1. Ivy

1

IVY

I never expected to feel such overwhelming physical discomfort during such a joyous occasion. It seemed impossible for that to be the case.

The clock struck midnight just moments ago, and everyone around me shouted with glee.

Happy New Year.

Disappointment moved through me, the weight of the world resting heavily on my shoulders, as I watched nearly everyone pull their spouse, significant other, or date for the evening, into an embrace before kissing them passionately.

I wasn’t so lucky.

Another year gone, and I was still alone, despite all my best efforts.

And I’d tried. I’d gone all out to find someone, to make the possibility of finding someone to connect with easier. I’d gone to places I never thought I’d go. I’d done things I never thought I’d do.

It all started a year ago. My efforts, that is. The actual problem started long before that.

Just shy of six years ago, I was fresh out of college and excited about my future. I knew what I was doing in my professional life and had a job waiting for me. It was the same job I’d been doing in a reduced capacity while I was still in school.

I guess that was one of the perks of being a Westwood. Aside from the large, loving family and big parties like this one, financial security and a thriving career were waiting for me. Maybe that was the reason why I’d always worked extra hard to prove to my staff that I was worthy of the position I held within the company. I didn’t want anyone to think I didn’t have to work to be where I was, that everything was simply handed to me.

The Westwood Company was opened several generations ago, my father, Malcolm, taking over after my grandfather, Larry, retired. In a few short years, my dad would retire, and my eldest brother, Wyatt, would assume that role.

The Westwood Company was one of the world’s largest manufacturers of confectioner—chocolate being our bread and butter. But in our hometown, the headquarters of The Westwood Company, we did more than just produce sweet treats to send all over the world.

We had Westwood’s, a place people could come from all over to visit and learn about while having fun with their family and friends. There was plenty to enjoy, from the chocolate factory and museum to the amusement park and the hotel.

The Westwood Hotel was mine. Or, well, it was my responsibility. I could still remember being a teenager and working my first summer job in the hotel. I’d loved it from the start, and ever since, I knew I wanted it to be the place I eventually became responsible for the operation of within the company.

So, I worked my tail off and made that happen. When it came to my professional life, I couldn’t complain. I loved the work I did, and it was nice knowing my future was secure. While I couldn’t complain about anything when it came to my career, it was when I officially took over in the full-time capacity that everything changed for me.

Because that was the year Wyatt met Rhea. At first, I was ecstatic. Truly, I was happy for my older brother. He and Rhea had since gotten married and were head over heels for one another. Cooper, the second oldest of my siblings, happened to meet the love of his life by accident, and they’d tied the knot last year. Finally, there was Tate. He was third in line—in both age and in finding his happy ending. Though, considering he’d wound up marrying my best friend, Ava, early last year before Cooper and Skye got married, maybe that put him second on the marriage front.

While I was genuinely happy for everyone in my family now, it was safe to say I was frustrated.

And lonely.

God, I was so lonely.

Three brothers. Three weddings. And I hadn’t so much as had a date.

I was tired. So tired.

Tired of being alone, yes. But tired of pretending, too. Tired of doing so much just to be certain I was always prepared for that chance encounter or to put myself in places in hopes of meeting someone.

My eyes scanned the ballroom—a ballroom I’d been responsible for setting up for the New Year’s Eve celebration. We were the Westwood family. We didn’t miss an opportunity to celebrate.

Looking around, I imagined what it would be like. So many people wrapped up in the arms of a lover. And here I was, brushing my hand up and down my opposite arm, wondering if I’d ever get my chance to feel that. How was it possible to be surrounded by so many people and feel so alone?

I’d been getting antsy somewhere around the time Cooper and Skye got together, especially considering Cooper hadn’t been looking for or hoping to meet anyone. Things only kicked up a notch for me when Tate and Ava got together. It wasn’t long after we’d celebrated the new year last year when I decided it was time to take some action.

Work had consumed such large chunks of odd hours for me. The hotel wasn’t merely a nine-to-five gig. Sure, there were days when I worked typical hours, but there were others when that didn’t happen. Generally, whenever there was an event being hosted at the hotel—a conference or a wedding, for example—I adjusted my hours accordingly throughout the week to make sure I’d be available during that event.

And while I’d met a lot of people at the hotel—we dealt with hundreds of people a day—nobody had ever shown any interest in me.

I figured it was probably strange to believe someone would just walk through the front door and sweep me off my feet. There wasn’t anything to connect with an individual on in that case.

Between working and the perpetual state of celebrating with my family for birthdays and holidays, my personal time had been limited and lonely.

So, I took matters into my own hands and put myself out there.

For almost a year, I had been doing things to meet new people. I’d taken up rock climbing and golfing, neither of which I’d particularly enjoyed, and quickly stopped.

