Surviving Ice

The car pulls away from the curb and takes the first left turn.

Too far away for me to catch the license plate.

So this is how it’s going to be, is it?

I grit my teeth against the bubble of anger rising. Is this Bentley? Is it that fucking idiot Mario?

I reach into my pocket to pull my burner out, to call Bentley and blast him. But no . . . fuck it. I’ve warned them both.

I won’t warn them again.

THIRTY-ONE

IVY

“What do you know about this guy?” Bobby asks, peering out the window in Ned’s living room. It has a perfect view of the front porch, and of Sebastian standing at the edge of the driveway, staring at something down the street that I can’t see.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Enough.” My body is aching from hours of stooping over and climbing stairs and lifting. I don’t know how many times I had one of these guys trying to tell me to back off because something was too heavy for me, and me yelling at them that I’m fine.

I should have listened.

“Why?”

“Dude’s weird.”

“No he’s not. He’s just quiet. That’s how I like my men. Not chatterboxes.” I stare pointedly at Bobby. He hasn’t shut up for more than five minutes all day.

“Where does he live?”

“In a house.”

“Ivy . . .”

“He kicked your asses yesterday. Like I’m going to give you guys his home address.”

Bobby scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, he did. What kind of guy needs to know how to do that?”

“He was in the navy. He served in Afghanistan,” I finally offer, more because I want Bobby and the guys to show some respect for Sebastian.

Bobby nods slowly, as if that clears things up for him. “What does he do now?”

“He’s a bodyguard.”

“For what company?”

I shrug and scowl. “I don’t know.”

“I can ask around. What’s his last name?”

“You’re not asking around about him. Leave him alone.”

Bobby looks at me in shock. “You don’t even know the guy’s last name, do you?”

“So what if I don’t? I don’t know your last name. Hell, I don’t know what your dad’s real name is!” I know it’s not Moe, just like Tiny’s real name isn’t Tiny.

“Yeah, but you’re not bangin’ my dad or me.”

I cringe at the suggestion.

“I’m just lookin’ out for ya, is all. That’s what Ned would want us to do. This guy just shows up out of the blue right after Ned dies, and now he’s stuck on you like glue.”

“He doesn’t do things half-assed.” I think it’s all-or-nothing with a guy like him. Just like it’s all-or-nothing with me.

“Yeah . . .” Bobby doesn’t sound convinced. “Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. You’ve always been a smart girl. Use your gut and get some answers about him. I don’t trust him.”

“Funny. He doesn’t trust you either.” Though Sebastian hasn’t come out and said it, I see it in his eyes every time he looks at Bobby.

“Yeah . . . I figured as much. I’m takin’ off now.” He slings his jacket over his shoulder. “Same time tomorrow?”

I sigh, offering a grudging, “Thanks for the help.”

“Thank my dad. He tore a strip off my hide yesterday for gettin’ mad at ya.”

I listen to Bobby’s heavy footsteps pound down the steps, considering his words.

Sebastian is still a mystery, I’m aware of that. But is there something that I definitely need to know, and now?

Something he’s not telling me?

The last thing I want to do is pry. He’ll tell me more about himself when he’s ready, just like Dakota said. As weird as she is, she has the uncanny ability of being right about these things.

“Hey, Ivy!” Sebastian’s deep voice calls out and my entire being automatically responds, my heart skipping a beat, energy spiking, a thrill coursing through my limbs. All at the sound of his voice calling my name.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s head out. I need to eat.”

“Coming.”

“Ned used to eat subs at least three times a week,” I murmur through a mouthful. Not graceful, I know, but I’m starving.

“Hey, listen, would Dakota mind if I stay at your place for a few nights?” he asks, his eyes are on his rearview mirror more than the road ahead, as they have been since we left Ned’s house.

“Not at all.” I frown. “What’s wrong with your place?”

“Plumbing issues.”

I pick away quietly at the sandwich, not believing his answer but having no good reason to question it openly. Plus, that means Sebastian’s guaranteed to be in my bed for the next few nights. Win-win.

The light ahead turns yellow. I’m expecting Sebastian to stop, because there’s plenty of time. Instead he slams his foot on the gas and the engine roars as it kicks into high gear. I nearly choke on my mouthful of Dr Pepper as we sail through the intersection on a red light, earning blasts of angry horns as Sebastian swerves around a turning car.

Not until we’ve slowed down does he ask, “Are you okay?”

I turn to glare at him. “I’m fantastic.”

His steely look breaks for just a second with a tiny smirk, but he doesn’t say anything else.

I’m a deep sleeper. Once I’m out, I’m out for the night. But I’m not used to sharing a bed with anyone, or having anyone in my room while I sleep, period. I guess that’s why I keep waking up through the night. I’m usually draped across Sebastian’s body—an arm here, a leg there. This bed is only a double, and while I’m small, Sebastian takes up well over half, lying on his back.

But tonight, when my eyes crack open at three a.m., Sebastian isn’t even lying beside me. He’s settled in front of the window on the wooden chair that normally sits in the corner—a creaky, narrow antique that groans under the slightest weight—with one foot resting on the windowsill, an arm draped over his knee. His hard gaze is locked on the street beyond the billowy white eyelet lace curtain where he has pushed it aside.

I remain still and study him—his long muscular body, the faint streetlight streaming in highlighting the curves and hard edges. He’s pulled on his briefs, much to my dismay, as I would have had a great view of all of him from this angle. As it is, I can still see my detailed work on his torso, which I find myself loving more and more each time he lets me tend to it.

“I know you’re awake.”

My heart jumps at the sound of his deep voice cutting into the silence, but then I smile. “How do you know?”

“Your breathing changed.”

“You’ve been listening to me breathe? Why?”

“Because I like the sound of it. It’s peaceful.”

He hasn’t turned from the window yet, so I continue my unabashed study of him. “How do you stay in such great shape?”

“I work out almost every day.”

“You haven’t the last couple of days.”

“No.” The corners of his mouth twitch. “I’ve been too busy.”