Page 75 of Crossover

“So, you think Dad should have what, turned a blind eye to the criminals? I think Dad did the right thing.”

“I’m not saying he was wrong. I’m saying he made a choice, knowing the risk it came with.”

The bitter taste of cheap coffee lingered on my tongue as I picked at the stale pastry, the sticky sweetness doing little to settle my churning stomach.

“I can’t believe you’re seeing Grayson’s side of this,” I admitted a little harsher than I meant to. But I needed her to talk me backintohating him. Not out of it.

“I just don’t want you to suffer any more unnecessary hurt, Ivy. You’ve let your father’s death destroy your life for over a year. You have to find a way to move past it, and right now, that means letting go of the anger and bitterness. It’ll only hurt you in the long run.”

I glanced at Grayson and Red, who were doing a better job of looking normal than I was.

“I can’t believe you’re implying I should forgive him, Mom,” I said, my voice tight. “Forgiving him feels like a betrayal to Dad.”

Bingo. That’s what had been driving a lot of my conflicting feelings. It wasn’t just that my heart longed for him; it was that I felt immense guilt for having any feelings other than disdain.

Mom’s eyes softened with understanding. “I’m not saying you need to forgive him right this second. It’s a process, and it might take some time.” She looked down, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “I blame myself for letting you spend a year agonizing over why Dad died. I thought I was doing the right thing by protecting his final wishes, but I see now that it was wrong. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to go through that kind of pain again.”

A lump formed in my throat. The guilt, the shame, the self-loathing of having slept with Grayson had all been overwhelming, but not as overwhelming as saying it was okay that he’d put a pistol to my dad’s skull and pulled the trigger.

Mom reached across the table and took my hand in hers. “Your father loved you more than anything in this world. He would want you to find peace and happiness, not spend your life consumed by anger and resentment over his death.”

She was right. If I didn’t find a path to forgive Grayson, the anger over his role in it would eat me alive. I still didn’t know if it would be possible, but maybe I needed to try.

As I sat there, digesting my mother’s words, I was struck by the depth of her love and the strength of her character. She wassetting aside her own pain and anger, her own justified hatred, all for the sake of my well-being. It couldn’t have been easy for her, knowing that the man who killed her ex-husband was sitting just a few feet away. Yet here she was, encouraging me to find a way to make peace with the situation, to let go of the resentment that threatened to eat me alive.

In that moment, I realized just how selfless and brave my mother truly was. I doubted many other mothers would have the courage and the compassion to do what she was doing, to put their child’s needs above their own grief and rage. Her love for me was a tangible force, and a surge of gratitude and admiration made my eyes burn for the incredible woman who had raised me.

Mom squeezed my hand. “Can I be honest with you?” She was using that tone she used whenever she was about to make a deep point. “I don’t think Grayson is the one you’re struggling to forgive.” I blinked. “I think the person you’re having a harder time forgiving is your father.”

And just like that, Mom’s arrow hit the bull’s-eye in my heart. A lump grew so big in my esophagus, it was hard to swallow.

“I wish he would have found a way to protect me that didn’t include him leaving me forever.”

I felt Grayson’s gaze on me from across the room, and when our eyes met, the world fell away. In that moment, all that existed in the silent exchange between us was his concern over my pained expression. The depth of his worry was palpable, eclipsing everything else—the police officer, the CIA, the looming threats that hung over us. None of it mattered to him, not when he could see how much I was hurting. My pain was his pain, and the sight of my suffering seemed to tear him apart from the inside out.

I swallowed hard, breaking eye contact and focusing on my plate of pastries—unsure how to navigate the turbulent feelings that threatened to drown me.

The police officer, after taking one last sip of coffee, left the building and drove away.

But I was in too much agony to let the relief in.

“You have a choice to make, Ivy. To let the bitterness eat away at you like cancer. Or forgive him so you can be free.”

40

IVY

“You want to hear something really messed up?” I asked, my feet crunching on the fallen leaves.

The chill biting my skin wasn’t from the late fall air that carried the scent of the pine trees. It was from my thoughts, which had been in turmoil since that conversation with my mother five days ago at that hotel booth.

For five days, I had tried to focus on the positives. Like how there had been no further communications from Daniel, nor any complications from the CIA. Things had simmered into an almost-mundane routine, really, hopping from one town to the next without incident and without any police officers questioning us about the dead man at the gas station. Further, Barry said he was making tremendous progress in his research against Daniel, so it shouldn’t be too much longer before this could all be behind us. Things had been going so well, in fact, that Grayson and Red were—slowly and carefully—giving my mother and me small amounts of freedom.

Case in point, here we were—Grayson and I—venturing out for a brisk walk. I’d suggested strolling along the road, but Grayson had immediately shot that down.

“Too dangerous,” he’d muttered, eyes darting around nervously. “Someone could drive by and recognize us.”

The parking lot was equally off-limits, both locations deemed “unnecessarily risky.”

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