Page 50 of Training the Heart

Ivy’s legs are no match for mine and I catch up to her in two seconds flat.

“Did you get all the paperwork finished up?” she asks as her voice shakes, like she’s trying to hold it together.

“Ivy—”

“I should’ve known he might be here. I’m sorry to bring this embarrassment to the ranch.”

“Ivy—”

“I’m not trying to sleep my way to the top of anything—” she rambles.

I grab her arm and spin her around. We’re in the parking area now and there is no one around. I grip her face and lower my voice enough to get her attention, I’m hoping it stops her from spiraling,

“I don’t give a fuck about anything that excuse for a man just said. I know you don’t have some scheme to advance yourself on my fucking ranch, but I need to know, did he hurt you?”

One look into her eyes brimming with tears has me pulling her to my chest. I silently will myself not to go back and kick that motherfucker in the face. Ivy allows me to pull her in, molding her small frame into me. She fists the back of my shirt as if I’m her safety net. The tears threatening to spill since we left the viewing area come tumbling out with a force I can barely keep up with.

I settle her in, sigh and stroke her long silky hair, holding her tight to me, steady.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Let it out.”

An unmeasured amount of time passes as Ivy sobs into my chest. The sound of gravel crunching and people approaching brings her out of it. She pulls her face back from my chest and sniffs.

“I’m sorry.” She tugs at my flannel. “I ruined your shirt,” she adds, smiling through her tears.

I scoff. “Don’t give a fuck about the shirt.”

Ivy looks up at me. “Can we just get out of here now?”

“If that’s what you want,” I tell her as we turn and walk the short distance to the truck. I want to ask again, but I don’t want to pry. Partly because if he did anything remotely like what’s rolling through my head right now, not only will I kill him, I won’t regret it for a second.

“Brad wasn’t just my boss’s son or some fleeting ex,” Ivy offers as we get into the truck and I turn the ignition over. “We dated for five years. It’s a part of my life I never want to go back to again. I was weak. It was emotional abuse; I know that now.”

I speed up, needing to get the fuck out of here.Now.

“At the time, I talked myself into believing he was just trying to watch out for me, to help me be the best person I could be. I know how silly that sounds, but he was very good at manipulating me. It started small, offering critique on my clothes, questioning how faithful I was, questioning my whereabouts when I wasn’t home. His family—especially his dad—never really accepted me; I always got the feeling they thought Brad was too good for me. The only one that was kind to me was Brad’s sister, but even she did whatever Brad wanted. I always felt like less around them.”

“Jesus Christ,” I say, scrubbing my face with my hand, flexing it.Fuck, it hurts.I look down to see the blood on my knuckles and try not to think about how good it felt to hit that fucker.

“Then it progressed, moving to my work, how I trained, what I could never do right. After a couple of years, I was thinking of ending things. It was apparent we weren’t even on the same page. I wanted to get married and have a family one day and Brad just didn’t. I began a plan to leave him. I wasn’t reallyhappy, but then everything was … derailed. It was around that time that I found out … well, kind of devastating news.” I look at her, not knowing what to expect. “Basically, it may be hard for me to have children. Without getting into it too much, my body will probably not allow for a full-term delivery even if I conceive. It will bevery difficultis what I was told. Brad seemed almost happy at first, but in the days following … well, he said some harsh things to me about not being able to carry on his family name”—she fiddles with her purse strap as she talks—“and that he was staying with me when another man may not. A few times after that, whenever he was really angry at me, he … he said I ‘wasn’t worth anything in the long run.’” She uses air quotes around her words, and I want to kill him. “Which is why it hurt me so much to hear that today. It just brought it all back. And he knew it would. I let it get to me even though I know now I shouldn’t. I know better.” She shrugs.

I reach out instinctively and drop my hand into the middle, allowing myself this one thing. Just this one moment, to touch her any way I can. I stretch my pinky finger out and wrap it around hers as she speaks. She doesn’t flinch, or move, she takes a deep breath, like it settles her, and continues.This motherfucking waste of existence.

“Ivy, he should’ve been fucking consoling you, been there for you, not making you feel like you weren’t enough.” I look out the window and debate; I’m not that far.

“Can I go back? I want to go back … I’m going back,” I say surely, moving to pull over and turn the truck around. Ready to hightail it back to the parking lot and putBradthrough the fucking ground.

“No. Please, it won’t change anything and will just run your family’s name through the mud.”

“Maybe so, but it will make me feel a whole lot better.”

“Wade.” She tightens her fingers over mine. “Please keep driving.”

I grit my molars to keep from saying every fucking cuss word in the English language, but I do as she asks and continue driving, because right now it’s not about me, it’s about her. But I can’t help but add, “I better never see him again.”

Ivy nods. “Fair enough, but he isn’t worth it.” She squeezes my hand. “I know that now. When we met he seemed so together, so stable. He was older than me, almost thirty to my twenty-four. Looking back now, I know that even affection and intimacy were a game for him,” she says.

I wince but force myself to listen and appear calm.

---