fact, do it a hundred times. On your knees.”
I roll my eyes, and she laughs.
“Yes, I know. It’s hard for the big, macho stubborn guy to admit when he’s wrong. But I know Emily. She won’t give you another chance if you don’t face what you’ve done.”
We pull up to Gabe’s house, and I hide the Jeep in back.
Twisting in my seat to look at Ivy, I ignore the clucking chickens and admit what worries me.
“I feel like I’ve run out of chances with her. That the fight with Damon was the final straw.”
Sympathy floods Ivy’s expression.
“She loves you.”
“So?”
“So that’s all that matters. But you need to take a damn good look at the entire picture and figure out what went wrong. A lot of this is on you. The stuff with Damon and Mason is an issue, but not what ran her off.”
“She doesn’t want to hurt Damon-“
“Okay fine, that’s a bigger issue, but it’s not insurmountable. Maybe you should talk to Damon and make him understand that this is just how it turned out. If he loves her, he’ll want her to be happy. And if you make her happy, he won’t get in the way of that.”
She’s right, but, “I’m not good at talking. I’m much more of the type to just beat him down and tell him to accept it.”
“And look how far that’s gotten you.”
Fucking hell.
“Sorry, Ezra. But violence isn’t always the answer. I suggest you take a look in the mirror, and figure out how to fix this without it. And the first thing you need to fix is you.”
She hops out of the Jeep before I can argue. Hefting the bag of feathers up over a shoulder, she angles her chin at the cages.
“Bring the chickens. We need to get this set up before they get back.”
Huffing out a breath, I climb out and grab the first cage.
How the hell will a grand gesture fix anything?
And even more troubling than that, how will I figure out how to fix myself?
Emily
“Please, Em? Gabe’s being a major dick, and I need girl chat. So I’m going to need you to dry your tears and meet me for lunch today. I even made a reservation at your favorite restaurant.”
Rolling my eyes at that, I look at the snack wrappers and empty ice cream cartons piling up in my small wastebasket.
I won’t lie. I’ve been hiding out in my room for the past week, alternating between sleeping, crying, screaming into my pillow and eating.
Every so often I scroll through social media or watch videos online, but for the most part, I’ve been having a pity-party bender for one, barely leaving my room or talking to anybody.
Ivy has stopped by a few times in an attempt to make me open up about everything, but I refused.
Each time, she’d given up and laid down next to me, silently being there as much as she could.
I’m broken.
Much like I was after high school, but this time there’s no ringing phone I can’t answer. And while that should make things easier, it doesn’t.
What’s worse is that Ezra’s bike was in my driveway for two days because he left it behind when we drove to rescue Ivy. I didn’t break down entirely until the day I walked outside to find it gone.
He never came to the door to say anything. He simply picked it up and left without a word.
I should be happy about that, should appreciate him giving me that space. But seeing the bike gone knocked my legs out from under me, the pain lancing my body like a spear, the truth finally sinking in that this is over.
My heart and my brain are at war now, my brain saying this is what has to happen, and my heart screaming for me not to let him go. Despite the screaming, and regardless of the pain, my brain has to win in the end.
Logically, there are no solutions to our problems. I know that.
I know that.
But my heart doesn’t - or at least it won’t accept it.
That’s when I surrendered myself to my room and haven’t emerged since. Well, except to get more food, apparently, as is obvious by the trash.
Fuck...
This is pathetic.
“Fine. I’ll meet you. What time?”
“How about two? I rented an entire room so you don’t have to worry about puffy eyes and looking fabulous.”
Laughing, I grumble, “Thanks for that.”
“I’m just looking out for my bestie,” she says, but there’s something in her voice that sounds more serious than