour later, the door to the bar swings open and I glance up like I’ve been doing since I ended the call with Ivy.
Only this time, I know it’s her and not some random couple.
I don’t know how I know; I just do. I sit up straighter as she steps inside, looking beautiful and nervous and unsure of herself.
Her pale hair is swept into a ponytail and she’s wearing a white sundress that highlights slender legs and a trim waist.
Old Ivy was curvy and supple. Heavy breasts, rounded hips, luscious thighs. New Ivy is too thin. She’s bones and angles and harsh lines. It’s part of what makes her look so small, like she’s afraid to take up space, and it doesn’t sit right with me.
Ivy Cole is all about bold, quiet confidence. She’s the definition of feminine strength.
Or, at least, she used to be.
She sees me, lifts a hand, takes one step forward, then pauses, frozen in place like a rabbit sensing danger.
I realize I’m glaring, trying to figure out all the ways my feelings for her have—and haven’t—changed.
All the ways she’s changed. It’s a thunderstorm of activity clenched in my jaw.
I’m sure I don’t look pleasant, but is it enough to warrant that deer in the headlights stare?
Either way, I release a breath. Close my eyes.
Then open them with a sad smile, beckoning her over.
With a worried nod, she crosses the room, her steps small and quick, as if she’s afraid to make me wait any longer than I already have.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Micah. I was afraid you wouldn’t. ”
All these years, Ivy’s been the one for me, while I’ve been the devil for her.
I want to bark at her. To jump to my defense. To transfer my pain to her because how could she believe I would abandon her when she was pregnant with our daughter? She’s the one who broke up with me and I still would have been at her side the second I knew.
But I don’t bark, choosing to take a drink of coffee instead. Anger will get us nowhere. It’ll shut down communication and put us on the defensive when what we really need is collaboration.
“We have a lot to talk about,” I finally manage, though my voice is gruffer than I intend.
“We do.” Ivy pulls out a chair and sits too straight, right on the edge of the seat, like she’s poised to run at the first sign of danger.
That awful awkward silence settles over us again, one more thing for me to hate.
“In all the ways I imagined us reuniting, I never considered this one.” I swipe a hand over my mouth to shut myself up.
Enough. Stick to facts. To details. There is no room for emotion in this conversation.
“You imagined us reuniting?”
I imagined us married, I almost say, but shrug and take another drink to occupy my mouth.
“Okay. So.” Ivy inhales, sitting up even straighter and flexing her hands on the table, like she’s about to recite something she’s practiced more than once.
“I owe you a massive apology. I should have tried harder to contact you. I should have trusted that I knew who you are better than my dad ever did. My choices kept you from knowing our daughter and I will regret that forever, Micah. Forever. I don’t know what our future holds, but it’s important to me that you’re part of Nell’s life as much or as little as you want.
I’d like to start making decisions that lead us down that path.
Together. If that’s what you want.” She sounds less and less certain with each word.
When she finishes, she nods, exhaling, bracing, like she’s waiting for backlash.
I swallow hard, choking down emotion. Those words, our daughter, they do something to me. They wrap around my heart, so sweet, yet sharp and bitter. My throat tightens and I can’t speak. There’s so much I want to say, but none of it can get past that lump of emotion.
I stare at Ivy in silence. She starts to fidget.
Ivy never fidgets.
“So, um, yeah.” She pauses as my waiter returns to take her order, politely declines a drink, then refocuses on me. “I do wish you’d told me you weren’t going to have a phone, though. You know. Back then. Everything might have been different if I’d known…”
“I did tell you.” My voice is too low. Too harsh.
She flinches and I clear my throat and try again.
“I sent you a text from Dad’s phone, explaining what happened.
Then I called. Then called again. And again.
It all went unanswered like so many of my messages to you did at that time.
I knew you were busy, new school, new city, new friends, and tried not to let your silence bother me, but it did.
It was the whole reason my parents refused to replace my phone.
I fought them about it for a while, but finally relented and accepted my punishment. It was that or go all the way insane.”
Because it felt like I was dying without her.
“I responded to every message you sent, Micah.”
Bullshit she did. I was glued to my phone back then, checking every few minutes for a glimmer of attention from her.
Having it in my pocket made me obsess that I was missing her, so I carried it in my hand or had it on my desk, always in sight.
Even then, I worried I missed a text, so I’d open the app only to be crushed to find she still hadn’t responded.
And the night she broke up with me? Those two awful texts?
I’m so unhappy.
This isn’t working.
I called over and over and over until she must have turned her phone off because it went straight to voicemail and I never heard from her again. My phone hit the wall and the rest is history.
“Must’ve been my imagination then,” I growl, then take a drink of coffee, wishing it was beer.
Ivy shakes her head, brows furrowed, then folds her arms on the table. “If I’m remembering things wrong, I’m sorry. I’m far from perfect and maybe I was too wrapped up in myself. I’ve been told I can be that way.”
Something in her posture, or her voice, or, fuck, I don’t know, just something catches my attention and sets off my alarm bells. Her eyes are downcast. Her voice is flat. She sounds defeated and the Ivy I knew never went down without a fight. I reach across the table and put my hand on hers.
It’s a reflex.
My body acting on impulse.
I can’t be this close to her, can’t see her this wrong, and not do something.
But the moment my skin brushes hers, a chain reaction of emotion and desire riots through my system. This is Ivy. My Ivy. I love her and hate her and want to help her and blame her all at the same time. It’s too much.
Her eyes meet mine and I pull my hand away.
