Chapter 47
Ivy was fuming. Fucking Zeke.
Fucking Dr. Moorehead, fucking donations, fucking Princeton.
Fucking gas.
On the short drive home, Abby called. Ivy didn’t feel like answering, but she needed to vent.
“That’s bullshit,” Abby said after Ivy had explained the situation. “I don’t understand how someone posting a video of you on TikTok is your fault.”
“It’s this stupid code of conduct. But you’re missing the point, Abs—this Zeke kid, he’s dangerous. You should have seen the look in his eyes when the security guards pulled him out of my boss’s office. He was insane.”
“You want me to come over? I’m at work now, but—”
“No, I’ll be okay. The security guards took Zeke away.”
“But if he’s pissed, he might—”
“It’s okay, Abs. I’ll be fine. Just needed someone to talk to.”
“Forget it, I’m coming over.”
“Abs—”
“I’m coming, Ivy. Nothing you can say about it. Just need to wrap up a few patients first.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m coming.”
Ivy sighed. Abby was as stubborn as she was loyal. Besides, Abby had already hung up.
Ivy pulled into her driveway and went inside, making sure to lock the door behind her.
She didn’t know what to do. Work, probably. Get going on that abstract for the conference. But that wasn’t happening.
Ivy kept picturing Zeke’s face. The anger in it.
The fury.
Jesus, the kid was off his rocker.
Ivy tossed her keys on the table by the door a little too aggressively, and they smacked into the only framed picture on it. It teetered, but Ivy grabbed it before it fell.
It was a photo of her family—of Ivy, her father, and her mother, taken just a few weeks before her father’s accident, outside Fine Hall. The day that Ivy completed her PhD dissertation.
They all looked so happy, their smiles genuine.
Ivy stroked the side of her father’s unblemished face. There was such intelligence behind those hazel eyes.
Such brilliance.
And that fucking fire . . . it took it all away.
Ivy’s gaze drifted to her mother’s face next. Everyone always commented on how much they looked alike. Ivy knew that this wasn’t necessarily complimentary. Women didn’t often like being compared to someone twenty-five years their elder. But in this case, Ivy didn’t mind.
Wendy Reeves was a beautiful woman. Understated, with hair that was the same color but less curly than Ivy’s own. Same heart-shaped face. Same small, slightly upturned nose.
A tear dropped on the glass and Ivy wiped it away with her thumb.
Why’d you leave, Mom? We could have gone through this together.
Ivy’s thoughts turned to the night of the fire. Remembered calling her mother because her father had dialed Ivy instead of Wendy.
How things might have been different if her father had called his wife that night. Ivy had wanted to tell her mother everything. Tried to, several times. But Wendy had been so devastated by what had happened that she was intractable.
They’d both stayed by her father in the hospital, answered all the grumpy police captain’s questions. Held hands.
Promised that this wouldn’t break them.
For an entire week, Ivy and her mother went home only to shower and change. The rest of the time, they were at Gene’s side.
Being a daughter of a professor—of mathematics, no less—and following in her father’s footsteps, Ivy wasn’t religious. But Ivy had prayed then. Prayed that none of this had ever happened.
God, wind back the clock. Please.
If Ivy was anything, she was a realist, the praying notwithstanding.
She knew that Gene wasn’t the best father—his work always came first. And toward the end, it had completely consumed him.
Working through the night. Forgetting to shower, to eat.
And when Gene had woken up from his coma, which the doctors had warned them would probably never happen, her mother knew what had really occurred.
By then, it was too late for Ivy to explain.
Wendy was a broken woman, and the next day, she was just gone.
No note, no email, not even a text.
She grabbed a small suitcase, packed up a few belongings, and just vanished.
Ivy stayed behind. Dealt with the—
There was a knock on the door and Ivy startled, nearly dropped the photo. Her fingers and thumb burned. She placed it down before unlocking the door.
“Abs, I think—”
Ivy had just started to turn the knob when the door was flung inward, pushing her back.
“Abs?”
A hand reached out and gripped her by the throat.