Page 45 of Salvation
I don’t move my gaze from hers. “Honey. I see my favorite color of honey.”
Her brows screw together, and when I continue to stare into her eyes, realization dawns on her face. A blush creeps into her cheeks, and the knot in my chest loosens just a fraction.
“Now something you can smell.” She urges me on.
Lifting my hand, I place it over hers against my cheek and turn my head so my nose is pressed against her pulse point. I take a deep breath, letting her perfume fill my lungs, and now I can breathe.
“Jasmine,” I croak.
I know what she’s doing. I’ve used this same grounding technique on dozens of people when I’m called onto a scene, but it’s not the technique that’s grounding me. It’s her, and that’s a terrifying realization.
I stand just like that, with my nose against her wrist and her hand on my face for a moment longer, letting it calm my beating heart until it reaches a speed that doesn’t feel like its trying to pound its way out of my chest, and then I turn my head back to her, dropping my hand and stepping back out of her reach.
“I’m better now,” I say, not wanting to continue with the rest of the technique because I know it will only reveal more about me than I’m willing to gamble away.
Ivy frowns. “Are you sure?”
With a tight smile, I nod. “Positive, but we should probably talk about the elephant in the room—or I guess in the kitchen.”
It’s a stupid joke, but I’m at a point where I need to pretend things are normal—that I’m normal—and jokes are the only way I know how to do that.
Ivy sighs and rubs her hand across her forehead. “Yeah, we should.”
“Back to the original question—do Jackie and John know?”
Honey eyes dart around the room, and Ivy’s bottom lip slips between her teeth, chewing on her answer. Or taunting me. I haven’t decided which of the two it is.
Her lip pops free, and she looks back at me, finally giving me an answer. “They do not.”
A headache forms above my right eye. I press two fingers into the socket, trying to stave it off.
“We have to take her back, sunshine.”
Ivy shakes her head, tears pooling in her eyes. “No, Campbell. She came here. She found me. She’s ours.”
I hate it when she cries. I might as well tear my soul in two with my bare hands when I watch a tear hang from her lashes and then drip to her cheek with the next blink. It would hurt less.
If I were thinking clearly, I wouldn’t reach out and pull her to me. I wouldn’t let her cheek press against my chest or rest my head on top of hers. But I’m never thinking clearly around this woman. So I do all those things, just so I don’t have to watch another tear fall. Instead, I feel them, soaking through my shirt and into my skin.
Ivy wraps herself around me, fitting her broken pieces between mine, and if I squint hard enough, it looks like we equal something whole.
Twirling a curl around my finger, I tug on it and stare at the wall. “We have to take her back, Ivy. They’ll be worried about her.”
Silence passes the time, and then finally I feel Ivy nod against my chest. “I know.”
She steps back out of my hold, wiping the tears off her cheeks, and although she isn’t looking at me, I’m looking at her, specifically at the place where a ring no longer sits on her finger.
Against the advice of my mom, who always says you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, I nod to Ivy’s hand. “Where’s your ring?”
Ivy quickly drops her hands, hiding them behind her back. “I took it off.”
My eye twitches. “I noticed, but why?”
Her eyes drop to my hand, where gauze is still wrapped around my palm, hiding the shallow cut beneath. “What happened to your hand?”
I shake my head. “Don’t try to change the topic.”
“Fine. It’s somewhere safe.” Ivy shrugs, but I don’t miss the way she avoids my gaze. I’ve spent my career learning to pick out people’s tells, but I don’t even need those skills to know that Ivy is hiding something. No matter how much time passes, I’ll always know Ivy better than anyone else. And that alone feels like ripping my heart out of my chest.
