Darkness.
It’s funny how we fear it so much. How we run from it. Right now, it’s everything to me. My haven. My comfort.
My escape.
Memories tease me, peeking out from behind the darkness.
Disconnected.
Vague.
Unheeded.
“Baby.”
Until now, that is. Something in me twitches at the sound of that deep, worried voice.
“Ivy, doll. Talk to me. Blink if you can hear me. Please.”
The yearning rises out of nowhere, a steady, thrumming presence in my chest. I want to give into it—give into that voice. Yet I can’t.
For some reason, it feels as if I shouldn’t.
A loud scream seems to echo inside the shadows, but it’s gone almost as fast as it comes. An image flashes quickly through my mind.
Blood. So much blood.
Pain sparks in my chest.
But that, too, is gone almost as soon as it comes. Soon, the darkness returns, and it brings back that comforting numbness from before. I don’t know how long passes, only that I’ll give anything to always stay like this.
Detached.
Numb.
Gone.
Like this, I don’t have to think. I don’t have to wonder . . .
An image comes out of nowhere. Beads. White. A rosary. That scream again. The blood.
A weird sound overshadows the scream. Like a child whimpering.
“Oh, God. Baby. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Hands grab me by the shoulders, and suddenly I’m being moved. Lifted. The arms carrying me are so familiar and I can’t hold back that yearning again. That need to burrow closer.
But . . . I shouldn’t feel this way. Something is telling me that it’s wrong.
Five Years Ago . . .
Mr. Barker stops at the counter and turns to me, black eyebrows raised. “How do you like your coffee?”
It takes me a few seconds to answer. I’m too busy taking in the sight of him in that dark, gray suit. It’s perfectly tailored to fit his tall, muscular frame. Beneath that blazer, he’s wearing a crisp, white button-down.
“Love?”
I blink in shock at that nickname leaving his mouth in that sexy as hell accent.
Ivy! God damn it. Robert doesn’t deserve this. No. He doesn’t. He’s a great boyfriend, one that’s back at the office, waiting for this business meeting to be over. One that has no idea the unfaithful, unloyal thoughts going through my head.
I thought that relegating him to only Mr. Barker, instead of Noah, would help me keep the distance necessary to ignore this.
Then he showed up looking like that and demanding we have our meeting in Starbucks instead of my office.
Mr. Barker blinks worriedly at me. “Love, are you alright?”
I want to ask him to stop calling me that. Doll, I can handle. It was uncomfortable the first time I met him a week ago, but eventually I got over it. It’s a Brit thing, right?
So is “love”. But for some reason the way he says it makes me nervous. Licking my lips, I look away, but not before seeing his eyes darken. “Is-isn’t tea supposed to be more your thing?” I ask in an effort to lighten the mood. He’s a client. Nothing else. Treat him like one.
Mr. Barker laughs. “Not when I’m this bloody knackered.”
My lips twitch with a smile at his playful tone. I can’t help it. “Just a regular coffee for me please. Milk and three sugars.”
“Alright.” He steps up to the counter, shrugging his blazer off in a single, smooth move.
The girl behind the counter pauses, eyes wide.
Jesus. I can’t blame her. Sad part? She doesn’t even have the view I’m currently being hit with. Those slacks mold to that ass perfectly and, damn, that man’s entire body has to be out of this world.
Not that it matters, I remind myself, looking away. So what if he’s hot? Good for him. Rich, good looking men aren’t a rarity, and everything about Mr. Barker screams affluence. Supposedly, he’s only the marketing director at Devilish Beauty, but I’ll bet money he comes from a well-to-do family.
I’ve dealt with tons of clients like him. None have ever thrown me this much off balance.
He turns to me, a coffee in each hand, his blazer draped over his arm. My eyes drop down to the thick, leather necklace peeking through his open collar. His throat bobs as he swallows. I tear my eyes away again, reaching for the coffee he’s holding out to me.
“Thank you,” I say politely, turning away. We walk toward one of the small round tables by the wall. As we set our coffees on the surface and I pull out my notepad, I can’t stop myself from looking over at that necklace again.
Mr. Barker clears his throat.
Cheeks heating, I look away. “Sorry.” I sit down and get busy searching for a pen.
“It’s alright. Most people are curious about it when they see it.”
He doesn’t elaborate further but it remains on my mind regardless, the curiosity of it gnawing on me.
“Ivy!”
I feel my body being lowered onto a soft surface, but it isn’t what my focus is on. God, no. There’s another image—another memory rising to the fore.
His large, masculine hand wrapping around that thick leather strap and ripping it right off his neck. After five years of seeing it there.
The necklace his deceased fiancé gave him.
He ripped it off.
For me.
Noah.
As soon as his name registers, the memories return.
Anne.
Her eye missing.
Her bloody, perverted death.
Robert, that damn rosary stapled to his chest. His blood leaking from the small holes that psycho nun cut into him so she could shove the beads of the rosary in them.
Then, the gaping wound of his throat being sliced clean open, his severed trachea visible.
And the blood. The torrents of blood that shot out of him as the life left his eyes.
I hear that plaintive, small sound again.
It’s me. I’m whimpering, when all I truly want to do is cry. Scream.
Like I did before, when the darkness took over.
The warmth of Noah’s touch returns, and I feel him adjusting me on the bed. I’m momentarily lifted one more time and then deposited on his lap. I’m barely able to make sense of what’s going on around me, but I register the feel of him leaning back against the headboard and hugging me.
