Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ivy

The last thing I want to be doing the following week is going to the Sierra’s charity event.

But I’m cramming my feet into heels and tugging up my zipper regardless.

“How do I look, Mom?” Evie asks as she sweeps into my room and does a twirl, fanning out the sparkly—of course—skirt of her dress.

“Beautiful, baby!” I tell her, leaning down and fussing with the strand of her hair I can never seem to get to cooperate. It always slips free of every hairstyle, no matter how many YouTube videos I watch or gallons of hairspray I use.

“You look beautiful too, Mom.”

I smile. The love I have for my daughter—God, it’s so strong it feels like I can’t breathe sometimes.

“Thanks, honey,” I say, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “You ready to go?”

She nods.

“Great, can you get your jacket on and I’ll be right behind you?”

Another nod, and this one sends more strands of her hair flying.

Oy. I’m hopeless when it comes to braids.

At least Evie doesn’t seem to notice as she skips off for the front door, her dress bouncing with every step.

Sighing, I look in the mirror and know this is as good as it gets—my hair in a low pony (I’m an expert at ponytails, low, mid, or high—it’s just the braids that really trip me up. My simple sleeveless black jumpsuit and heels are topped off with a stack of bracelets on my left wrist and a pair of colorful plastic bead adorned earrings that Evie made for me in preschool.

“Good enough,” I whisper.

Then I join Evie in the front room. I tug my coat off the hook and shrug into it, fix the tangle she’s made of the sleeves of hers and all but wrestle her into it as she bounces with excitement and peppers me with questions.

“Is Ella going to be there?”

I nod, straighten out her hood. “Yes,” I say. “Riggs told me that she’s coming after work, along with Nova.”

“Nova!” Evie dances around, scooping up Snowball and cuddling her against her chest as she spins around and around. “I love Nova!”

“I know you do. So”—I nudge her toward the door with a smile—“should we go and see her?”

“Yup!” She carefully sets Snowball onto her cat tower before bouncing her way out the door.

I follow her but don’t make it all the way out before she tosses over her shoulder?—

“And Knox?”

Guilt and longing slide through me and I struggle to keep my tone upbeat. “Of course, honey.” Then I shut and lock the door, and bustle her over to the car, watching as she buckles herself in before I climb into the driver’s seat.

But the flurry of activity doesn’t distract her.

“When is Knox coming over with Winter again?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her as I navigate out onto the street. “He’s been pretty busy with the season and I know he’s been trying to get Winter settled at home and with his pet sitter.”

Loaded silence from the back seat.

And disappointment in her eyes when our gazes connect in the rearview.

It’s the disappointment that has me digging this hole deeper, has me blurting, “But he said you can visit Winter. He even promised to bring her to the rink soon.”

“Really?”

The excitement back, and God, I’m reprehensible. But I still say, “ Really really.”

“Can I bring Snowball?”

“Not to the rink.”

More disappointment.

“But if you visit at his house maybe.” Digging. Digging. Digging that hole.

“Yes!”

“That’s not a for sure, sweetheart. That’s a maybe,” I say, even though I know it likely won’t be a problem— if he lets me in the front door. “Still, we can sure ask.”

“Yay!” She wiggles in her booster, doing a happy dance then spends the next five minutes talking about how cute Winter is before pivoting to Ms. Phillips and music class and the art project she’s working on, and then, “I saw James on the playground today?—”

My stomach twists and I grip the steering wheel until it feels as though my hands are going to cramp.

Thankfully, her next words calm me.

“He was playing with a couple of my friends and they said he was nice.”

My brows lift. “How was he nice?”

“He took turns in Wall Ball instead of getting mad and throwing the ball over the fence.”

“Was there a grownup with him?” I ask when I pull to a stop at a red light.

“Yup,” she says matter-of-factly. “Ms. Angie is his special friend and he doesn’t go anywhere without her now.” She turns her gaze out the window, watching the lights flash by as I start driving forward again. “‘cept the bathroom.”

I grin.

That’s probably for the best.

“And what are you doing at recess?” My initial worry has receded but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep a close eye on her.

“Lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“We did hopscotch and the monkey bars and today Rylie and I did the twisty slide five times.”

“Whoa,” I say appreciatively. “That many?”

“And then we…”

The rest of the drive is filled with chatter about Rylie and the new dance routine Evie’s learning in class and by the time we’ve parked and are walking into the building for the team event—this one being themed as Dress to the Nines—my daughter still hasn’t run out of things to talk about.

Thankfully, my ears get a rest as she runs off to join a gaggle of girls all comparing sparkly dresses. I grin when I turn the corner and see the boys—and more than a few girls— playing knee hockey, more than a few of them in jerseys with the number nine on the back.

Dress to the nines —I appreciate the hustle.

Heh.

A few are sporting miniature suits that are freaking adorable, and there are more sparkly dresses and shiny patent leather shoes.

The staff, guys, and significant others are just as varied—though most have gone full formal wear as they stand around drinking and munching on snacks from the stations dotted around the room.

