Page 82 of Fire

Ivy’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say you didn’t move to Seattle, and I knew about Nell from the beginning. Obviously, I would have proposed, and we’d be married by now. You’d be in med school, and I’d be working, and Nell would be Nell. We’d be raising our daughter as partners, leaning on each other to make ends meet. I’d be the money guy, and the take care of Nell guy, but one day, you’d graduate with a fancy degree and you’d be the one making all the money. So, I supported you in the beginning, and you supported me later. Would that version of Ivy still feel like she’s taking advantage of me?”

She sniffs, frowning, dipping her chin as she thinks through the question. “I don’t know,” she finally responds in a small voice.

“Okay. If you did feel that way, do you think it’d be healthy?”

“I don’t know.” She’s louder now, gesturing with her hands, sitting back in her chair, frustrated.

It feels like talking to a wall. Like every time I make a point, instead of saying, “Oh wow, Micah, I hadn’t thought about it like that!” she shuts down. Is she being stubborn on purpose? Or is she really that broken down by this Julian prick? Who should I be mad at? Her? Or him? Because all the anger I’ve been swallowing down since the night of that fire is marching right back up my throat.

“You know what?” I put my beer on the table with a heavy thud. “I’m sorry. I love you and I want to have this conversation, but I’m not in the right frame of mind. I’m gonna…” I jerk my thumb toward the door. “I’m gonna go so I can clear my head.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Micah

I pull into the parking lot of The Pact and slam a fist into the horn, startling a couple entering the bar and grill. Waving an apology, I climb out of the truck, then shut the door with a loud thump. Then, because I still feel like shit, I smash a hand on the hood as I pass. I feel like an asshole for leaving, but chances are good I’d have blown my top if I stayed home. That’s the last thing I want to do, but shit, how much longer am I supposed to be patient?

Ivy has made it clear she wants to be an independent woman. Every time I try to help, she’s pushed me away. Oh, fuck…

Maybe I’ve been fooling myself. Maybe she isn’t as interested in me as I am in her. Or maybe, her mother’s right…

No. To hell with that. Ivy doesn’t use people. She just doesn’t.

I push through the doors and scan the place that was a second home as a kid. The bartender lifts a hand. The jukebox is playing some sappy shit that means someone’s nursing a broken heart. Nathan’s at a table in the back, drinking alone. I cross the room and pull out a chair and it isn’t until I sit that I realize he’s a wreck. Two days’ worth of scruff. His hair’s a mess. If Nathan were a dog, he’d be a Golden Retriever, but tonight, the look on his face screams something else. Something dangerous. Rottweiler? Maybe Doberman.

“What happened to you?” I ask, suddenly afraid I found the reason for the sappy shit on the jukebox.

His eyes meet mine and he makes a sound that might have been a laugh but is far too gritty to sound funny. “What happened to you?”

He’s slurring. A lot. Nathan doesn’t slur. He doesn’t grump or bitch. He drinks the appropriate amount of alcohol and smiles and has his shit together at all times. He’s such a good guy, he’s almost a cliché of himself.

I grimace. “Girl trouble.”

Nathan throws back the rest of his drink and signals for another. “Man. Fuck. M’sorry t’hear that. Thought Ivy’s better’n the rest of ‘em.”

“The rest of ‘em? Are you talking about women in general?” From the man who devoted his life to working at a charity for underprivileged children and the women who raise them, that’s a big statement. “That’s a broad fucking generalization right there.”

“Sorry. S’been a shit couple days.” He tries to drop his head into his hand, but misses and bonks his forehead on the table, curses, then leaves himself as he lies.

The waiter arrives with his drink, eyeing my cousin with concern. I shrug, then order a beer. “Problems with Blossom?” I ask once we’re alone.

“You could say that.” Nathan peels his face from the table and cradles his newly filled glass. “Problems with Ivy?”

“Man, I don’t even know. I left before I could find out.”

“Sounds like a problem t’me.” He throws back his drink and signals for yet another round.

“How many of those have you had?” I ask with a frown.

“Not enough.” Nathan puts a hand to his chest, his fingers claws, his brows furrowed. “There’s a fucking hole right here, Mi. And I dunno what I’m gonna do about it.”

I’ve never seen him look this devastated and I was there when Miranda Servati turned down his prom-posal.

“What the hell happened?”

“Shhheezzcheat-in,” he says, staring blearily into his empty glass.

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