“The offer to take my second floor is still open,” I say, clearing my throat when my voice is still too gruff. “There’s a bathroom up there with a spare bedroom, and an office that can easily become one more.”
I wait for her to latch onto the joke that’s right there, begging her to notice. Me with an office…
It’s laughable.
Huttons have offices, so I gave myself one when I bought my house. I’m just not that good at being a Hutton and have zero need for an office. I don’t read or sit hunched in front of a laptop late into the night. If anyone knows that, it’s the woman across from me.
Instead, she sits so straight, looking so tense, I barely recognize her. “There’s no need to rearrange your life for us…”
I frown. Something is definitely wrong and sure, it could be this impossible situation we find ourselves in, but my gut says it’s more. “There’s every need to rearrange my life for my daughter and her mother. It’s not like I need an office anyway. You know, given I am who I am and everything.”
The last statement is a trail of breadcrumbs, leading her to the joke she shouldn’t have missed. The Ivy I used to know would have given me hell for turning the extra room into an office instead of a workout room, or a TV room or, you know, anything else at all.
“Desks never were your thing, were they?” Ivy smiles weakly. “You always did your best work on the move.”
It’s not exactly the ball-busting zinger I was expecting, but it’s something at least.
“I won’t be around the house much. I work twenty-four-hour shifts every couple days and am helping a coworker and his family out.
He was injured at work, and it was pretty bad…
” And if I’d been doing my job better, he wouldn’t have been injured at all.
“If you’re worried we’ll be in each other’s faces all the time, don’t. I’ll make myself scarce.”
Ivy nods. “I’ll start looking for a job right away so I can get an apartment as soon as possible. I promise you won’t have to share your space for long.”
If things had gone a different way, sharing my space with Ivy and our daughter would be the most natural thing in the world. What a clusterfuck.
“There’s no rush on the apartment. Really. Having you with me will give me a chance to get to know Nell better.” I suck in my lips. It feels strange to say her name. “I’d like to be part of her life.”
Ivy nods again. “Of course. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk about. How do you want to move forward with her?”
“How do I…? What’s that even mean, Ivy? Move forward?” She’s so formal. So detached. It’s like her volume’s been turned down. Her color washed out. Like someone put her in the dryer on the wrong setting and she shrank.
“I mean, well, what does being part of her life mean to you? Do you want to tell her you’re her father?
When? How? What does this, us, the three of us coming together, how do you think that should work, Micah?
” Ivy’s shoulders sag, like she’s carrying the whole damn world up there and can’t hold on much longer.
A trio of men at a table nearby burst out laughing and one of them jerks out of his chair, swiping at a mess of beer in his lap. I watch the commotion while her question rattles about in my head.
How does this work?
How do I, Micah Hutton, tell a little girl he just met that I’m her father? Just drop the news like that guy’s beer and hope it lands better than his did?
And in what fucking world would Ivy Cole ask me something this important and not have an opinion on the matter? The girl I remember would have told me exactly how it should work, and damn it, she’d be right on the money. Who is this meek person sitting across from me, wide-eyed and terrified?
“I don’t know, Ivy.” I sit back. “How do you think this should work? I haven’t had a lot of time to think about this and the sad truth is that I don’t know my daughter.
I’m her dad, but the only one she’s ever known lives across the country.
” I try not to sneer at the thought of Ivy’s fiancé, ex or not.
I don’t know the guy, and I shouldn’t judge him, but I don’t like him on principle.
“I want to be part of Nell’s life, but only in a way that’s good for her and I’m gonna need your help understanding where that line is. ”
“Julian isn’t good for her. He wasn’t good for me.
” Ivy flares her hands and looks away, swallowing a flare of anger like a fire eater swallowing a flame.
“The whole reason I’m back in the Keys is to get away from him.
To get her away from him.” She holds out her palms then places them on the table.
“That doesn’t mean anything for this conversation, I just… said it.”
Her ring’s gone. I hated seeing that thing on her finger but could concede he’d been there when I wasn’t.
But now? Hearing that? This Julian better not set foot in Florida or he’ll have one pissed off Hutton to deal with.
Or rather, many pissed off Huttons to deal with.
My family is huge, and we stick together.
“As far as what’s good for Nell?” Ivy sighs deeply, relaxing her posture a fraction. “She’s…well she’s a lot like you. Smart. Energetic. Bullheaded.”
There’s the smile I remember. Go figure I finally see it again because she insulted me.
“Though,” Ivy continues, “her life has had a lot of upheaval lately and she’s not always her best self because of it.”
“Are you saying you don’t think we should tell her I’m her father?”
“No, Micah. No. That’s not at all what I’m saying.
I guess I’m trying to introduce her to you.
Helping you to know who she is. Nell’s bright and vibrant and makes me smile every day, but she’s struggling right now, with the move, then the fire, which means she’s acting out at school a little and is having trouble sleeping.
You deserve to know these things about her so we can make a plan that’s good for all of us. ”
I deserve to have been a part of her life from the beginning. The words are right on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back. Who’s the fire eater now?
“I don’t want to mess this up with her, Ives. Everything I do right now matters when it comes to her.”
And with you, I think but don’t say. Everything about us being together again matters.
“Micah…” Ivy takes my hand and there it is again. The urge to pull her out of her chair and into my arms, to crush her to my chest and obliterate the last seven years with my mouth on hers. “I am so sorry,” she says, oblivious to the war raging inside me. “I hope, someday, you can forgive me.”
I can barely hear her through my desire to erase the distance between us. Carefully, but firmly, I slide my hand from hers. “I’m sure we’ll figure everything out. We always do.”
At least, we always did.