Page 47 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
Ivy carefully made eye contact with me. She tilted her head, wary of my shift in attitude. I couldn’t blame her.
“What kind of things did your mom say?” Ivy asked hesitantly as if skating on thin ice, trying to keep from plunging into the frigid water.
“Mostly lies. That everything would be okay.” I paused, feeling like I needed to offer Ivy something more, even if it made me uncomfortable. “She’s the one who taught me how to play Candy Land and UNO. After every drunken fight she and my father had, she’d come into my room to check on me. I was usually hiding in the closet or under my bed,” I painfully admitted.
Ivy’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes widened, filled with concern, but she quickly composed herself, knowing I wouldn’t want the sympathy. She said nothing but scooted across the floor to my side. Her head fell on my shoulder, silently asking me to continue. Giving me the privacy of not having to face her.
How did she always know exactly what I needed?
I hated thinking about that scared little boy always hiding. Never certain of what each day would bring. My only wish was that it wouldn’t include my father, the drunken bastard.
I used to live for the days he didn’t come home. Wishing he would stay gone and someone would rescue me. Not that my mom was a saint. But before she took off and left me behind to save herself, she’d had her moments.
I took Ivy’s hand, noting how well it fit in mine as our fingers naturally intertwined. My thumb brushed across her warm, smooth skin.
“She would play games with me for hours—I think, in part, to console me, but also to forget about her own pain. She would tell me she was sorry a hundred times, but she would never do anything to fix the situation. And then . . . she left.”
And that hadn’t fixed a damn thing. It had only made my situation unbearable.
For days I’d cried, waiting by the dingy window looking out at the seedy trailer park we’d lived in, waiting for her to come home. My father taunted me every chance he got, telling me to man up at seven years old. What did he know about being a man?
Still, I waited, despite knowing deep down she was never coming back. Hell, I didn’t even know where she was now. Her or my worthless father.
Honestly, it surprised me that he’d never hit me up for money. But I supposed I really was nothing to him. When I moved out at seventeen, unable to take another day with him, he’d told me he never wanted to see me again. Apparently, he’d meant it, and it was fine by me.
“Jack,” Ivy whispered, squeezing my hand.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
I knew what she was thinking. That no child should ever have to endure that. And she was right. But I didn’t need her words. Just her by my side was medicine enough. It gave me hope for the kind of family I hadwished for as a child.
“I won’t if you don’t want me to. But your mom must have been a good game player.”
“Yeah, she was.” I almost hated to admit it.
I wouldn’t mention the fact that she’d also been a good thief who had taught me her ways, and that the games we’d played had all been stolen from the little general store in town. A fact I still felt guilty about and had tried to atone for by anonymously sending the owner money.
“What you did last night was incredible.” Ivy pivoted, knowing not to push me to spill more of my secrets.
I was sure she would know them all before this was over. But not today.
“It was the best game night we’ve ever had in this family. You have solidified your legendary status among my nieces and nephews.”
“What about among you?” I wanted to be her legend. Her everything.
Her head popped off my shoulder, and she rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile dancing in them.
In a surprising twist, she said, “You’re all right,” before she leaned in and quickly pecked my lips.
It happened so fast and so unexpectedly, I didn’t have time to react and capture those velvet lips of hers in return.
The way she jumped back and scrambled away said she was even more surprised than I was.
“Oh. My. Gosh. I am so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” She stood in one swift move and ran her fingers through her silky hair, tumbling down in waves. “All this trying to sell being your fake girlfriend is getting to me. It’smaking me do things I shouldn’t. Maybe we’re just kissing too much.”
On the contrary, we weren’t kissing enough.
“I need to go.” She looked around frantically, like she needed to escape from a crime scene, before pointing to the bathroom. “I need to go potty.” She froze, horrified at her own words. “Oh, jeez, I meanttinkle.” Her face burned crimson. “Just don’t listen to me. I’m being ridiculous.” She ran to the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she called, muffled through the door she’d just slammed. “Please, forget that happened.”
