Mended

CHAPTER 5 What If

Ivy

Music has always been my everything. But when I was young, it really was all I had—it was my shoulder to cry on, my confidant, my best friend. I was an outcast in school because I kept to myself. I was always writing lyrics, and the other kids didn’t know what to make of me, so they made fun of me instead. I didn’t really care. I didn’t have time for friends. My mother kept me busy. She wanted me to be an actress and she made me go on audition after audition. I hated the thought of pretending to be someone else in front of a camera. I hated the thought of acting, period. That wasn’t what I wanted to do. I just wanted to share my music with others. But my mom saw it differently. We had very little money and she worked two jobs and odd hours to make ends meet. She thought if I acted we’d be secure. So if I wasn’t running lines for a part I didn’t want, I was going on auditions. I’d gotten a few parts here and there, but nothing permanent. I was also responsible for taking care of my younger sisters. So, like I said—I had no time for friends.

Then I met him—he got me, understood me, accepted me, guided me, showed me who I could be. Before I knew it, music and Xander Wilde—they became my world and stayed that way all the way through high school. I loved him. He was everything I didn’t know I wanted and everything I needed. But my world turned upside down the day he betrayed what we were, what we had. I was shocked, surprised, and heartbroken, but somehow I think I always knew I wasn’t enough for him. After that I left LA and never looked back. I couldn’t be what he needed, so I never sought him out again. And why would I, anyway? All I felt toward him was hatred. I locked him away in my mind and tried so hard to never think about him. Now, without warning, he’s come back into my life, and my world feels like it’s been turned upside down.

A shiver ran through me and somehow I knew he was there—it was the strangest thing. I felt his stare and when I looked up into those eyes blazing with an intensity I once knew so well, they were boring into me. I felt a sharp jab of pain for what we had shared as the eyes of the boy I once loved quickly morphed into the eyes of the man I hated. The eyes I spent years looking into—the ones that sometimes look green but if you study them long enough you’ll see their hypnotic flecks of brown.

He was the same, but different in a few ways. His startling hazel eyes, his tousled brown hair, sharp jawline, and strong, lean frame hadn’t changed that much. He was so good-looking—not in a pretty or adorable way, but more in a rugged, handsome way. But he looks harder, even more closed off now. Then again, I’m sure I do too. Staring at him across the pool, I got lost in my thoughts. He was a boy no girl could ever forget. My mind filled with all the things I’d missed about him—our conversations, his protectiveness, his cocky grin, his charm, the way he said “fuck” just because. So many things I didn’t want to remember, but they were all right here in front of me.

I never looked back and wondered if I made the right decision. Even now I know leaving Xander is something I shouldn’t be questioning. But the moment our eyes connected at the pool, all the hate I had been carrying around for years dissipated instantly. It scared me. How could just one look erase the bad memory and replace it with all the good ones? He was giving me the same look he used to give me when I’d cross the school grounds and spot him waiting for me—with his smile so genuine that his eyes lit up. It was the look that told me how much he loved me. I only stifled the need to run to him by remembering my fiancé was by my side.

Confusion tangled deep within me, but I couldn’t resist setting my sights on him again. A hint of a smile crossed my lips. God, he was magnificent—broad shoulders, lean waist, toned arms. It might sound clichéd, but even when we were both fourteen and I noticed him for the first time I thought he was tall, dark, and handsome. And I couldn’t help but fall for him. With his first grin in my direction—I melted. When he first played his guitar for me—he scored my mind. When he first kissed me—he stole my heart. And when he cheated on me—he took a piece of my soul. I was broken. His love broke me, and music was my only refuge.

I reminded myself that I hated him. I had once trusted him, confided in him, given him what I’d given nobody, and he stomped on us like we were nothing. I thought I was over him—I’d moved on long ago. But seeing him just brought it all back. The feelings I had for him were still there in my heart. I realized it the instant his stare reverberated through me and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. But I pushed those feelings aside—hate felt better than love, especially when I saw who the girl was that was standing next to him with her fingers in his hair. A wave of jealousy swept through me—I wanted to be the one running my fingers through his hair.

But seeing him was like a sign I didn’t know I was waiting for. I finally knew it was time to break off my engagement to Damon. It had been time for a while—in fact, I never should have gotten engaged to him. The man I was going to marry was not the man I wanted to marry—that man was standing across the pool.

