Tonight, that task is a little more difficult. Ivy on one side of the bar, Abigail on the other, new girls in the middle. Like the Bermuda Triangle of women. Wes analyzes the possible outcomes the way he analyzes sales numbers at Siphon.
Abigail is the type he usually avoids: too good-looking, too high-maintenance, the kind with her pick of men. He and Abigail may have hooked up, but she must have better options. A lot of them. Still, given her position, and given that she was in his bed only a few days ago, it wouldn’t be the smartest decision to hit on another woman when she’s around.
Ivy will be pissed—that’s a given—and she would punish him for it. Eventually. But tonight, in this bar, in front of his colleagues . . . probably not. She is doing an excellent job of pretending he doesn’t exist. Ignoring him is the least dramatic thing she’s ever done. And it’s unnerving. Like he’s perched at the edge of a cliff, waiting for her to push.
It’s so much worse this way.
Last but not least, he thinks about whether the brunette is worth all the trouble. Hard to tell. He doesn’t even know her, but she is cute.
Marcus slips a fresh drink into his hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Wes is far from being in a good place. He has a detective diving deep into his past, an unpredictable girlfriend-slash-ex—who happens to be in this very bar—and he just slept with the CEO’s assistant.
If there was ever a time to say Screw it, this must be it.
37
So predictable.
Ivy rolls her eyes as Wes and his coworker approach the girls, though it does help cover the sting of what she just did. Pretending Wes doesn’t exist is a lot harder than she thought it would be. When she walked by him, her heart seized up.
Heath leans in and says, “He’s just trying to make you jealous.”
“Of course he is.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“I’m not. I won’t.”
She turns her back to Wes and the group of women, facing the bar. The bottles of liquor are lined up against a giant beveled mirror. Ivy can see herself, and, yes, she looks good. Dressed straight from work, albeit with fresh makeup and styled hair. Maybe not her best, but at least she doesn’t look as bad as she feels.
It’s a lie, what they say about time. Doesn’t heal anything. Not love, anyway.
But she has taken a step back, assessed the situation from a distance. It helps having Heath in town, because she has someone else to call, someone who understands. Someone who is there when she feels like calling Wes.
Most of her free time has been spent with Heath, talking about Wes and refusing to answer his questions about how healthy or unhealthy that may be. Self-improvement can wait for another day. Especially after being ghosted by someone she has known, and loved, for ten years.
Unless she’s right, and this is a grand gesture. Heath still thinks she is crazy for thinking that, yet she can’t discount it. Not yet.
In the mirror over the bar, she sees what’s happening behind her. Wes and Marcus sitting with those women.
“You knew he was going to do something,” Heath says.
“After the way I ignored him? Of course he was.”
“Still, he was so shocked. It was perfect.”
Yes, it was. No doubt Wes thought she was about to make a scene. Can’t blame him, either—she has done it often enough. She wishes she could’ve seen his face when she passed right by like he wasn’t even there, but she didn’t dare look.
“We have to stay now,” she says. “I can’t walk out while he’s talking to them. He’ll think it’s because of him.”
“And it would be,” Heath says.
She doesn’t answer. She’s too busy watching Wes talk to that girl, the one wearing a ridiculous green blouse. Like she’s the grassy knoll or something.
Ivy looks around the bar, checking out who else is here. Specifically, the men.
Heath knows exactly what she’s doing. He nods to a man who just walked in and sat down a few seats away.
She glances over.
Simpatichny.
Russian for handsome. The man Heath points out is definitely that. Beautiful eyes, strong nose, and the best part: He has a beard.
“Perfect,” Ivy says.
* * *
—
Karen picks up the phone and dials the next number.
“Hi, Daisy. It’s Karen. Just checking in to see how everything is going. Call me back when you have a chance and let me know if you need anything.”
She hangs up, crosses Daisy off her list, and moves on to the next name.
Tonight, she came home straight after work, skipping her usual bus ride to look for the voyeur. It’s checkin day. Once a month, Karen puts aside some time to call a few of the people she has helped. Daisy, Patrice, Michael, Darren, Liz, and Georgia had been stuck in abusive relationships. None are now.
After checking in with three of them, she returns to her stack of files. Ivy has been taking up a lot of time, but she is far from being the only one who needs help. Caitlin, Drew, and Anna also need her. With a gulp of her energy drink, she digs in.
Marathon, not a sprint.
She flips through the pictures on her phone. Earlier today, she visited the evidence room, and for the first time saw what they had gathered on the Tanner Duncan case. Not that she could take anything—that’s never allowed, not even after the case is closed. Maybe that happens on TV, but not at the Fair Valley Police Department. Myrna keeps that evidence room on lock.
But Karen didn’t need to take anything; she just needed pictures. Online, she orders what she needs.
At nine o’clock, she takes a break to call her son. They have a weekly phone call, always the same day and time, and she never misses it. Jack answers on the second ring.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey.” The sound of his voice makes her tear up. Happy tears. Jack hates it, and she does her best to keep her voice even. “How are you?”
Jack is a man now, a young one but still a man. Twenty-three years old, he’s an engineer living in Los Angeles, sharing a house with three friends and struggling to pay the bills while still trying to have some fun. No serious relationship at the moment. Jack hasn’t found the right man yet, but he will.
For the past couple of years, they’ve been able to see each other three times a year: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and her birthday—which is coming up soon. Less than a month away.
He doesn’t ask about his father anymore, thank God. Jack was a toddler when his father died and doesn’t remember anything about him. He knows what the rest of the world knows: His father had been a cop who was killed in the line of duty.
True story. Not the whole story.
Karen’s husband had been called to the scene of a robbery in progress. He and his partner were the first to arrive, and they found themselves in the middle of a shoot-out between the robbers and the store owner.
When the call for backup came, Karen was sitting in her patrol car. The store wasn’t far away. Three blocks, to be exact. She knew they were probably the closest and could get there faster than anyone else. But her partner had just gone into a deli to grab lunch for both of them.
Normally, she would be the first to rush to her husband’s aid. To be his protector, his helper. His apologist.
Not that day.