God, I hate this.

I sidestep a group of social media interns happily downing the free champagne and snacks and circle around to the food, filling a plate with the one good thing so far about tonight—a salad of spinach and strawberries and candied almonds with the yummiest raspberry vinaigrette I’ve ever tasted.

And then I take up my usual position at these things—propping up a wall, enjoying my salad, keeping an eye out for Evie, and…

Fading into the background.

Showing my face, checking that required box, and then getting the fuck out.

Evie runs up to me a while later, skidding to a halt mere inches before slamming into me. Her cheeks are red and her braid is all but falling out, and I sigh—I really am hopeless when it comes to braids. “Ella said she’ll fix my hair, is that okay?”

“Honey,” I begin. “I’m sure Ella doesn’t want to work tonight?—”

The look on her face?—

God, why do I love this girl so much?

“I don’t mind,” I hear from my left before I can push through the Mom Guilt and tell my daughter to not bother Ella.

“I—”

Ella settles a hand on my arm. “I just didn’t want to ruin your handiwork.”

Laughter bubbles up in my chest. “As you can see, braiding isn’t my strong suit.”

Ella’s lips twitch. “Nah,” she says. “It just can’t stand up to the power that’s Evie, muahaha!”

I chuckle as Evie strikes a superhero (or maybe it’s a villain) pose, and then I watch closely, trying to absorb the knowledge and a modicum of Ella’s skills as she pulls a brush from her purse and gets to work on Evie’s hair.

But I know it’s hopeless as her hands work far faster than I can track, and in less than five minutes she has Evie’s hair tamed into a beautiful braid that circles the crown of her head.

“I don’t have any glitter tonight,” Ella says as she tucks the brush away. “But I do have…” With a flourish she pulls out a velvet ribbon that works perfectly with Evie’s dress and ties it into a bow.

“What do you think, Mom?” Evie asks when she’s done.

“Beautiful,” I say softly.

The bow. Her hair. My daughter’s smile. Sharing this moment with her.

Ella bumps her shoulder against mine. “She’s wonderful.”

“So are you,” I say as Evie runs off.

“Pish.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, my heart squeezing as I watch her.

“Anytime,” she whispers back and we stand there for a moment before she turns to face me. “I wanted to ask you if?—”

“Ella!”

A band of hockey players appears.

“Hey, guys,” she says. “I just need to?—”

But before she can finish that or what she wanted to ask me, she’s bustled off.

“I’ll find you later,” she calls to me as Riggs all but drags her away.

I smile and wave…and go back to my propping up the wall. I finish my salad, have a single glass of champagne (because free champagne), and I’m about to go and track down Evie when my daughter skids to a stop in front of me again.

“Almost ready to go, pumpkin?”

“Can I have a sleepover with Blake?” she asks without preamble.

Blake being the daughter who belongs to the team’s doctor. Blake being a precocious little girl I had over for a sleepover a few weeks ago.

Blake also being the sweet-faced little girl currently standing arm-in-arm with my daughter—both of whom are staring at me with pleading expressions.

But it’s Friday night.

I don’t have work tomorrow and I really don’t want to go back to an empty house tonight and?—

“Is that okay?” I look up into the eyes of Dr. Haley Montgomery.

“Is it okay with you guys?” I say. “I know you’ve only just gotten back into town.”

Her mouth curves up. “Honestly?” A flick of her gaze at the pair. “They’ll keep each other busy and give John”—her husband—“and I some time to catch up.”

And how can I deny her that?

“It’s okay with me,” I say. “I’ll drop off a bag of clothes and her toothbrush and stuff.”

Haley waves me off. “We have extra toothbrushes and she can borrow some of Blake’s things. You take the night off from Mom Duties and just enjoy the break.”

God, no.

I need to keep busy.

Need the distraction.

But I just slap a smile on my face and thank her before I bend down to hug Evie and remind her to be on her best behavior…

Then I’m watching the girls skip away, Haley and John trailing them and…

I’m alone.

In a room full of people.

And even though I haven’t allowed myself to go there all night, without the distraction of Evie all of a sudden I’m in the deep end, drinking in the sight of…

Knox.

He’s so fucking gorgeous—tall and strong and smiling wide. He’s surrounded by his teammates, looking like he’s having the time of his life.

And I’m here feeling…

Things.

Suddenly, my lungs are tight and my feet are pinching and my jumpsuit is too tight.

I set my glass down, slip out into the dark hallway, and round the corner, needing the shadows and the quiet and a moment of solitude to pull my shit together.

I made this choice.

I ended before I got in too deep—or so I’d thought.

Or so I’d hoped.

“Fucking delusional,” I whisper, dropping my chin to my chest and exhaling slowly.

When the tightness in my throat fades and my eyes stop burning, I lift my head.

Go home.

Forget about Kn?—

But I don’t get to finish the thought.

Because it’s at that precise moment I realize I’m not alone.