A Twisted Love Story(72)

“How could you do that?”

“Ivy—”

“You can’t just pick me up and drag me out like some kind of caveman—”

“Stop pulling on my arm! I’m driving. Jesus Christ—”

“Turn around!”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t you tell me to calm down!”

“Ivy, I swear to God—”

That’s when she grabbed the steering wheel.





59




The 4Runner turned to the right, into the lane next to them. No one was there, thank God, because it was so late at night. They were away from downtown, in an area where the streets were quiet. Empty.

The car headed toward a storefront. Sprinkles, a frozen yogurt shop, and Wes can still picture the sign on the building. Curly pink font, next to a giant cup piled high with yogurt and multicolored sprinkles. The shop was closed and dark inside, along with everything else in the area.

Ivy was still yelling, cursing him out. He yanked the wheel back to the left.

Too hard. He lost control of the car.

They skidded across the road, almost in a circle, before coming to a stop on the curb. Ivy stopped screaming.

“We’re okay,” she finally said. “We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said.

She turned to him, the glitter around her eyes catching the light. “You’ve been drinking.”

“No, I—”

“I can smell the beer.”

“I’m not drunk,” he said. “I had a couple beers while watching the game.”

“Get out. I’m driving.”

“You grabbed the wheel.”

“You lost control of the car.”

“We aren’t going back to that strip club,” he said.

“Of course we aren’t. You humiliated me back there.”

He got out of the car. She climbed over the center console, took off her stilettos and threw them in the back. Ivy drove toward their apartment. One left turn, two right. That was it, they were less than two miles from home. It was easy right up until it wasn’t.

Ivy swerved. Hard.

They didn’t get lucky a second time. Instead of hitting the curb, the 4Runner slammed into the side of a car.

“What the hell?” he said. “Why did you do that?”

“There was something in the road!” she yelled. “An animal, a squirrel or something. I swerved so I wouldn’t hit it.”

Wes didn’t see a squirrel or a cat or anything else, but he did see the car they hit. What he remembers most is the relief. It came after he realized the car was parked.

They didn’t know anyone was in the car. It was on the street, no one was around, and no one screamed when they bashed right into it. Well, no one except Ivy.

They never called the police after the accident. Not after Ivy started having a meltdown. She was babbling about the animal in the road, going on and on about some squirrel from years ago and how upset Wes had been and how she didn’t want it to happen again. She was also naked, or close enough. Ivy wasn’t making sense, let alone in any condition to drive.

Wes did the only thing he could have. He drove away.

They switched places again, he started the car, and they went home. It was a miracle that was still possible, given the condition of the car and the weird scraping noise it was making, but they made it. He parked behind the apartment building instead of in the main lot. Only dumpsters and stray cats were in the back.

Not that anyone would mention or even notice the car. The only apartment they could afford was in a run-down building filled with people who wanted to live somewhere else. Themselves included. No one asked a lot of questions.

Wes didn’t find out someone had been in the parked car until the next day, when he was at work. During his first weeks at Siphon, his days were split between working and training. He was so busy the news alert didn’t even get his attention:

One dead in hit-and-run.

He didn’t bother clicking on it. First, because he didn’t have the time. Also, because he didn’t think it was about their accident. The car had been parked. No one had died.

An hour or two later, he got a text from Ivy.

Did you see the news?

The alert popped into his mind, so he went back to it and read the story. That’s when he first heard about Joey Fisher.

He didn’t know the name yet—it came out later—but he did learn someone had been in the car. Someone who was now dead.

Wes can still feel that moment. For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Like his body had forgotten how to do it. When his body remembered, Wes gasped for air like he had been underwater.

He texted Ivy back: Call me.

She didn’t, so he called her. Straight to voicemail. Wes didn’t leave a message; he wasn’t about to mention the accident on a voicemail. He texted again but didn’t hear from her until he was getting ready to leave the office.

I got it.

He had no idea what that meant, and he didn’t have time to try to figure it out. That day, they hadn’t been able to use their damaged car, so he was getting a ride from a coworker who was anxious to leave the office. As soon as he got home, he checked behind the apartment building. The 4Runner was gone.

He called Ivy again. Straight to voicemail.