But breaking my engagement wasn’t because of Xander—I had decided to do it before I saw him. The simple truth was Damon and I were never right for each other. I loved him in my own way. He had nurtured my talent and helped me with my career. I had trusted him in a world where trust was hard to find. But I had matured, grown up, figured out what I wanted—and we didn’t want the same things.

He wanted me to put out another album—just like the first one. He also wanted a family right away. I wanted the independence to make my own decisions. I wanted to give my career time to grow before starting a family. That left us at a crossroads in our relationship when he suddenly asked me to marry him. He wanted me to take a year off and create the album of my dreams. He said he’d help me get it out there, help me sell it, and I loved him for supporting me.

Yet his job demands had intensified, and suddenly he was insisting that I travel everywhere with him—he wanted me by his side. I had written the songs for my album, but they weren’t being produced. Damon was adamant that he knew what was right for me. Somehow I had become his arm candy and all we were doing was arguing. I was so unhappy, and I knew what we’d had for each other was gone—I just hadn’t figured out how to tell him we were over. And then, without even knowing it, Xander made it all so clear. My relationship with Damon was one of comfortable love, not true undying love. And I wasn’t going to settle.

The next day things unexpectedly came crashing down with Damon. We were at the pool and my gaze steadied on Xander again. I couldn’t help but be drawn to the sight of him. To his strong, stubbled jaw that I wanted to cup in the palms of my hands, to his pale hazel eyes that were pinned on me, to all of him. Damon saw me staring, and he must have sensed what I was feeling, because he exploded, dragging me from the pool. When I finally told him the name of the person I was looking at, he slapped me. That was it. I wasn’t sticking around any longer. I was done the moment his palm struck my face. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s punching bag. My father used to hit my mother and me until one day he just up and took off. I wasn’t going to repeat my mother’s mistakes in any way, shape, or form. Xander’s seeing me afterward made me so angry, and his concern made me furious—the hate I had for him was back in full force. I didn’t need his help—I didn’t need him.

As soon as I got back to the room, Damon was full of remorse. We discussed our situation, and he surprisingly took our breakup better than I could have imagined. He wanted me to keep the diamond ring—but I couldn’t. I should have never accepted it from him to begin with. So I left it and left him.

Our personal relationship was over—but dissolving our business relationship wasn’t as easy. For some reason he didn’t want to let that go. I contacted my attorney, and he told me he would start the litigation needed to terminate our contract, but it wouldn’t be quick, easy, or cheap. I hadn’t earned any money in the past year and didn’t have much money left. I was supporting my mother and my sisters, and my accounts were draining fast. One of my sisters was in med school and the other two were in college. I couldn’t let them down. So when Zane Perry was diagnosed with a mild form of vocal cord paralysis and the Wilde Ones needed a new lead singer, I thought it would be the perfect arrangement.

When I left Xander’s house the night we’d all agreed I’d replace Zane, I went to meet my cousin for dinner. Logan was really tired and I was glad because Xander’s touch was still burning through my body and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Arriving home early, I struggled to sleep. Images of Xander, on top of me, under me, beside me, in me—I couldn’t erase them. Even after all these years I remembered how we were together. I could see the sensuality of his raw, naked body. I could smell him. I could hear the groans he made when he came. And in the darkness of my own room, I used those memories to help relieve the need that had surged within me from the moment I first saw him again. I held my breasts and slid my thumbs over my nipples. I ran my hand down to my sex and touched myself. I imagined it was him touching me, pressing his thumb against my clit—taking me to the edge and back simply because he could. My heels pressed into the bed and my fingers gripped the sheets so tightly I nearly tore them as my body finally found its release.

But I refused to give in to that kind of need again. I had to stop thinking about him that way. For the past two weeks I’ve tried to avoid getting too close to him. For reasons I don’t want to think about, though, I want to be near him. Then every time I am near him, I teeter between love and hate. It’s a fine line and I’m taking baby steps to avoid stumbling. I have to say, he threw me when he hadn’t said yes right away about my joining the band. That bothered me. I wanted him to welcome me, at least make me feel like he cared. But what bothers me the most is he hasn’t really tried to discuss what happened between us. I know I said the past was in the past, but I never thought he’d listen. He never used to let barriers keep him from discussing the things that were important to him. The fact that he seems so detached from the whole situation is eating at me in a way that’s causing me to lose focus. We’re going to be sharing the confined space of a tour bus and before I get on that bus, we need to clear the air. We are both grown-ups. We can do this—talk it out and then put it aside for the sake of business. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

