Divided (Unguarded #2) - Ivy Stone Page 0,4

shit if I walk away without trying to help. But I don’t tell her that. I give her something else instead.

Hope.

“Because you’re so used to your own opinions of yourself, on your life, on everything. That you don’t realize just how amazing you might be to a stranger.”

Her bottom lip trembles as she stares at me, eyes wide with surprise and I prepare for the waterworks to begin again, but they don’t come. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Her lips part. “That was really sweet considering you’re kind of a jerk.”

My head tilts back and a deep throated laugh erupts—albeit not a time for it. I haven’t pissed the girl off. She just stares at me, studying my face.

She angles her head to the side and peers up at me with big round eyes as deep blue as the ocean. “What’s your name?”

I hesitate. My response lodging at the back of my throat. Somehow she’s asking me so much more than my name with just a look.

“Roamyn,” I reply.

She juts out her hand and adorns me with a small smile, one I won’t forget anytime soon. It’s soft and sweet, kind of like her. And the last thing I expected to see.

“It’s nice to meet you, Roamyn. I’m Ali.”

Quietness engulfs us as we sit and watch where the river meets the sky. We’d spent hours talking, nothing specific enough for the inner cop in me to go on a rampage, but enough for me to feel her pain and want to wish it all away. The quiet is a welcome pause, not an awkward one or uncomfortably so. We just sit, saying nothing, but at the same time, it feels just as therapeutic as talking everything out. I glance over at Ali and back and realize this time with her—a complete stranger—is the most time I’ve spent actually talking to a female for longer than I can remember. No expectations. No strings attached. I could talk to this girl all night and never see her again. It’s the best kind of therapy, and oddly enough, I’ve found myself enjoying her company.

The night darkens as clouds steal the light of the stars. Looking at Ali, the moon shines down on her, casting a white streak across her face, baring the vulnerability written all over her face. She’s calmer but still stiff, and I wonder if she feels the same way I do about being here, up on this bridge. There’s a lot to be said about sitting alone watching the world pass by.

Her voice shimmers through the air, breaking the silence. “Do you ever wonder how it’s possible to feel so alone in a city so full of people?”

I answer without thought. “All the time.”

“I’m so lost,” she croaks out, her voice breaking. Before I realize what I’m doing, my hand rests on her shoulder. She turns her head toward me and her eyes flicker an unreadable expression to where my hand sits. Confusion? Shock? Maybe a little of both. I curse under my breath and yank my hand away. Shifting in my seat, I give her an awkward smile.

Fuck. Shouldn’t have touched her.

I rub the shadow on my jaw and hope I haven’t fucked everything up. “You’re not lost. You just haven’t found yourself yet.”

Her eyes gloss over and tears begin to build. “I don’t want to find myself. I don’t want to remember.”

Her words sink in, beneath my skin until they’re squeezing my heart with an unforgettable ache. I can’t tear my gaze away from her. I can’t manage a comforting word to leave my mouth. Instead, I fall deep into the eyes before me, begging for the story behind them. I recognize the torture in her voice, the agony in her eyes. They are familiar, like the ones staring back at me in the mirror every day. Maybe not to the same extent as hers but shit, what I wouldn’t do to never see that look again.

A lump clogs my throat and I struggle to swallow past it as memories and old wounds surface with the mention of hers. My best friend’s advice, from a drunken night when I blurted out everything from my past, comes into my head. Mason always knows what to say, and right now nothing else fits more perfectly than the shit he spun me that night.

“So don’t. Walk a new path and forget about the past. Find a new you. Don’t search for the old you because you’re not her anymore. You’re not