Page 35 of Tender Temptation

“Absolutely,” I manage a smile despite the forthcoming confession about my age. “I love you, baby. I really,reallylove you.”

He leans down and plants a sweet kiss on my lips. “I love you too. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

Cillian strides out of the bedroom and I hear the door to the elevator close behind him with a loud click. The loft immediately feels emptier. I linger in bed for a moment longer, clutching the sheets we messed up all night. Feeling comfort in the lingering scent of him.

The scent of us.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. It must be Cillian. Excitedly, I reach for it and see the screen light up with twenty missed notifications from when I was in quiet mode. Fifteen missed calls. Five texts. Starting at nine last night.

My entire body freezes.

My father. He’s home. One week early, without warning.

9:45 pm Dad:Where are you, Ivy?

11:15 pm Dad:I know you’re not at Emma’s. It’s critical you come home now.

12:30 am Dad: Ivy. Stop the bullshit. Respond immediately.

2:45 am Dad:This is unacceptable. Get your ass home now. You’re putting us through undue stress. We need to know you’re safe.

8:00 am Dad:If I don’t hear from you by 9 am, I’m involving the authorities.

The last one, time-stamped minutes ago, sends a cold shiver down my spine.

Panic clenches my gut as I scramble out of bed and throw on some clothes. I’m out the door in minutes, the looming threat of my father’s control spurs my every step. Before I get in the car, I text Cillian.

Me:My parents returned early. I’ll try to call later.

On my way home, as the city rushes by, a heavy dread settles over me.

I’m not ready for this. Today, I have to confront everything I’ve been running from.

The hourglass has run out.

sixteen

Cillian

Three Days Later

BRAAAAAANNNNNG. BRAAAAAAAANGGGG.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The sharp blare of my phone alarm slices through the haze of my whiskey-drowned slumber, dragging me back to a reality I can’t face. I jam my finger on the off button with more force than necessary to shut it off.

My head is pounding. A thumping reminder of last night’s poor decision. Trudging out to the kitchen to take some Tylenol, I spot the empty whisky bottle on the kitchen counter.It glares at me accusingly. Last night, I drained it in a futile attempt to quell my escalating panic about Ivy.

I’m a mess. A shell of a man. I’ve endured three days of unbearable silence from my girlfriend and the uncertainty is crushing. Ivy has vanished. She sent me a text telling me her parents were home early, and then nothing.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

I’ve called and texted her a million times and still…nada.

Did I push her away?

Not knowing is killing me. It’s like she’s been wiped off the face of the earth. With each passing second, worry carves a pattern into my chest. I miss her from the bottom of my soul, it feels like my heart has been ripped from my body. All I’ve done for seventy-two hours is conjure up every horrific possibility of what’s happened to her. Each one claws at my brain with unrelenting ferocity.

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