Page 55 of Salvation
His face suddenly becomes serious, the smirk falling away. “And from what you’re telling me, Campbell, I think you can die from depression, too. I think that monster in your head is slowly killing you, and I don’t want to lose another best friend. So please, man, just put away your pride and get help. It doesn’t make you less of a man. And if not for yourself, do it for your daughter.”
It’s the last part that makes everything he’s saying sink in, and I think Hayes knows that because when I look at him again, tears are shining in his eyes.
“Don’t give up, Campbell. The world needs you. Your daughter needs you.”
And for the first time in a long time, I can’t help thinking that maybe they do.
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Music flows from inside Ivy’s kitchen as I make my way back to her. It’s the day of our dinner with Willow and her family, and I’d felt too claustrophobic in my house after my conversation with Hayes a couple of days ago. So I’d driven over here, hoping Ivy would let me in even though it’s still hours before our dinner. I’d texted her when I got here, holding my breath while I waited for her to write back. When it came through, it was just a simple reply to let myself in. Progress considering our first interaction when she came back to town a couple of months ago.
My hands are clammy as I walk, and I switch the bouquet I’m holding from one hand to the other to wipe them off on my jeans. Before I’m ready, the hallway opens up into the kitchen, and I come to a complete stop, frozen by the sight in front of me.
Ivy’s in a pair of blue jeans that hug her curves, accentuating the fact that she is no longer a girl but a woman. She’s wearing a soft cream sweater, and her hair is twisted up in a clip, letting me see the line of her neck as she sways back and forth to the music with her eyes closed.
Before my brain processes what I’m doing, my feet are moving. I lay the flowers down on the counter and then sweep her into my arms. Ivy’s eyes fly open, and I bend my head down just enough to whisper in her ear.
“Give me one dance, sunshine.” My voice is strangled, like I’ve forgotten how to use it. Ivy hesitates, but I’m willing to beg. “Please.”
That’s all it takes for her to melt into me, her hands coming up to slide around my neck.
If this one dance is all I ever get with her, it’d be enough. I could die knowing I held her in my arms one more time.
As we dance, I start to hum, reminiscent of a time long past, and Ivy drags a hand down my chest, laying it against my heart. I wonder if she knows that it’s only ever beat for her.
We fall into sync, dancing like we once did beneath the willow tree as a lifetime of memories swirl around us—nights beneath the willow tree, days spent laughing. Each memory runs through my mind like a movie with the most tragic of endings.
I spread my hand across her back, needing more out of this moment than is mine to take. Ivy tilts her head back, her honey eyes searching mine with years’ worth of questions, but I shake my head, needing just a little more time. Ivy seems to understand because she smiles up at me, and the whole world lights up. It takes everything in me not to lower my head and press my lips against hers. The only thing stopping me is the reminder that somewhere in this house is a ring that she’s put away to keep safe.
Gritting my teeth, I look away, slipping back into the darkness.
The song plays for a few more moments, and when the last note ends, I step back, knowing my time is up. I move to put some space between us, but Ivy’s hand falls on my arm, stopping me.
“Campbell—” she says my name, and my chest aches a little more because I could have spent forever listening to it on her lips.
“Yeah, sunshine?” I ask, barely holding on to my control.
“Do you think things would have been different if we had waited?”
I freeze. It’s a question I’ve thought about too many times.
“Yeah, I do. We played with sin and expected not to lose.”
A storm brews in Ivy’s eyes. It feels like I’ve said the wrong thing, but she asked. And I didn’t want to lie.
“Right,” she says with a fake smile, but I spent too many years studying her real smile to be fooled.
She lets go of my arm, but I catch her hand, holding it in mine. Her eyes drop to where my hand swallows hers, and she keeps her gaze there, hiding from me.
“Don’t be angry, sunshine.”
She bristles, her shoulders stiffening. Lifting her chin in defiance, she meets me head-on, insistent on proving her strength. She has nothing to prove to me, though, because she’s the strongest person I know.
“I’m not,” she denies. “I asked a question, and you answered honestly. Why would I be mad over that? And you know what? Maybe you shouldn’t call me sunshine. It’s probably not appropriate anymore.”
I learned long ago that when Ivy starts to rant, it’s usually because she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s upset. She’d asked the question, and I’d given her an honest answer. Still, I’m not a fool as to why it bothered her.
“Sunshine,” I say, stressing the word because there’s nothing in this world that could ever prevent her from being the sun to me.