Then I switched to taking classes. I’d taken so many classes and developed so many new skills, I wasn’t sure there was much I hadn’t tried yet. Photography, pottery, dance, musical instruments, and calligraphy. I’d even taken a handful of balloon-twisting classes, which had been quite the experience.

Of those classes, the musical instruments class was the only one I’d continued. Unfortunately, it wasn’t because I’d met a man that I was attracted to and couldn’t wait to see each week. Instead, I found I enjoyed learning to play the piano.

And while I liked the dance classes, partly because they were taught by my best friend and partly because I always enjoyed dancing, I hadn’t encountered many men there. The same was the case with the pottery and calligraphy. Photography had more men, but nobody had ever asked me out on a date, even the ones that I thought might have been interested. It was almost like as soon as they got my name and learned I was a Westwood, they suddenly backed off.

Of course, the Westwood family was well known in Landing, Pennsylvania. My family’s name used to be something I thought would only ever be a benefit to me. When it came to dating, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

I sighed just thinking about all I’d done over the last year just to find a connection with a single person, telling myself that the next thing, the next class, would be it.

Smiles and hugs and laughter were all around me. Several hundred people stuffed into this massive ballroom and not one of them was mine.

If there was anyone who could understand the abject loneliness I felt, it was the one guy my eyes settled on in the middle of surveying the room.

Liam.

My younger brother.

Maybe he and I were destined to be alone forever.

At least he’d felt it once before, though. At least he’d gotten to experience that all-consuming love. The most I’d gotten was a boyfriend in high school that was the utter definition of puppy love, and another during my first year of college, which hadn’t been anything that swept me off my feet.

I wanted more.

Feeling so defeated, understanding this was the last place I needed to be if I didn’t want to spiral even further into the depths of despair, I turned and moved toward the exit. My tired legs carried me, with my aching hollow chest, away from the fun and laughter, away to be alone again.

This was a new year.

Would it be better to accept I’d tried all I could and forget about finding something special? Or should I go home and come up with a new plan?

I’d always been determined, always been willing to go above and beyond to get what I wanted. Could I really give up now?

Deep down, I didn’t want to. I had seen far too many successful relationships around me. I’d witnessed what each person in those relationships experienced as a result. I’d be a fool not to want that for myself.

For tonight, I guess I’d just have to accept it hadn’t happened yet. I’d allow myself to feel the sadness and despair.

But I wouldn’t resign myself to this fate forever.

Tomorrow, I’d wake up and start all over again. I’d do something to figure it out. And maybe, just maybe, I’d get lucky and would be able to spend the next New Year’s Eve celebration in the arms of a man who adored me.

TWO WEEKS LATER

“Stop fighting me. You’re only going to make it worse for yourself.”

That command went unacknowledged, because I was too consumed by terror.

The stinging in my cheek paled in comparison to the pain in my chest and lungs.

My heart raced as I found strength somewhere inside me to fight back, to save myself from this.

Despite telling myself I’d wake up on January 1 st prepared to take on the world in an effort to find my happy ending, it didn’t happen.

The renewed sense of determination didn’t hit me until about a week later.

And now, I was regretting it.

Because I had the day off today and decided to join a woodcarving class early this evening. Surely, I’d find lots of prospects in a class like that. Plus, I might learn enough to be able to make something I could use around my house.

But I’d never know if I would have had any luck, because I wasn’t going to make it to the class. I wasn’t even sure I was going to survive this.

I was in downtown Landing, a couple of blocks away from the center of the city, and I’d parked my car just a short walk away from the facility where the woodcarving class was being held.

I hadn’t gotten very far from my car when a man appeared seemingly out of nowhere and dragged me away from the main walk and down a side street, his hand over my mouth. I fought against him, thrashing my limbs in hopes I’d do something to set him off balance.

It didn’t work.

The sun had set about an hour ago, and down this dark side street, nobody was going to see me.

I’d been thrown up against the side of a building, my head just barely avoiding contact with the brick wall. That was the moment I’d yelled out for help and had been backhanded across the face.

“Give me your purse,” he’d demanded.

I’d instantly complied. There was nothing there worth my life.

The man took it, but he didn’t leave. He didn’t release me and run away in the opposite direction, taking the overwhelming stench of cigarettes and sweat with him.

He’d pushed his body firmly against mine, one of his arms pressing in roughly at my throat and starving me of precious oxygen.

“Please,” I’d begged. “Let me go.”

He didn’t listen. Instead, he’d brought his other hand up and squeezed my breast painfully.

I’d cried out, tears spilling down my cheeks.

“We’re going to have a little fun first,” he’d said, a proud and sinister edge to his voice sending waves of fear and disgust down my spine.

