Page 38 of Stranded
She gives me a wistful smile. “Yeah, I had this secret hope that she’d support me.”
“Give it time,” I murmur, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and guiding her toward the bar. “Let’s get you a drink.”
The music throbs in the background as we approach the crowded bar.
Ivy nods, and then we inch through the bodies. “What should I have?” she asks, her voice barely audible over the heavy thump of the bass.
“Something strong,” I suggest, my gaze scanning the rows of booze. “To wash away the bitter taste of bad reactions.”
She laughs. “You sound like a bad poet.”
I chuckle, the sound alien to my own ears. It’s been so long since I genuinely laughed. It feels strange but good. Liberating, even. “Well, then. One bad-poet special, coming right up.” Our laughter mingles with the music. Tonight we live, tonight we forget. “How about a whiskey?” I suggest.
She wrinkles her nose. “Isn’t that an old man’s drink?”
I shrug. “It’s got the kick you need.”
I signal the bartender, ordering two shots of whiskey. The amber liquid is poured, and we both pick up our glasses.
“To new beginnings?” I propose, raising my glass.
Ivy’s gorgeous green eyes meet mine. “To new beginnings and bad poetry,” she adds, clinking her glass against mine.
We knock back the shots; the whiskey’s burn is a welcome assault.
I extend a hand to her. “Dance with me,” I demand.
She studies me, her emerald gaze piercing right to my heart. Then, she places her hand in mine, her trust tangible. We move to the dance floor, swallowed by the crowd and the heavy thump of the bass. But at this moment, it’s just the two of us.
Our bodies sway in rhythm to the music, our hearts beating in sync. I hold my her close, and the world fades away. It’s just us. Us and the rhythm of our hearts, the electric charge between our bodies.
Ivy’s laughter echoes in my ear, the sweetest melody I’ve ever heard. I pull her closer and bury my face in her hair, inhaling that sweet vanilla and pine scent.
She smells like home. I’ve found my home in her. Whatever this is, whatever we are, it’s real. And I have something to live for for the first time in a long time.
EPILOGUE
IVY
One year later…
We sit at the huge dining table with my family and friends. Maddox’s hand is tight around mine beneath the table.
I was surprised when Mom invited me and Maddox for Christmas. We haven’t spoken since her New Year’s Eve party last year.
Preston smirks across the table at me. His new girlfriend, a young, naive woman, sits beside him, her eyes filled with dreamy adoration. It churns my stomach. He spent six years stringing me along, all the while knowing he was gay. And now he’s doing it again to another girl.
Maddox notices my attention is on him and moves toward my ear. “The guy makes me sick. The world would be better if I’d just murdered him,” he whispers.
And while I love seeing my man being primal and in touch with his raw masculine power, he hasn’t killed anyone since the fire incident. That’s how it has to stay. If he keeps killing, it’s only a matter of time until the law catches up to him.
I sigh, my tone taking a more serious edge. “Maddox,” I say his name with warning. “You promised.”
His jaw clenches, keeping his voice low. “I’m not going to kill him. But you should at least warn the girl. Otherwise, she’ll waste six years or more like you.”
I nod. “True.”
As dinner concludes, a strange kind of hush descends upon us. It’s as if the house is holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable. My mother, a woman of grace and steel, rises from her chair, her eyes softer than I’ve ever seen. “Ivy,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve done well for yourself, darling. We’re proud of you.” The words hit me like a bullet, ripping through my defenses, and I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes.