“Why don’t you girls grab a seat at the bar, and I’ll meet you there in a minute,” Brady says. “My buddy and I have something to discuss. Tell the bartender to put your drinks on my tab.”
“Don’t be too long,” the blonde purrs with a giggle. The two stand, head to the bar and I shake my head at Brady. “Aren’t you getting tired of that?”
“Don’t be mad that I’m getting laid and you’re not.”
“Have at it, my friend,” I say, even though I get the sense that he’s getting a little played out. Marriage would look good on him, but his parents’ loveless relationship is likely scaring him off.
“Speaking of getting laid, you—”
I hold my hand up to cut him off. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
He sits back in his chair and picks up his beer. “Aren’t you getting tired of living a life that makes you miserable?”
“I’m not miserable.” It’s a lie. I am miserable. “I love my daughter.”
“I know you do. But that’s not what I mean. You don’t have to marry Ivy. It’s not the 1950s, for Christ’s sake.”
“My mother is a minister, Brady,” I say for the umpteenth time. I am so tired of this same old argument. “There’s no escaping it.”
“I love your mother and honestly I don’t care if she’s the pope. She shouldn’t be pushing this on you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You can still go after the girl you want. Jesus, Landon. I see the way you two are together. The chemistry, the way you both look at each other. Even after all this time. That’s the real deal, my friend.”
I take a long pull from my bottle. “Why me? Why not you?” I ask, bringing up another subject that we’ve beaten to death. “Ivy never paid any attention to me until I showed interest in Ella. Why did she even climb into my bed that night?”
“Those are questions for Ivy,” he says. He’s right, and I’ve never really asked too many questions. She was sick for nearly her whole pregnancy, and now she has post-partum. We never really talked, and truthfully, once she got me, it seemed like she no longer wanted me. Maybe she just wanted to secure her future with an NFL player, which once again leads me back to Brady. He was the kind of guy she went for, but he never seemed to want to hook up with her. I’m not even sure if he likes her, and he once tossed out the theory that she was jealous of Ella—wanted what her sister had.
I still can’t quite wrap my brain around that. Ella always stood in the shadows for her sister, always let Ivy shine, she fucking stole lipstick for her, for Christ’s sake. Sisters care for one another, stand up for each other, and always want what’s best for the other one, right? That’s what my sisters do. That’s what Ella does, but I’ve never seen Ivy stand up for Ella. All I know is Ivy wasn’t as liked as I thought she was, not like Ella. Yeah, everyone likes Ella. Me, though. I don’t like Ella. Nope.
I fucking love her, and I’m so fucking tired of doing the right thing, which doesn’t feel like the right thing at all.
So what the hell are you going to do about that, asshole?
21
Ella
“Hey sweet girl,” I coo to Piper as I put her in an adorable red and white dress, with an equally adorable Santa’s hat. I’m going with Ivy today to the pier to get Piper’s pictures taken with Santa for the big Christmas in July festival, and I just love the outfit Ivy purchased for her.
I check the time as Ivy comes downstairs, dressed in a sexy little cocktail dress that showcases all her curves. Over the last month, she’s been working hard to lose her baby weight, and there are times like now, and I feel like crap for saying this, but I can’t help but think her mental state of mind is just fine, and she’s taking advantage of me. Ugh, I feel so horrible for thinking that, and really I’ve never had a child and don’t really know what she’s going through. One thing I do know is that her dress is a little over the top for visiting Santa.
“She’s all ready,” I say and scoop little miss Piper into my arms. I adjust her hat over her abundance of red hair, and she sticks