I’m staying with a friend in Beverly Hills, so the drive to his house is short—too short. As I pull up to the beautiful architecture of his Canon Drive condominium building, my pulse races in a way I’m not familiar with. I walk slowly to his door, telling myself I can do this, not to be nervous. Just as I’m about to ring the bell, the door opens. I drop my gaze to the ground and I swear my heart jumps out of my chest. I think about running, but I’m not sure my jelly legs will take me anywhere. I draw a deep breath and when I can finally focus, I look up and almost laugh because it’s not him—it’s his brother. When I saw River at the announcement party I knew who he was right away—the light brown hair that looks almost coppery and the insanely green eyes hadn’t changed. To me he’ll always be Xander’s cute kid brother, but he’s grown up to be equally as handsome as Xander. The difference—River borders on adorable, while Xander exudes ruggedness. Their hair and eye color may be different, but there’s no mistaking they’re brothers.

“Ivy.” He greets me, pulling me for a quick hug.

“Hi, River. Is Xander home?” I ask nervously.

“Sorry. He’s not. I just stopped by to pick up a few things he bought for Dahlia.”

I must look at him skeptically because he explains, “He was out and picked up some old albums, CDs, and movies he thought she’d enjoy.”

“That was nice of him. I heard she’s been put on bed rest. I’d say I’m sorry, but really that must be kind of nice. The two of you get to spend time together doing things you like to do.”

An almost wicked grin crosses his face. He’s so much like his brother. My cheeks turn pink and I feel the need to clarify my comment. I point to the stack of albums under his arm. “Like listening to some awesome music.”

“Yes, we’ve actually been making the best of it,” he says with a laugh.

Backing away from the door, I say, “Well, it was great to see you again and it was really nice meeting Dahlia at the press announcement party. Please tell her I said hello. I’ll catch up with Xander later at rehearsal.”

“Ivy,” he calls in a tone that sounds a little too real for me to want to hear any more.

I stop just before the steps. Turning around, I clutch the railing.

“Never mind,” he says, and I just smile, then leave.

The sun brightens the east side of the stadium, with blazing-hot rays beating down and making it hard to see anything but what’s right in front of you. It’s our last rehearsal before hitting the road tonight, and Xander insisted on making it as realistic as possible. We’re at the Greek Theatre, the stadium is empty, and I’m clutching the microphone . . . my face carefully blank as I mindlessly search for him. It’s upsetting me that he’s occupying so much of my mind space. Before I went to his house, I thought having it out with him would take care of it, but now I think status quo might be best. My nerves overtook me when I was there, and I’m not sure I can actually discuss the past with him.

I just have to clear away all thoughts of him and focus on my career. But that’s easier said than done because every time I see him, he’s back in the forefront of my mind. Even right now he’s searing me as he strides down the aisle. He looks amazingly sexy in all black—black T-shirt, black jeans, and black work boots. I’m standing in this huge stadium with so many other people around and he’s still all I see. Moving toward me with his dark good looks and arrogance, he’s just the same eighteen-year-old boy I couldn’t wait to see, talk to, kiss, and wrap my arms around. But today, even though his hazel eyes appear tired and his dark hair looks a little more disheveled than usual, he’s still undeniably gorgeous. What’s wrong with me? One minute I don’t want to lay eyes on him ever again, and the next I can’t wait to see him.

The sound system is on the fritz and he immediately takes control of the situation. He points to the stage and yells to someone. He struts even closer and his walk is as full of confidence as his tone. Hearing his voice, now the voice of a man, makes my heart beat a little faster, my breath quicken, and gives me that feeling of comfort in my soul that it once did. Screeching crackles from the speakers pierce my ears. The scratching sound would normally make me cringe, but right now it’s the sweetest hymn of music because it helps distract me.

After he gives a few more directives, the sound system seems to be working again and he moves on to his next task. Ellie, the tour manager, calls him over and he approaches her with the easy grin and flirty manner that used to make me see green when he talked to other girls. It has the same impact on me now. I feel like that same lovesick teenager, and my reaction just makes me furious with myself.

