Page 19 of Burning Ivy (The KORT)

IVY

He called me Ives. I love that almost as much as Little Storm, both so unbelievably fitting. It’s uncanny how he seems to know me better than he should, better than most. Maybe that’s a skill for his job—keen observation.

I’m already somewhat attached, which is bizarre in itself, and although I would generally trust my gut to know if that’s wise or not, I’ve never been so mixed up—like Wells feels safe, but being with him, this life I’m embarking on, is perilous.

That may be on point actually. He told me his work was dangerous, that he couldn’t even answer questions about it until I committed to him for my own safety. That should have been enough to make me run, but instead, I find myself eager to be a person he can trust. Eager to please the man who knows what he wants. And eager to be what and who he wants most.

But I won’t be one of those girls. Never have been. I won’t let him simply call all the shots. If he wants control, my compliance, he’ll have to earn it. Fight for it.

Wanting to meet my father is a sharp sword to cast in that fight. My dad isn’t himself, and I can’t be sure he’ll understand what’s happening, but Wells caring enough to introduce himself goes a long way. There is no one in this world whose opinion, guidance, and mere existence mean more to me than my father’s.

When I pull into the Shady Pines Stroke Rehabilitation Center, a pang of guilt strikesme. I have to remind myself this is what he wanted. He was too proud for his own good, insisting that he never become a burden who held my mother and me back from life.

It isn’t right. If it were up to me, I’d have him home, taking care of him, keeping him company. His living will is so specific; I’m not even permitted to visit more than once a week, for fear I’d sacrifice my future to spend it here. I would be here daily, but it wouldn’t be a sacrifice. It would be an honor.

He has stipulations on my mother as well. The man is—or was—a ridiculous control freak with a contingency plan for every imaginable scenario, but also the most selfless person in existence. A stubborn mule with a sacrificial heart—the very qualities that enabled him to be the world-renowned neurosurgeon who took the lost-cause cases. Thankfully, most ofthe staff worked alongside him at some point, so he’s among those who care about him even when I’m not here.

Wells appears at my window before I even have the ignition off. Delicious as always, but different than he was at my house, where he had the sleeves of his white button-up rolled to his elbows, showing off his tan, corded forearms. So unbelievably sexy. Now, he’s donning a navy blazer and looking every bit the dapper businessman despite the mouthwatering, thigh-hugging dark-wash jeans. Nothing looks casual on him. Stefano Ricci brown leather dress shoes and belt. The man knows how to impress.

He holds my door as I step out, always the gentleman. My heart flutters with apprehension. Introducing him to my father will mean something to me, which seems more threatening than anything else. I stop cold after a few steps and spin to face him, the lingering scent of that cherry lollipop he sucked on at my house wafting over me. Who knew a well-dressed man salivating over candy could be so seductive?

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” I ask.

“This is clearly important to you, Ivanna. It’s important to me as well.”

That stills me. “Why?”

Maybe I’m colder than I realized because although I’m incredibly attracted to the gorgeous man before me and even a bit attached, I can’t say anything with him feelsimportantas of yet. I’m invested in my willingness to make this work for each of us in the formal business capacity and hopeful that, perhaps, it could lead to something more, emotionally and—for the love of all things holy—sexually. But after only a few days, I’m not at the point where meeting his family would be important.

His eyes soften, skating over my face, but he doesn’t speak right away. It’s as though he’s deliberating, searching for the right words. “If you were mine, I’d want to know who was taking you.”

That sentence plays over and over in my mind—a riddle to solve.If you were mine.Those words sting, but I’m not sure why since I just admitted to myself that my attachment was still modest. I guess I always thought if I introduced my father to a man, it would be because I was already his. And whilebeing given awayandtaking youshare the same essence, they have wholly different vibes. That’s probably me overthinking the semantics though.

Wells gathers my flyaway hairs. I took it down and brushed it while I was driving, but the breeze is making a mess of it. At my silence, he lifts my chin. “Let’s go in. It’ll be fine.”

I nod and swallow, but stay quiet until we’re through the doors, checking in. Reception waves us back, and before we reach my father’s room, one of his nurses, Theresa, spots me. She’s a sweet older woman who used to work for my father. I’ve known her most of my life.

“Hey, baby girl. He’s having a good day today. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Hi, Theresa. That’s fantastic.” I allow her to scoop me into a hug before stepping back to gesture to Wells. “This is my friend, Wells.”

She and Wells exchange greetings, and she slips me a not-so-sly wink of approval. “Go on in, sugar.”

Inhaling a deep breath, I center myself because even good daysare somewhat disheartening. After months of this, I’m still never quite prepared. Wells trails behind me as I saunter into the room. My father is sitting in his chair with his back to the door, a medical documentary on the corner television. I wonder if he was able to communicate that he wanted that or if they knew he’d like it.

His hazel eyes go wide when he sees me—a glimmer of recognition I don’t always receive.

I lean in, wrapping him in my arms and willing myself not to break down on him when his spirits are higher than normal. “Hi, Dad. I’ve missed you so much this week.” I pull back to examine his face, his coloring a bit better than usual too.Hope.“You’re looking handsome today.”

He blinks a tear away, and my heart breaks and inflates at once. He’s rarely this present.

Grains of sand.

It suddenly dawns on me that Wells is still standing patiently against the entrance wall.

“C’mon in,” I tell him before turning back to my father. “I have someone I want you to meet, Dad. This is Gavin Wells … my … fiancé.”

Wells steps forward and takes my father’s hand in his. “It’s a pleasure, sir. You’ve raised an amazing young woman.”

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