I miss Ivy. I started missing her before I’d even left her house. My time being her protector was up. I’d known the night before that she was better, and that she’d no longer need me to take care of her. I’d stayed over anyway because it had been my last chance to hold her as she slept. Fuck, it was stupid to stay with her every night. She is under my skin now. Well, more so than before.
I refuse to rub the ache in my chest as I cross the small quad, heading for the gym. Taking care of Ivy had been eye-opening. Sure, I’d gotten flashbacks of looking after my mom, memories that made my throat tight and my stomach hurt. But my focus soon zeroed in on Ivy.
That was all I needed. Making Ivy feel better satisfied me in a strangely quiet way, as if I’d finally found the place where I needed to be. I can see myself watching over her for a lifetime. And it had been nice. Homey. Only, sometimes my gaze had wandered down to those endless legs of hers, and I’d found myself wondering what it would feel like to run a pattern along them with my tongue.
Fuck.
I’d planned to make a move on Ivy. But she’d given me a heartfelt, “You’re the best friend a girl could have” as we’d parted this morning. Right. Because we’re buds. Best buds. Which is both a gift and a curse.
We’re getting too close. The danger of my heart being annihilated is real. Ivy plans to live in another country. How am I supposed to give her up? I think of how I’d held her when she was hurting. I’d been content with that. Until she pulled the rug out from under me.
I love you, Gray. Sweet words, spoken out of friendly gratitude, I know. And yet they’d crashed into me like a blindside hit, knocking the air from my lungs and making my chest squeeze tight.
I don’t know what to do with this feeling. It’s equal parts longing—yes, fucking longing—and rage. I want to hear those words again. It’s a kick in the pants to realize that I want to be loved, like I’m worth something to someone. Not for what I can do for them, but just for me. And rage, because how dare Ivy say those words to me? Three little words, and she’s made me all sorts of needy. My anger is plain ridiculous and irrational. But there you go. I’m now Irrational Gray. Confused and Grumpy Gray. Horny as All Fuck Gray. Nice to meet you.
Eventually I lose myself to the day, working out, practice, lunch, more working out, until my body is battered and sore and just maybe I will get so tired that I can simply crash without thought.
But all routes lead to Ivy, and no matter how hard I try, I find myself running that pattern over again, heading to her house as if it’s the end zone.
Fifteen
Ivy
Fi texts to say she’s staying over at her boyfriend’s house. When I get home in the evening, my little house is quiet and dark. Empty. During high school, I’d loved having the house to myself, pretending that I was on my own, living life on my terms. I’d light a few candles, get in my jammies, and curl up with a book, dreading the moment when someone else would come home and fill the house with noise.
Now? I’m moving around the living room, clicking on lights. My chest feels hollow, and I don’t like the sensation. Or the fact that silence no longer satisfies.
I’m used to Gray’s noise. His constant laughter and the way he fills up the house with his vitality. I’ve never met a person who occupies a space as wholly as Gray does. It has nothing to do with what he says or does, it’s simply his energy, his joy. Everyone instinctively knows he loves life, and they want so soak up that joy.
Me? I want Gray. Here, now, a gorgeous distraction that makes me love life as well. But I can’t call him. He’s been here every night for nearly a week. And I refuse to turn into that needy friend.