When we finally finish what has to be the longest rehearsal ever, I swing my purse over my shoulder and make my way to the restroom. My phone rings the minute I cross the threshold backstage, and I fumble through my bag to pull it out. The screen flashes DAMON and I automatically hit IGNORE. He’s been calling and texting me for the last two weeks—begging forgiveness one minute and threatening legal action the next. He wants me back, but whether it’s for personal or business reasons, I’m not sure. I haven’t asked because I have no intention of going back. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when he finds out I joined this tour. Xander is making the announcement today that I’ve joined the Wilde Ones. I guess I’ll have to talk to Damon tonight, but I’ll wait until we’ve hit the road.

The bathroom backstage is old and definitely needs to be remodeled. The mirror is cracked, but I steal a glance at myself anyway. Hot, sweaty, and a mess. Oh, well. I try to stick the pieces of my hair that have fallen out of my low-slung bun back into the elastic as best I can and then head out. I’m a little nervous about starting this journey and a little excited at the same time. Singing is what I love, so getting back to sharing my music is exciting, but having Xander so close has put me on edge. My feelings for him are unclear and crystal clear at the same time—that’s why I’m nervous.

The smell of hamburgers fills the air, and I smile when I see that the food has been put on the tables previously set up in the orchestra section of the amphitheater. Since I’m starving, I make a plate and join the guys. Xander is not here. See, I’m still thinking about him—crap. I take a seat in the metal folding chair next to Garrett. His slightly long blond hair covers his gray eyes, shielding them from the sun. I just grin at him because his hairstyle and boyish face make him look like he’s still fifteen, and he really is cute. His lip ring only adds to his youthful appearance, and his tall, skinny stature certainly doesn’t help him look any more grown-up. When my phone rings again, I ignore it and switch it to VIBRATE.

Garrett asks, “Not going to answer that?”

The sunglasses on my face not only keep the sun from blinding me but also keep Garrett from seeing the stir of nerves within me. Damon’s continual calls are wearing on me. Smiling, I tell him, “It would be rude to answer at the table.”

He smiles back and takes a bite of his burger.

I push the unidentifiable salad around on my plate. “Do you think these are potatoes?”

He shrugs his shoulders and takes another bite of the mound identical to mine on his own plate. “It tastes like macaroni to me.”

Suddenly, the heap of food on my plate becomes very unappealing and I’m not hungry anymore. I push it aside. Nix is sitting across from me, sipping his beer. “He eats anything,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes.

Nix is an attractive dark-haired guy. In high school he always had a girlfriend but never seemed interested in any of them. He’s tall, but not as tall as Xander, and he has an athletic build. His hair is short, his eyes are chocolate brown, and his skin always looks tan. He looks the same as in high school, just more mature and more built. But he now wears a very detailed tribal tattoo that circles his biceps with an intricate feather design draped down his arm. It’s always peeking out from under the short sleeve of his T-shirt. Garrett told me he got it right after graduation—he went to visit his great-uncle, who lives on an Indian reservation, and came home with it. Garrett said he never really explained to them why he got it, but he figures it has something to do with his family heritage.

I stand up and toss my plate in the trash. My phone rings again, but this time it’s my mother and I decide to bite the bullet and get it over with.

“Hello.”

“Ivy, it’s your mother, honey,” she says, as if I didn’t have caller ID or recognize the sound of her voice.

“Mom. Hi.” I drop down to sit on the steps.

“I’ve been calling you. Why didn’t you call me when you broke off your engagement with Damon? I had to hear it from him.”

“I’m sorry. I just have a lot going on right now.”

“Well, sweetie, I’d like to have lunch this week if possible.”

I take a couple of deep breaths. “Mom, I’m going on the road with another band for a few months and I’m busy getting ready, but I promise I’ll call you as soon as I get settled.”

“Ivy, honey, it’s important. Your sister’s tuition is due and I don’t have the money and somehow I missed the mortgage payment last month.”

“Mom, I’ll see what I can do. Money is tight right now.”

“Oh,” she responds. “Do you think you could ask Damon?”

“No! I should be able to get you some money in a few weeks.”

“I can’t wait that long. The bank will take the house.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Listen, come get my car. I’ll text you where it is. I’ll leave the keys and the signed pink slip under the mat. That should hold you over for a bit.”

“Ivy, that would help tremendously.”

“I have to go, Mom. I’ll call you soon.”

“Thanks, honey. I knew I could count on you.” She hangs up.

