Page 55 of Undeniable

Less than two months earlier, we’d gone from not speaking to being thrust back into each other’s lives. Whether we fought it or not, the fact that we’d once again found ourselves in the same place wasn’t going to change.

And just when I’d begun to come to terms with her presence—and she appeared to come to terms with mine—we were back to the beginning.

We were yet again not speaking.

My reaction to learning she had been engaged—or nearly engaged—to Brendon was out of my control. He was one of my oldest and, at one time, closest friends.

He approached me hesitantly as I descended the ladder, hoping the sign I’d hung would stay in place. Our conversation had started off normal enough, each of us trying to catch the other up on what life was like recently. And it continued that way until he told me he was glad that there were no hard feelings about Ivy.

Everything halted when he uttered her name. But I must have done a decent job hiding my internal turmoil because he continued on like I wasn’t searching every memory and every recess of my brain for a hint of what he could be talking about. At first, I thought he was apologizing for everything that happened back then, but I quickly realized I was missing something.

So, I played along and he finally opened up about how he had been hurt by her recent rejection but hoped that Ivy had found her fresh start in the city. He said he’d wanted to tell me several times, but it wasn’t like it mattered now anyway.

But he was wrong—itdidmatter.

I wrestled with my thoughts long after Brendon left and even after Ivy had stuttered out something I couldn’t even call an explanation. Not that she owed me one, but for some reason, I needed it. I wanted to know why and how andfuck.

I was angry. Mostly because I hadn’t known.

I didn’t come around very often, and our families and friends knew better than to bring the topic of Ivy or me up. Even my mom was hesitant to bring her up, worried she’d stir up past feelings and memories no one wanted to revisit.

It was no wonder I hadn’t heard. But either way, I felt blindsided.

I felt betrayed.

It was irrational, and I knew that deep down. But I couldn’t shake it.

My day continued as I’d expected it to—I hung more banners and signs around the high school parking lot and assisted in setting up booths and tables. I made trips back and forth with Ivy’s dad, my dad, Brendon, Forrest, or whomever else to load up trucks with more supplies and take them back.

Thankfully most of the topics during those rides and for the rest of the day were light. I talked to Ivy’s dad and mine about work and life in the city. We even discussed my stolen car, which had completely slipped my mind with everything else going on.

It was the same with Brendon, but I could tell that Forrest, Ivy’s brother and my actual oldest friend, wanted to talk about something besides his job with the local fire department or football.

He’d asked me more than once, but in different, creative ways, if there was something more going on between me and Ivy. And in more than one way, I’d told him that there was less than nothing going on.

The weight of the day and the new information I’d learned were heavy on my mind. And the last place I wanted to be was at Ivy’s house, so that’s how I ended up at one of the oldest bars in Willowwood, creatively named The Willowwood Bar.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been there—maybe eight or nine years earlier—but the place still looked the same. It was dark and smelled like old cigarettes. The vintage posters on the walls hadn’t moved, but the dollar bills stapled to every available surface had quadrupled since the last time.

I was seated at the end of the bar and next to a pillar that was covered with bills. The first one to catch my attention was just below eye level and read, “For Carrie on her 38th birthday!” Beneath the sentiment, they’d drawn an anatomically correct penis nearly the same size as the bill.

The bartender approached me, still looking down at the glass he was drying.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“Two shots of whiskey and a beer.” I specified the exact beer and the whiskey and it wasn’t until he set the three glasses down in front of me that I realized who he was.

“Wow, James Larsonisback. I never thought I’d see the day,” Dylan said. We weren’t necessarily close in high school, but we both played baseball and ran with the same crowd, so we spent quite a bit of time together. Dylan had been a decent friend, but if I was a little asshole in high school, he was worse.

I took a deep breath and downed one of the shots before I even responded. “Just in town for the festival. How have you been?”

Dylan’s bewildered smile made me slightly uncomfortable the longer he looked at me, and I took the second shot as he finally spoke.

“I’m—I’m pretty good, man. I own this place now, and I’m married. Married Madison Timmons, actually. We have two kids and a third on the way.”

Fuck, I hadn’t heard that name in years. Dylan and I both hooked up with Madison frequently all throughout high school. She had actually been my date for senior prom, but I wasn’t surprised to hear that they’d stayed together—I always knew she liked him more. She’d mostly used me as a way to make Dylan jealous. I guess it worked.

“That’s really great to hear,” I said, trying and failing to muster a smile.

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