Page 9 of Unrequited (Woodlands 4)

"There's nothing to talk about." She jerked her head out of my grip and ran toward the door.

Was I being an asshole? Forcing her to answer questions that hounded me for months? No, I didn't think so. I slammed my hand against the door, keeping her in. Her body was slight and trembling under mine, and it didn't escape my notice that we'd been in this position before—only with a lot fewer clothes. I rotated my hips slowly to remind her of all the talking we’d done with our bodies. Her breath quickened, and the pulse on her exposed neck jumped in response.

She was scared of something, not of me, but of something. Maybe how I made her feel. That was some scary shit if you weren’t ready for it. Hadn’t I tried to ignore it too? But it didn’t work. We’d set a match to a spark, and it was still burning all these weeks later.

Dipping low, I brushed my lips against the top of her ear. "You've been part of my life since I was sixteen, Winter. I'm not letting you go. You can't use Ivy as your defense forever."

The name of her sister made her stiffen. "She's not a defense. She's my sister and your girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend," I corrected. "And that was a long time ago."

"Really? Because it feels like yesterday."

"You need to let that go."

The light flashed above us, and the music turned off, signaling the end of my fifteen minutes. Winter sagged against the door in relief. "Time's up."

"This isn't that big of a town, Winter. You can't hide from me."

4

WINTER

Finn’s words haunted me through the rest of my shift and driving home. What did he want from me? That night he evidently needed comfort. I wasn’t saying the whole night was spent with me comforting him with my body, but I’d known it was a one-time deal.

Him coming after me like that was beyond confusing. I’d thrown out Ivy’s name like she was a wall that could keep my feelings on one side and Finn on the other. It was cleaner, neater that way. I coped that way. Plus, a one-time thing I could keep from Ivy. A relationship or whatever

it was that Finn wanted, I wouldn’t be able to. She wasn’t in a place where she could take many blows. I needed her to get well.

She was awake when I got home, sitting on our mom's red and gold chenille sofa, flipping through the late night channels which consisted of infomercials and reruns.

"How did it go?" She turned the television off and threw the remote on the coffee table.

"Fine, but you look terrible."

Her face was drawn and pale. She had bags under her eyes, and her mouth was pinched together in an unhappy frown. If I didn't know better, I would swear she had been on a week long drinking binge. But there wasn't a scent of alcohol about her when I joined her on the sofa, just the sour smell of vomit.

"I couldn't sleep. Every time I lay down, the room spun and I'd feel sick again. I can't even keep water down." She pointed to the half-full glass on the table.

"I'm really worried about you, Ivy. Maybe we should just bite the bullet and take you to the hospital."

"And use our savings on that? Haven't I wasted enough of our money? No thanks." The bitter tone wasn't directed toward me, but herself. One of the worst parts of recovery was facing the harm done while addicted. A lot of Ivy's use was because she wanted to forget—her flunking out, her argument with Mom and Dad, their deaths, and every other bad thing that followed.

"It'd be a savings in the short term if you end up so sick that you need an extended stay in the hospital. That wouldn't be good for our bank account either."

Bills were a constant state of concern for us. We were slowly digging our way out, but it would be a while before we would be able to move into a nicer place or buy a better car. For now we drove the ten-year-old Honda my parents had given Ivy when she graduated from high school. For me, the money thing was a non-issue. No sense in rehashing the past. I was glad she was alive. I was glad I was alive. And I was glad we were together.

She twisted her lips into a not impressed with your logic face but didn't have a response.

"Come on." I stood and offered my hand. "Let's try to get some sleep. You can sleep with me."

She heaved herself off the sofa and tugged an oversized T-shirt down around her thighs. It said “West Central High,” and by the size and age, I wondered if it belonged to Finn at one time. I refused to ask, though. I would feel better not knowing.

In my bedroom, Ivy climbed into the twin bed and laid on her side while I stripped off the Riskie's clothes and pulled out sleep shirt and shorts. She looked about ten years old with her blond hair framing her heart-shaped face.

"Was it terrible at Riskie's? Did anyone try to make you do a table dance?"

Because the walls were so thin in our apartment, it was easy to hear her when I went into the bathroom to wash off the smoke and sweat of the night.

---