No way was I going to allow this to happen to me. I’d battled against him, pressing my palms powerfully against his torso. He didn’t move. And my attempt to fight him only led to him grabbing both of my wrists in one of his hands while his other hand continued to squeeze and grope my breasts.

I didn’t have the strength to overpower him and free my arms, but I had the use of my legs. So, I’d launched my knee up haphazardly and contacted him somewhere in his groin. It was enough to have him double over and release the hold on my wrists.

Pulse pounding, I didn’t think twice. I’d bolted in the opposite direction, hoping I’d spot someone who could help.

But I hadn’t gotten more than a few strides away when I made the foolish mistake of looking behind me. That gave him just enough time to close the distance between us. His arm clamped around my waist and hauled me back, sending me through the air and into a pile of trash bags on the edge of the sidewalk.

My ass had hit the ground hard, and the force of being tossed like that made me dizzy as pain shot up from my tailbone and into my lower back.

If there had been any hope of someone seeing me, that hope was gone. Because now I was obscured by a van on one side of me, a heap of trash bags beneath me, and this man on top of me.

The cold winter air didn’t cut through the sweat on the back of my neck. The remnants of the town’s last snowstorm three days ago couldn’t be felt through the blinding panic I experienced when the man tore at the shirt beneath my unzipped winter jacket, the first few buttons flying every which way.

Fueled by adrenaline, I thrashed my arms and legs against him, ignorant of the aches and pains I’d feel tomorrow if I survived this.

He brought a hand to my throat, squeezing harshly while his other hand went to the fly of my jeans. His body was positioned over my thighs, stifling their movements, and with my oxygen supply running short, I could only seem to focus my hands on attempting to remove his from my throat.

When he unzipped my jeans and began tugging at them, I knew I didn’t have much time left. Not to breathe, and not before he took everything from me.

In a single moment of clarity, I reached my hands up behind my head and grabbed hold of one of the garbage bags. It took every ounce of strength I had, strength I didn’t even know I possessed, and I shoved it as hard as I could against his face.

He became unbalanced, his grip around my throat loosening.

I was going to have one chance to do this. One chance to get away.

When he fell to the side in an attempt to get away from the garbage bag, I scrambled to my feet. He was still down as I reared back with my foot and slammed it as hard as I could into his groin.

He screamed in agony.

Then I tore off in the opposite direction, back to my car. As I ran, never looking back, I reached into my pocket, grateful I’d shoved the key fob in there after I’d parked. Still running, my car in sight, I hit the button to unlock the door.

I fumbled to open the door, but I managed to get myself inside and lock the doors just in time. He was coming after me.

I didn’t wait.

I turned on the car, checked the road was clear, and sped off.

Despite how badly I wanted to crumple with relief or drown in my tears, I didn’t. I kept my focus on getting somewhere safe—the hotel was the closest.

I sped through downtown Landing, grateful to have missed all the red lights, and tried to breathe deeply to calm my racing heart. My insides trembled the entire drive there.

By the time I’d arrived, I was in no better state than I’d been in before. The lot was well lit, and I didn’t have a far walk, but I was virtually paralyzed with fear. I couldn’t stay in my car all night, but I wasn’t sure I could walk outside again, either.

Nervously, still panicked, I glanced around the car.

One step at a time.

Sunglasses and a hat.

I grabbed them, put them on, and hoped they’d be enough to conceal whatever the state of my face was. Then I zipped up my jacket to hide my disheveled clothes beneath.

Just a few more steps before I could break down.

I grabbed my master set of keys for the hotel out of the center console, exited the car, hit the locks, and zipped to the front door as fast as I could. I slowed my pace just a few feet from the entrance.

Fortunately, everyone at the front desk was busy helping other guests, so I was able to make it to the elevator unnoticed by members of my staff.

There was a suite on the fourth floor that was currently out of commission until Cooper, who was the head of maintenance and operations, could get himself or one of the members of his team to fix the dryer.

That was exactly where I was going to go and spend the night.

Almost there.

So close.

Only a handful of steps left to go.

The doors to the elevator slid open, and I stepped off to make my way to the room. I shoved my key into the lock, heard the elevator chime, and glanced nervously behind me to be certain I hadn’t been followed.

Seconds later, I stepped inside, pulled off my jacket, hat, and sunglasses, and sagged with relief against the door.

I hadn’t quite caught my breath when I heard the lock click. My body went ramrod straight, and I slowly began to back away from the door.

Oh, God.

Oh, God, he followed me.

He knew where I was.

Fear bubbled to the surface again, my hand clutching my torn shirt at the center of my chest.

I stopped breathing and prepared myself to scream.

That’s when the door opened, and my eyes landed on only one of a few people who could make me feel better at a time like this.

My brother’s best friend, Marco Kingston.