Page 6 of Salvation
Ivy
Nothing can prepare you to face the first man to break your heart again. And yet, here I am, doing just that. I thought facing him would be the worst part of returning to Benton Falls, but I was wrong.
So very wrong.
The worst part is looking into the eyes of that same man and seeing hatred staring back—as if I were the villain in his story.
Maybe I was, but he was also the villain in mine.
Blue eyes lock with mine, and my breath catches in my throat. Neither of us speaks because what is there to say after sixteen years?
Everything.
Nothing.
I can’t decide which of those is true.
Once upon a time, Campbell Richards was my prince charming. He played that part well until it no longer served him. I left Benton Falls at sixteen, hoping I would never have to see him again, but life has a way of putting me exactly where I don’t want to be.
“Ivy,” he says my name like a dagger plunging into my heart. His voice is deeper now, sharper. He used to caress the syllables of my name like it was the most precious thing he could say, but there’s hatred in the way he says it now.
Beautiful blue eyes search mine, and time stands still. For a few seconds, I’m back in a time when the man standing before me was just a boy. Not just any boy, but the boy I loved—the boy I gave myself to. Then I blink, and he’s no longer a boy but a man.
All the ways he’s changed stand out, screaming at me to notice. His jawline is sharper, covered in a stubble he didn’t have when we were sixteen. He’s shirtless, revealing broad shoulders that fill the doorway, and he’s atleasta couple of inches taller than he was back then. He’s heartbreak personified, and my poor heart knows that all too well.
“What are you doing here?” He asks after a couple of minutes without me saying anything.
I don’t know what I expected. It’s not like we parted on good terms, but with Campbell, I always expected—more. But that’s the problem. When you expect more from someone, it’s earth-shattering when they let you down.
Campbell didn’t just hurt me; he shattered me and left me to pick up the pieces.
“We need to talk.”
Need to, not want to.
I don’t want to be here, standing at his door. I don’t want to be in Benton Falls, period. There are too many memories. Good and bad, and the good ones seem to haunt me more than the bad.
But life never seems to care about what I want. It has a habit of throwing me exactly where I don’t want to be. This time, it came in the form of my grandmother’s passing.
She passed away a month ago, and my grandfather a year before her. I was their last living relative, and I inherited everything. For the last month, I’ve been settling their estate and getting everything in order, and now it’s time for me to do the same in Benton Falls.
I’d be lying if I said that’s the only reason I’m here, though.
My hands are shoved into my pockets, and I run my thumb along the edge of a paper—the one I found after my grandmother’s death. I’ve been clinging to it—left with so many questions I thought I already had answers to.
Campbell crosses his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to bulge, and I will myself not to look. He leans his shoulder against the door frame, appearing casual, as if my presence doesn’t tear him apart from the inside. But I suppose I always had more invested in this relationship than he did. We made choices together, but I was the one who had to face the consequences. I was the one who had my heart broken.
“After sixteen years, now you want to talk?” he asks, anger flashing in his blue eyes. There’s an accusation in his tone, and my mouth drops open.
He acts as if he isn’t the reason I had to leave Benton Falls—as if he isn’t the reason I losteverything.
“No, Campbell. I wanted to talk sixteen years ago, on the day I told you I was pregnant, but you weren’t very talkative. So, I guess now will have to do.” My voice shakes with anger. This is not how I wanted to do this. I didn’t want to fight with him, but I should have known it wouldn’t go any other way. Sixteen years of pent-up hurt breeds resentment, and I have a lot of resentment.
Campbell flinches, whether from my words or my tone, I don’t know, and I’m not sure I care. I want him to feel everything I’ve felt for the past sixteen years. I want him to know every ounce of devastation I felt because he left me to feel it on my own.
“That’s ironic, Ivy,” he says, the deep baritone of his voice void of any emotion.
He doesn’t explain what he means by that. He just stands there, looking at me.
