A Twisted Love Story(6)

Wes got out and grabbed something from behind the driver’s seat. Looked like a tire iron. They were on a side road, not the highway, so there weren’t many cars. She tried to watch him push the dead squirrel over to the side of the road but had to look away.

He got back into the car and started driving. Didn’t say a word for at least ten miles.

And then: “Do you think that squirrel had a family?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Silence.

“I think squirrels are loners, aren’t they?” she said.

“Google it.”

She didn’t want to, but he pestered her until she did. Gray squirrels, as it turned out, lived mostly alone. The one he’d hit had been brown, and brown squirrels lived in colonies.

Wes didn’t say anything for a long time. She thought about suggesting that he donate to a save-the-squirrels nonprofit, if such a thing existed, but she didn’t want to sound stupid. Or insensitive. Neither of them had extra money for donations.

After another forty miles or so, he said, “Hopefully, his colony finds him so they know he’s dead. So they aren’t out searching or anything.”

She wanted to say they would, and that it was a good thing he moved the squirrel’s body to the side of the road so his family could find him, but she couldn’t make those assurances. He knew that. He would see right through it.

When they arrived at the lake, he didn’t mention the squirrel to their friends. She didn’t bring it up, either.

But even now, years later, she would bet every penny she has that Wes still thinks about that squirrel. And he still feels bad about it.



* * *



—

“I didn’t know the police would go to your office,” she says. And she hadn’t. Karen told her she would speak to Wes but never said where or when. Ivy had assumed it would be at his home. “Sorry about that.”

“Seriously, that was a little extreme,” Wes says. He still doesn’t look at her.

“But it worked.”

“Yeah. It did.”

She reaches over, placing her finger on the side of his neck, an inch below his jaw. Right where he’s the most ticklish.

He grabs her hand before she can do it. Then he dives under the covers, reaching for her feet. She squirms and tries to kick, but he’s too fast.

“Don’t!”

“Or what?” he says. His voice is muffled.

“Or I’ll call the police on you again.”

“You would, too.”

His hand slips away from her foot, never tickling the bottom of it. He emerges from under the comforter and settles down on the pillow. Eyes back on the ceiling.

“Maybe we should get back together,” she says.

She watches him, trying to gauge his response. He doesn’t move an inch.

“For real?” he says.

“Yes.”

Wes turns his head to look at her. In the dark, his eyes are shiny. “Are you serious?”

“I am.”

“So . . . we’re together again. Just like that.”

Ivy reaches out and touches his shoulder with her finger. She traces his little scar, the one he got when he fell out of a tree as a kid and there was a sharp rock on the ground and . . . She could tell the story verbatim, as if it were her own.

“It can’t be any worse than having the police visit you at work,” she says.

He props himself up on his elbow. “Are you screwing around right now?”

“No.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

“Why?” she asks.

“You said never. ‘Never, never, never again.’?”

Yes, she had. The last breakup had been particularly nasty, even for them.

“Before that, I said forever.” She pauses, bites her lip. “So did you.”

A dozen times, at least. Maybe a hundred. Usually right before they broke up. Almost like they were trying to reassure each other that it wasn’t going to happen. Again.

“We need rules,” he said. “No games, no messing around.”

“Agreed. And no drama.”

“None. Zero. Zip.”

“I can do that,” she says.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He lies back down and closes his eyes. She loves that he has to think about it. Or pretends to.

But the fact that he makes her wait, not so much.

“No lying,” he finally says. “Not even once.”

“Deal.”

“Done.”





6




Wes Harmon is late for work.

It’s weird.

Bianca has worked at Siphon for almost fourteen months. After starting as an assistant in human resources, she was moved over to the sales department to be the admin for the whole team. Wes Harmon is part of it.

She keeps a close eye on him.

He slides right by her desk, coffee in one hand, computer bag in the other, and sunglasses covering his eyes. Wes smiles and holds up the cup, nodding to Bianca as he disappears into his office.

Hungover, perhaps, though she’s never known Wes to be a big drinker. Then again, it’s not every day the police visit him at work. Maybe he needed to drink more last night.