Page 87 of Windlass

“That’s not what I mean. Don’t do what I did with Lil. If you love her—”

Stevie held up a hand. “Nope, that’s enough.”

Ivy held her hands up, too, in a gesture of appeasement. A silence fell that was awkward on only one side; Ivy’s silence held only pity.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stevie heard herself say in a small voice. “She thinks she’s too fucked up for a real relationship.”

“Do you?”

The blunt question, though gently asked, raised Stevie’s hackles, but Ivy’s gaze was direct and honest. Under this scrutiny, something in Stevie broke. No, she did not think Angie was incapable of a real relationship. Quite the opposite. But none of that mattered if Angie didn’t believe it herself. The livid bite marks on Angie’s arm were proof enough. Self-inflicted, she’d said, and the angle was right for the explanation. She’d seen marks like that on Angie before when Lana hadnotbeen around.

“Aren’t we all?” she asked Ivy in return.

“Doesn’t stop most of us from trying.”

Which was all Stevie wanted: the opportunity to try, to show Angie that if she could just let herself be loved . . . What? Love and time would heal all wounds? She wasn’t that naive. Love and therapy and time made wounds manageable, or at least that had been her observation. She’d been to counseling a few times herself when it was available with her tuition. Yeah, she’d hated it, but also, yeah, it had helped. She’d never told that to any of her friends, though, which proved the actual status of her enlightenment.

Maybe she should tell Angie.

“Everyone’s fucked up in their own way, though.” Stevie needed to stop talking. She’d promised Angie she wouldn’t tell any of their friends, and here she was, hedging around the truth with Ivy of all people. “I know she’s trying to protect me. She thinks labels—I actually don’t know what she thinks about labels, but . . .”

Out it came. Ivy listened calmly to the flood, quiet until Stevie finished with, “. . . but I’m going to get hurt either way, and I wish she’d just fucking try. At least then I won’t always wonder what could have happened.”

“You’re not wrong. The wondering is awful.” Ivy’s grimace suggested personal experience.

“You can’t tell anyone, though. Especially not Lil. I promised Angie.”

“I won’t.”

“If you do, I’ll ruin your proposal with a flock of seagulls.”

“Unnecessary. You have my word.”

Stevie believed her, which did not ease the panic. She wished she could cram the words all back in her mouth, her cheeks expanding like a chipmunk’s.

“Stevie . . .” Ivy, perhaps sensing her panic, squeezed her wrist gently. Her fingers were cold. Poor circulation, Stevie remembered dully. “We can’t fix other people. But you can be there for her. Just make sure you’ve got someone there for you, too.”

“I’ve got Marvin and Olive,” she said, meaning it.

“Don’t forget about me either.”

The sincerity made her squirm, and she looked away from Ivy’s emerald eyes. She hadn’t been kidding about matching the stone. “Thanks.”

“How much do you hate these kinds of conversations?”

Stevie, hearing the smile in Ivy’s voice, deflated with a sigh of relief. “So much.”

“Let’s ride then.”

“Thank god. You up for it?” She nodded at Ivy’s hand.

“Only one way to find out, and I’d rather walk Freddie than nothing at all. I’ll let you know, though. Buddy system.”

The implication was obvious: should Stevie need it Ivy was there for her, too.

“Okay then, buddy. Let’s ride.” Something occurred to her. “Will the ring be done on time? Aren’t we going to the island in, like, two weeks?”

“It will be done.”

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