Page 78 of Salvation
“I’m sorry,” she whispers over and over in my ear, but I don’t understand what she’s apologizing for.
Chapter 34
Ivy
“Ilove you, and I’ve been loving you since I was nine years old.”
I didn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t, not with those words running on replay through my head.
Campbell poured out his heart, and then, like the idiot I am, I kissed him, reminding myself what it was like to fly. And in the same breath, I remembered that the higher you fly, the further you have to fall. I can’t fall with Campbell, not again. It would be like jumping from a plane, knowing I don’t have a parachute to slow me down. Reckless. Adventurous. Deadly. So I pushed him away, but he didn’t let me. Not like I thought he would.
Now I’m pacing in front of the window with my brain and heart at war. My brain is telling me that whatever Campbell has planned for today is a bad idea—that I should call him before he gets here and fake a sickness—but my heart, she’s a traitorous nag who’s begging me to give in to this. Whateverthisis.
Before I can make up my mind which one to listen to, Campbell decides for me when he pulls into my drive. My heart thunders a mile a minute against my ribs, but I force my steps to remain slow and even as I walk to the front door and open it before he has a chance to knock.
Campbell is standing on my front porch with his hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, staring at me with amaddening obsession. It’s all-consuming and magnetic, pulling me to him and drawing me into his madness with the smell of citrus soap, cedar cologne, and home filling my lungs.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Hey, sunshine.” The deep rumble of his voice washes over me, sending a shiver down my spine.
Less than an inch of space exists between us, sparking and hissing with electricity. My chest rises and falls, brushing against his with each breath. My head falls back, and he smirks down at me, his eyes begging me to make the next move. It hits me then that he’s placing this in my hands, letting me move at my own pace. For a minute, I consider it. I think about leaning in and taking what I want, but I’ve never been that brave. So instead, I step back, placing space between us and regretting that I’m not when disappointment flashes through Campbell’s eyes before he’s able to cover it with a smile that would be convincing if I hadn’t spent the first half of my life studying every part of him.
“So,” he says even though his voice is as strained as his smile, “are you ready?”
I force myself to take a deep breath, answering him. “Yeah—um—before we go. I need to make sure you know this isn’t a date. I didn’t want there to be any confusion after yesterday.”
Campbell’s forced smile turns into a slow smirk, something wicked flashing in his eyes, and my heart speeds up, galloping as if it’s in a race to outrun the danger that comes with that smirk on his lips.
“When it comes to you, sunshine, I’m not confused about anything.” The words are innocent enough. It’d be easy to believe he’s agreeing with me about this not being a date, but the way he says it, with his voice dipping low enough to cause goosebumps to pebble over my skin, it’s obvious he’s not innocent at all.
“I’m serious, Campbell.”
One of his brows notches up. “So am I, Ivy.”
My name rumbles from his lips like it’s always belonged there, making it increasingly harder to remember why this thing between us can’t be more than two friends catching up.
“Fine,” I say, but I can’t stay here. I need to move. I need less of his attention on me and more of it anywhere else. So I walk forward, intending to step around him, but he’s everywhere, filling the space and making my head dizzy. My arm brushes against his, and the sharp inhale he pulls in through clenched teeth causes chills to break out over my whole body. He may not be confused, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that I am. But I can’t play this game with him, so I pretend not to hear the hidden meaning beneath his words. “I’m glad we are on the same page.”
Campbell mutters something under his breath as I walk down the steps toward his truck waiting in the driveway—something that sounds a lot like “we aren’t, but we will be”—but I pretend I don’t hear that, too.
I’m halfway to the truck before I hear Campbell’s footsteps thundering against the stairs, jogging to catch up to me. I quicken my pace because I know what he’s after. He was raised a Southern gentleman. It’s ingrained in him to open my door, but that feels too intimate—too much like the date I just denied this being—so I quicken mine too, determined to beat him to it. Only, he’s faster, and it’s not the door he’s after. His hand wraps around my bicep, his hold so gentle that it’s just a tease of calluses and skin against mine. I’m wearing a t-shirt because I was burning up from the mental breakdown I was having inside, trying to convince myself to call this off. I’d grabbed my jacket on the way to the door, intending to put it on once I was in his truck, but now I regret not doing it sooner because my brain shuts down with his touch.
“We aren’t going in the truck, sunshine.”
It takes a minute for his words to pierce through the haze of his presence, but when they do, my brows dip in confusion. “Then how are we going to get there?”
The smile that slips onto his lips makes my heart stop entirely. “We don’t need to drive where we are going, sunshine. We are already there.”
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Campbell takes my hand, pulling me behind him before I can ask any questions, all while my heart thunders in my ears. He doesn’t have to tell me where we are going. I already know. I’ve avoided it since coming back, but it seems my time for avoidance has ended because we are going to the willow tree.
I haven’t gone back yet because it was alwaysourspot, not mine. I didn’t want to be there if he wasn’t. Just before we reach the clearing, Campbell turns his head over his shoulder and smiles back at me. It’s reminiscent of a million other times with him just like this, and I have to fight the urge to rub at the bittersweet ache that slithers into my chest.
“Campbell, maybe we shouldn’t—” I start, but the words dry up on my tongue as he pulls me into the clearing where the willow tree sits.
The trees stand taller than they used to, stretching so high it looks like they are touching the sky, but it’s not the trees that have me stopping in my tracks; it’s the things sitting between them. Paintings rest on easels around the clearing, but not just any paintings. Mine. They are all mine.