Her response was as automatic as mine. She knew all she had to do was ask. But what bothers me is that she didn’t even ask where I was going or with whom. That just wasn’t as important as getting a check.

My body fills with so much tension I feel paralyzed. I put my head in my hands and sit alone for the longest time, wondering how I’m ever going to free myself from her. Finally, I stand and head backstage to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. The floor is slatelike and my heels click against it with each step, but that’s not the only sound I hear—I hear Xander’s voice. With just one simple word he’s back in the front of my mind again and I stand frozen in place in the almost nonexistent space between the stage and backstage.

“Fuck,” he says, and the way the word rolls off his tongue catapults me back in time.

I had missed a week of school and band rehearsals. I was in the tenth grade and Xander had just gotten his license. I was sick, but I still had to babysit—my mother was working. The doorbell rang and when I opened it all I could see was a finger hooked around a hanging plant of ivy. I slammed the door shut, thinking it was the neighbor kids playing a practical joke and almost caught his finger.

“Fuck!” he yelled, and I immediately opened the door again.

He came into view and handed me the pot. I raised an eyebrow and just looked at him.

He grinned. “What?”

I eyed the ivy plant.

Shrugging, he said, “Roses are so cliché.” Then he kissed me and snickered. “I prefer Ivy.” He made the statement sound simple, but it was so full of meaning. His gift was a symbol of our love and it was something that could last forever . . . like I thought we would. He stayed that night to help me babysit. Once the girls fell asleep, we watched the Grammys and we talked about our dreams for each other—his was that I would be up on that stage one day. That made me laugh and made me cry. After that night he’d bring me ivy plants of all kinds—sometimes as a gesture to make up, sometimes for my birthday, sometimes just because . . . and I loved them all. I planted them in the garden I started with my sisters or hung them in my room, and they never died, but I did dig them all up and throw them away the night I saw him with Tessa.

Shaking off the memory, I divert my attention away from him and try to push him out of my mind. But when he yells, “Come on, motherfucker!” I can’t help but steal a glance. He’s talking to some guy I don’t know and the motherfucker in question is a coin. Watching him as he throws his muscled arm up to release the coin and yells, “Heads,” subconsciously I yell, “Heads” in unison. I know his call—it hasn’t changed. The way his lip curves around the word as he says it gives me a sudden urge to suck on it. Turning, he looks at me and his eyes lock on mine. His mouth forms that same slow, easy grin that always made me weak at the knees. But I can’t smile back . . . I want to, but I’m afraid that if I do I won’t be able to compartmentalize him anymore. What’s between us has to stay professional; if not, things will get too messy. A flash of something mars his finely chiseled face, but he catches the coin without faltering. Covering it with his other hand, he cocks his head and bobs his chin, calling me over. I stay where I am. I hate him. I hate him. I have to keep saying it or I’ll forget.

Shrugging, he lifts his hand. “Heads it is.”

The tall, skinny man standing next him sighs. “Okay, we’ll drive straight through to Denver, but if I crash the bus I’m blaming you.”

Xander lets out an exaggerated laugh and slaps a hand on the man’s shoulder. “First of all, you have Brad, and second, you won’t crash the bus. You’ve made runs like this a million times.”

“Whatever you say, boss man,” replies the man I can now identify as John the bus driver.

Xander walks away. “See you on the bus,” he calls over his shoulder, maybe to me, maybe to John, maybe to both of us, I don’t know. What I do know without a doubt is that I want him. The sound of his voice alone makes every nerve in my body tingle, makes my nipples tighten, and causes an ache between my legs. I stand there and watch him move with that ease he has about him, and I know this is going to be so much harder than I’ve convinced myself it would be.

Later that night, we board the bus and I run for refuge. I have to escape my attraction to him. Being near him only heightens it. I hop in the shower and then get ready for bed. I lie on the mattress in the back bedroom of the bus with my door locked and close my eyes. The movement of the bus should lull me to sleep, but it doesn’t. I can’t stop thinking about him. I picture his long, lean body, his face, the sounds he used to make, and even the way he says the word fuck. I remember the sound of his husky voice in my ear, the way his tone oozed sex. My hands slide down my own body and into my pajama bottoms. I tug the elastic down and kick them off, then spread my legs. And as I lie there alone in the darkness, my hands become his—doing what I want him to be doing so badly at this moment. I come in a shattering climax and sleep finally consumes me.