Silas’s cruel, razor-sharp words are a kick to the stomach. I get that he’s handcuffed and being threatened with jail time because of Ivy—well, really because of me—but he’s no different than the rest of them.
He called Ivy and Cody dicks, but he’s the biggest dickwad of them all. I thought he saw me for who I am, that he got me. I believed he was special. He’s not. He’s no better than them.
When I turn my back to him, he scoffs at what I’m sure he thinks is my immaturity or further stupidity. We wait in silence and are eventually separated when I’m taken to a holding room, where an officer finally uncuffs and questions me.
I should ask for a lawyer, but I’m sure Ivy will show soon. This whole thing reeks of her—never mind the wasted time, money, and energy used to “punish” me in this manner.
During my interrogation, it becomes clear that the officer likes me, or at the very least, he’s sympathetic to my situation. He shares tidbits about Silas even though he shouldn’t—Silas has been released, his one phone call leading to his ticket to freedom.
I’m glad I’ll never see that asshole again. Even if he did write a beautiful song and we had some sweet and memorable moments, I’ll never forgive or forget the horrid things he said to me. He called me stupid, again. Enough is enough. I’m done with that.
I finally ask for my phone call, and I’m told to sit tight. Alone in the holding cell, that’s what I do: sit and wonder how I got here, if or when Ivy is going to come, and what happens next.
During the night—I have no clue what time it is—a guard comes for me. Fortunately, he doesn’t cuff me again, and he leads me to the front of the station.
Ivy’s pushes off the discharge desk when she sees me and heads my way. The stabbing staccato of her expensive high heels is the maddening music to my walk of shame. Contrary to my rumpled appearance, she’s so prim and proper in her crisp beige suit. Not a strand of her strawberry blonde bob is out of place, and her makeup is flawless. Perfect—that’s Ivy.
“Pansy.” My name is blasphemy on her lips. “How could you?”
I stare blankly at her, trying in vain to keep my emotions in check. This day has been from hell, and I can’t handle much more. All I want is a cardboard box to crawl into and sleep. A homeless shelter sounds wonderful about now.
She natters on about how disappointed she is in me, chastising me for stealing her car. Yes, she says stealing, and she’s sure to tell me it doesn’t change a thing. She’s not supporting me. I’m on my own. The clock in the precinct indicates it’s five fifty-three in the morning. No wonder I’m exhausted—I’ve been up for nearly twenty-four hours.
As we walk outside into the cool morning air, I sigh, stretch, and smile. I wasn’t locked up long, but I embrace my freedom. Glancing at my sister, I see her annoyance at me written all over her face.
“Ivy, this is where we say goodbye.” My tone is devoid of emotion.
“What? Where are you going?”
“I have no clue, but one thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to be around you. I’ll always love you, but I don’t like you. I’m sorry I borrowed your car. Yes, it was wrong and selfish, but I’m sick and tired of you telling me I’m stupid. I’m not. I’ve got a higher than average IQ and a 4.0 GPA.” I only say those things because they matter to her. “Goodbye, Ivy.”
“Pansy, stop being stu—” I shoot her an icy glare as I pass her on the steps. “Don’t go, let’s talk.”
“I’ll text you when I’m settled.”
She calls after me as I head down the road, only concerned with finding a motel. I’ve got savings, and while I’ll have to be smart with my pennies, I need to sleep before I figure out my next move.
I’m not even ten minutes from the station when a black Range Rover pulls up beside me, and the driver’s window rolls down. Silas.
“You need a ride?” He grins sheepishly.
Scoffing, I dismiss him with a flick of my hair before walking on. He’s crazy. Did he forget what he said to me?
“No. Get away and leave me alone.” The fleeting satisfaction of using his words on him warms me.
Behind me, the car door slams, and seconds later, he’s at my side, pulling on my hand. My eyes narrow into slits as his twinkle with amusement. He smiles awkwardly, big and bright, trying to soften me.
“I’m really sorry. I’m the fuck-up this time,” he confesses. “I met your sister, Ivy, and I get it.”
“Ivy has nothing to do with this. You called me stupid—I’m not. I’m tired of people treating me like I’m dumb.”
“You’re not stupid, not by a long shot, and I never should’ve said that. I’m the one who’s stupid.”
“No, you’re not,” I interrupt. I don’t like that word being used for anyone. It’s wrong and hurtful.
“Fine.” He chuckles. “But I do have a stupid temper, and I have no excuse for calling you names. I’m truly sorry. How can I make it up to you?”
I like this side of him; his sincerity restores my belief that he’s a decent person. He’s got a mean temper, but he can admit his faults. My family never apologizes for their cruel words, even when they know they upset me.
My silence must unnerve him because he laces his fingers with mine, urging me toward him. I resist, needing to keep my head about me. As much as his apology helps, the wound is still there. It’s still fresh, and I’m tired, vulnerable. It’d be too easy to let this go. That’s what I always do—let people off the hook for treating me like garbage.
“Please forgive me.” He clings to me, pulling me closer.
His remorse tugs at my heart. Damn, why can’t I be a cold-hearted bitch, make him work harder for his apology? Sadly, it’s not my style.
Our chests collide, and my breath hitches. His arms envelop me; his pleading expression weakens my efforts. I’m anchored to him, and his hand caresses my cheek as my body overrides my mind, willingly leaning into him.
“You hurt me.” I push hard against him, remembering how his words were blows to my heart, my ego.
I’ve caught him by surprise, and he stumbles, loosening his hold, but before I can distance myself, his fingers latch onto my hips. Rough, callused tips sink into my exposed flesh, sending an electrifying jolt up my spine. His grip is both firm and gentle.
“I could be halfway home by now, but I couldn’t leave. I felt shitty for how I treated you and what I said. If I’d really meant it or if I was a heartless asshole, I wouldn’t be here. Okay, I am an asshole for saying what I said, but I’m truly sorry.”
I’m now back in his arms, chest-to-chest, and I can’t think of one good reason why I shouldn’t be here.
“I should stay mad at you,” I murmur weakly, letting my stubbornness have its way, one more time.
His smile grows; he’s wearing me down, and he knows it. Being in his arms has eliminated any fight in me. Even with his short temper, I like him, I really do, and his remorse is evident in his features and voice.
“Give me another chance?” His tone is hopeful and confident.
“Drive me to a motel and let me sleep, then we’ll talk. I’m thinking you can start making it up to me with a ride to my next destination.”
My fingers comb through the short, soft hairs of his beard as I pinch his chin with my thumb and forefinger. His lips tempt me. I want to kiss him, but it’s not smart. I’m sleep-deprived, and making decisions based solely on my libido isn’t wise. Before I can bring his mouth to mine, his lips descend on me.
His tongue swipes across the seam of my lips, and I eagerly open for him, inviting his teeth to nibble on my lower lip. Pulling my lip into his mouth, he sucks and teases a moan out of me. Our kiss is long, languid, and loaded with endless possibilities.
Pulling back, he whispers, “Oh yeah? And where would that be?”
“I’ll let you know when I know.”
Smiling, his mouth covers mine again. Our lips tangle, tongues twisting as my stomach flip-flops and my heart races with anticipation. His kiss is solace and hope to my weary heart. I don’t know if this is it or if there’s a future for us, don’t know where we’ll go or how bumpy the road will be, but I welcome the ride.