A Twisted Love Story(93)

Ivy stares at Heath like he has lost his mind. “Wes would never do that.”

“Doesn’t matter. You have to sell this story.”

“I understand what you’re saying about blaming Wes.” Ivy stands up, feeling a little shaky from the accident. And this conversation. “But I can’t tell the police he tied me up.”

“Ivy, are you forgetting that he stalked you? That you went to the police about it?”

Yes, she remembers. She also remembers that’s what got them into this mess.

This is different. Heath is suggesting that she bury Wes in a hole so deep he’ll never get out. “I’m not saying he’s on drugs or restrained me,” she says. “He would never forgive me for that.”

“Who cares?” Heath rises up next to her, his body tight. “Wake up, for God’s sake. Wes is gone, and he left you behind.”

“Heath—”

“You owe him nothing.”

Yes. Yes, she does. Because he’s already been arrested for something she did, and he kept his mouth shut. “We have to think of something else.”

“But this will work.”

“Heath, I can’t say these things—”

“No. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ve heard enough of them.” He walks away from her. Now he’s the one pacing. “I can’t believe you. I really can’t. For years, he has screwed you over. Lied, manipulated, played games. Your relationship is so toxic you reek of it.”

“Stop yelling at me,” she says.

He comes over to her, placing his palm against her cheek. “Ivy, this is your chance to get away from him once and for all.” His voice is softer, not a trace of anger. “A fresh start.”

A fresh start sounds more than good. It sounds amazing. Ivy would love nothing more than to get away from what she’s done in the past and what she did tonight. To live a life where none of it ever happened.

She can see it. Living in a different town, far away from Fair Valley, where everything is new. A place where she isn’t haunted by Joey Fisher, doesn’t think about him every time she drives at night. And nobody would know about Joey or Karen, or about Wes’s arrest.

They could be happy. They could be free of their past. All of it. Maybe, just maybe, they would stop breaking up.

Ivy pictures building this life with new jobs and new friends. A new favorite restaurant, a better version of Maxwell’s, to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. She can even see what it looks like, what they would be eating. How much they would laugh.

As they sit in that imaginary restaurant, she smiles across the table at Wes.

He dissolves right in front of her.

Wes wouldn’t be there.

If she does what Heath is telling her to do, she will destroy Wes’s life. She will destroy them. No coming back from something like this.

That fresh start doesn’t sound so good after all, because it would be without Wes.

Forever.

Bù kěnéng.

Impossible.

Which leaves her with one option: run.

She has to run the same way Wes did, because it won’t be long before someone describes her car and the police will know she’s the one who hit Karen.

Ivy rushes off—away from Heath and out of the room. She makes a last-minute decision as she goes. Instead of leaving out the front door, she grabs his car keys off the table in the foyer and heads into the garage. Behind her, Heath is yelling. Following.

“Don’t do this,” he says. “Please, Ivy. You’re just going to make things worse.”

But he doesn’t physically stop her. Doesn’t put his hands on her. Heath watches her get into his car and back it out of the garage, maneuvering around her wrecked one. It hardly takes any work. She isn’t used to such a smart vehicle.

Heath looks out from the garage, shaking his head at her. Visibly upset.

Visibly disappointed.

He doesn’t understand. Never did.



* * *



—

Ivy heads straight home. The police will be looking for her car, not this one, and she only needs a few minutes to pick up anything she can sell for cash. Jewelry, mostly. She doesn’t have a lot, but every little bit will help.

She drives behind the main building of her apartment complex, away from the main lot, and pulls up along the stucco walls separating the garden apartment patios. As she walks into the building, she notices the light in her living room is on.

It shouldn’t be.

Maybe the police are already here. She almost leaves, but first she checks her door in the hallway. Closed and locked. Perhaps she left the light on.

Still, she opens the door slowly and looks straight down the hallway, into the living room. The sliding glass door to the patio is open. The metal frame on the wall is warped. She turns around to run when she hears him.

“Ivy.”





76




Wes.

His voice stops Ivy dead. Always.

She runs to the living room and finds him standing by the couch, his hand extended out to her.

“Hey, baby,” he says.

Ivy throws her arms around his neck. He slides an arm around her waist, pressing her body against his.

“You came to me,” she says.