Page 76 of Mistletoe & Magic
My legs move before my brain catches up. I meet him halfway, and Junie launches herself into my chest. I fold her up against me so tight I’m surprised she can breathe, burying my face in her hat. The smell of hay and snow and little-kid shampoo nearly takes me down.
“Don’t cry, Daddy,” she whispers, clutching my neck with both mittened hands. “I’m here. I just got stuck. Uncle Finn came to get me.”
My chest heaves with relief.
Her voice cracks. “I was so scared, Daddy. I cried for you to come. Where’s Ivy?”
My throat closes, and a broken sound tears out of me. “I’m here, bug. I’m here now. You’re safe. I will keep you safe.”
I kiss the top of her head, her cheeks, her nose, rocking her without meaning to. Finn is still talking, something about finding her in the back goat pen, the latch half-closed so she couldn’t push it open, but all I can do is hold her.
I can’t believe I didn’t think to look in the goat pen. I should have known she would go there. God, why did I let this happen? I should have had her with me. I should have been watching her.
Ivy is standing on the porch, one hand pressed to her mouth, silent tears running down her face. Sloane still looks like she’s ready to explode, but I don’t even look at her. I watch her look at Junie, get in her car and start to drive away. Again, not even bothering to speak to her daughter and make sure she’s okay. But I stopped trying to figure out why Sloane does what she does a long time ago. Nothing makes sense.
“She’s fine,” Finn says gently, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Justcold and scared.”
I nod once, still rocking Junie, my chest shaking with leftover fear. “Thank you,” I manage, and Finn just nods back, stepping away to give me space.
Junie pulls back just enough to look at me. “Can we go inside now? It’s cold. I didn’t get lunch.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, kissing her again. “Yeah, we can go inside.”
I carry her toward the house, my arms locked around her like I might lose her again if I let go. Behind me, I hear Ivy’s soft sob as she turns and disappears inside.
The relief is so sharp it feels like pain. My little girl is safe. She’s in my arms. And yet the damage is done. I saw Ivy’s face. I know what I just did to her. I was so scared, and I took it out on everyone. Because that’s my default. I need to do everything on my own. Because I am the only one who is supposed to keep it all together.
And as I step into the warm glow of the house, the weight of it lands on me like a boulder, I might have my daughter, but I think I broke everything else.
“Ivy, we need to talk,” I say as Ivy turns and walks down the hall.
“Ivy,” I say, but it’s too late.
I hear her hugging Junie and saying something softly to her and Junie protesting, “No, Ivy. I’m sorry. I won’t ever go to the goat pen, again.”
“It’s not your fault, honey. It’s okay. I’m just so glad that you’re safe,” Ivy says softly, her voice wavering with emotion.
God, I messed this up. I don’t deserve Ivy. And she definitely didn’t deserve the bullshit I said to her. I would give anything to take it back. That anger had no place directed at Ivy, and I messed this up.
A few minutes later, Ivy is back with a duffel bag in her hand. Lilith is waiting by her car in thedriveway.
Junie sees her and starts sobbing, reaching out. “Ivy! Don’t go!”
“I have to, bug,” Ivy whispers, her own tears running down her face as she hugs her tight. “I love you so much. Keep Lola safe for me, okay? I know Lola loves you just as much as I do.”
I say nothing because I don’t deserve to say anything. Ivy is right to leave. Hell, I’d leave me if I could. I am a giant asshole. I don’t deserve to be loved by Ivy. And I’m also mad that she’s leaving.
I stand there frozen as Lilith helps her into the car. The engine starts. The taillights glow red. Then they’re gone, and the yard is quiet except for my daughter’s hiccupping cries.
I turn in a slow circle, taking in the mess. Customers are standing near their trucks, whispering. Rowan and Willa look like they want to murder me. Donna is glaring like she doesn’t even recognize me.
And Ivy is gone because of me. I did this.
I drag both hands down my face and sink onto the porch step, my stomach twisted into knots. I have been through gunfights and bar fights and storms that tore fences out of the ground, but nothing has ever hurt like this.
I drove her away. And I hate myself for it.
Later that night, the house is too quiet. Too empty.
