Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Sinead passes by with a tablet, their attention fixed on the screen.
“Sinead,” I whisper-yell, hoping they hear.
They stop and turn, those hazel eyes on me through the gap in the door.
“Yeah?” Their brows jump in surprise.
“Can you…” I hate this. I hate every syllable of it. “I need help. With the dress.”
Without hesitation, they nod. “Give me a sec.”
The door closes as I wait.
Moments later, there’s a soft knock before Sinead slips inside, the space suddenly too small for two people. They’re taller than me. Most people are. But they move carefully, aware of tight spaces and tighter situations.
“Turn around.”
My hands grip the corner of the counter as I turn my back to them.
Their fingers find the first clip. “I wish I could tell you that this is going to get better, but from what I hear, you can usually sniff out a lie better than most.”
The second clip releases. Air hits my spine.
“I guess."
“Ivy?” They tilt their head slightly.
I pivot into them. Tattoos decorate their skin, peeking up beneath their collar. Sharp features, soft lips. They’re attractive, and I wonder how they found the job they’re doing.
“Yeah?” I ask, sounding more confident than I feel.
They smile, but it doesn’t reach their eyes. “Hang in there.”
Sinead slips out, and I’m alone in the cubicle, my dress pooled at my feet.
I never wanted marriage. I never wanted love. Love was disposable and fragile, something that bent until it broke. But I always imagined my real wedding would be different, even if I couldn’t see myself marrying. I knew deep down that if that day came, where Ivanya Dubois was scribbled across a marriage certificate, the man would have to be an unstoppable force. Someone vicious enough to rip through every wall I spent years building, but gentle enough to touch the rawest parts of my fucked-up soul.
I guess in one way, that’s Asher. But in so many ways… it’s not.
I slip out of the door and find my seat, a row behind Asher and Sinead. I wish Atlas was here to break the ice.
Flipping open my phone, I swipe through the notifications and land on Instagram. I hesitate, my thumb hovering over his face. I never unfollowed him. I could never bring myself to.
Did he unfollow me?
The pettiness of even thinking that makes me want to check myself into emotional contamination rehab. I swipe back out of the app and reach into my bag to find my earpods.
Putting one in each ear, I tap on Spotify and shuffle on a playlist, resting my head against the window.
Asher is alive.
Any chance of me being remotely happy about this is squashed by the obvious. I fucking shot him.
My eyes land on him and my stomach drops, because he’s already looking. Seconds stretch and my chest pulls tighter with each one, a slow building pressure, but neither of us looks away.
Finally, I rip my eyes away from him and skip the song.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into.
CHAPTER
THREE
ASHER
I had two options when I got out of Dovecrest, but only one ever stuck. Ivanya Dubois would fucking pay. All I had to do was not feel her.
We landed an hour ago, and I made it my mission to put as much distance between us as humanly possible.
Snow crunches under my board. I shift my weight, scrolling through photos I should have deleted months ago.
Ivy on the chairlift, hood pulled low. Ivy at the bonfire, firelight turning her skin gold while she pretended not to watch me. Ivy in my bed, hair fanned across the pillow, lips swollen, looking at me the way only I got to see.
I stop on that one, zooming in on her face. Fuck that. This is gonna fuck me right up, so I swipe to the next photo.
Us on Mount Crow, me slightly behind her, both our feet clipped into our boards. I don’t remember who took it. Punk, maybe. Or Luce.
Swipe.
Wearing my jacket, she frowns up at the camera. She looked cute as fuck, even if she didn’t listen to me when I told her to bring a coat. I was mid-interview with a broadcaster, hearing her teeth chatter beside me. I stripped it off without thinking, wrapping it around her shoulders. Like she was already mine.
She was.
She is.
Because till death do us part.
The ring on my finger catches the early morning light. Platinum, simple, an almost match to the one I forced onto her hand while she stared at me like I was a ghost. I may as well be. Fucking crawled all the way back from the grave she buried me in, and now we’re not just gonna play house. We’re gonna fucking burn it all the way down.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. Simpler times.
I scroll back to the first photo. The chairlift. Ivy’s smile, small and reluctant, annoyed at herself for giving me even that much. I said something stupid about her being too short to reach the safety bar. She elbowed me in the ribs, called me an asshole, and I felt more alive in that single moment than I had in years.