He presses my face into the crook of his neck and I inhale his scent.
Mine.
All mine.
Shock follows the thought, along with a million other questions.
Did I always feel this way?
If I did, why did I fight it so long?
Was I so afraid of losing him if he didn’t feel the same way?
Yes. The answer to that is a clear yes.
Why have I wasted so much time? My mind continues spinning, catching up with the reality around me. We’ve been taken. Our exes have been murdered, chosen simply because of how Noah and I feel for each other.
The chances of us dying are ridiculously high.
And as this all starts to sink in again, I can’t help but fixate on the idiocy of my choices. Can’t help but question the reasons behind my actions. Suddenly, making sense of that is more important than the horror trying to replay itself in my mind.
One memory is clearer than the others. Louder than the screams.
4 ½ years ago . . .
Noah pops the cap on the beer and hands it to me. Opening his own, he sits down on the white ottoman. Behind him, my small string lights illuminate our little area on the roof. Beyond that, the entire city glows with life.
“So. . .” Noah leans forward, elbows on his knees. Licking his lips, he pauses, and my eyes widen as I realize he’s holding back a smile. “You broke up with the tosser, huh?”
My lips part and I throw a pillow at him. He catches it, chuckling, and I roll my eyes at him. “You never liked Robert, and that’s utterly unfair.”
“Well, love, I’m sorry but you don’t seem too broken up about it.”
I turn away from Noah, hiding my expression. He isn’t the only one to pick up on it. Jamie mentioned it earlier, too. Heck, I realize it.
And it sucks. Because despite his faults, I know Robert loves me and it killed me to realize that I . . .
I just never loved him.
Alright. Time for more beer.
I can feel Noah watching me as I chug. Needing a distraction, I motion toward his necklace with my beer. “You know what’s funny? I’ve known you over six months and you’ve never told me the story behind that.”
By now, I’ve spent enough time with him to know that a little glass ball hangs at the end of the leather strap. There’s obviously a single piece of rice inside the glass, but I’ve never gotten close enough to see what’s written on it.
Noah shifts and exhales slowly.
Instantly, he has all my attention and I turn to him, hoping he’ll answer.
Fingering the strap, he stares off into the city. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to change the subject.”
I can’t help but smile at that. Ever since we met, he’s had this uncanny ability to read me. It’s probably how we’ve become such good friends this quickly. “Yeah, but I’ve also been curious since the day I saw it.”
His eyes cut in my direction, glowing brightly with all the lights reflected in them.
I loose my ability to breathe.
“But you never did ask about it before, love.” His tone is soft. So is the look in his eyes.
Warmth pounds through me, settling low in my belly. “Th-then tell me about it.”
The muscle in his cheek bounces and he looks away again.
“Someone special gave that to you, didn’t they?” I ask in an even softer tone than the one he used before. Out of nowhere, my heart starts pounding with adrenaline. But of course. How could I have not guessed it before? I’ve never, ever seen him without that necklace, and I’ve seen him constantly the last six months. “Noah?”
“My fiancé, love.”
The way my stomach drops at hearing that makes absolutely no sense. Yet, there’s no helping it. No stopping it. Dread seems to be suffocating me out of nowhere. “Wh-when did you guys break up?”
Noah chugs his beer like his life depends on it. Still looking out toward the city, he mumbles out, “We didn’t.”
WHAT?
He’s been engaged? This whole time?
Why the fuck does it feel like the world is shaking because of that?
“Oh? Is she back in England?” I’m surprised how steady my tone is.
Noah exhales again, his large shoulders rising and falling. Then, he says the one thing I never expected.
“She died, love. Horrible car accident. Mangled her completely.”
And there’s agony in his tone, so much of it that it suddenly clicks into place. Why I’ve never seen him reciprocating the flirting attempts of so many women. Why I’ve never heard him talk about having someone in his life.
Why he’s so isolated at times.
Noah lost his fiancé in a horrid accident.
A woman he still loves.
That memory is sucked away from me, and just as quickly the world rushes back in.
All of it.
The concrete walls surrounding us. The writing on those walls.
The opulent furniture.
The arms of the man holding me.
Noah’s light blue eyes come into view. They’re wide. Hopeful. “Ivy?”
I wait for the panic of everything to return. The devastating memories to consume me.
Nothing. There’s no fear. No pain anymore. There’s only him.
Noah.
I raise a trembling hand to place it on his neck, eyes locked with his. Little by little, I see the tension draining from him as he realizes that I’m truly awake. Caressing his jaw with my thumb, I lick dry lips, amazed at how calm I am now.
I’ve been such a fool. God help us all, because I can’t shake the feeling that my denial of what I feel somehow led to this. Somehow led to us being chosen for this crap.
And yet, in this raw, stripped-bare moment, with so much anguish surrounding us, there’s no more denying it for me.
No more ignoring the truth.
Years ago, when I left Robert, I had been so close to finally opening that door. To finally letting myself feel for Noah what I had begun feeling for him the moment we met.
Then he finally opened up about his fiancé and the belief that he wasn’t over her caused me to automatically shut down.
Stupid. Foolish.
I don’t know why Noah kept that necklace on this whole time, but last night he made it very clear when he tore it off.
Me.
He was choosing me.
And it’s about fucking time I become honest with the both of us and chose him.
Blinking my dry eyes, I lick my lips one more time, then finally, finally, allow myself to admit the truth, my voice as perfectly calm as the rest of me. “Noah . . . I love you. I’ve always loved you.”