“You were,” Cassian points out with a smirk. “We all didn’t want to get involved.”
“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have that sexy scar, would you?” I reply immediately.
Cassian snorts and his fingers calm against the table. “It’s a decent theory.”
“But only a theory,” Bradley reminds us. “If you’re right, Ruslan, then we have one glaring issue.”
“Which is?” I turn to face him, as does everyone else.
“Camden is dead. Why is Ivy still a target?”
My lips part but no immediate reason comes to mind. That’s the one piece that doesn’t fit. If this is about the drugs, then Ivy’s life being up for grabs makes perfect sense because each family thinks she’s an insider for the other. If the drugs are collateral, then her life being on the line makes no sense.
“We’re missing something,” Cassian says, his brow knitting together, and his fingers resume drumming. “It’s almost as if?—”
He falls silent as the door to the room clicks open. Warm orange light spills forth, creating a soft glow around Ivy who stands in the doorway like a shadow.
Her hair hangs in damp clumps around her hair with a few lingering soap suds still clinging to her scalp. The soft sweater and joggers she threw on turn dark gray as they soak up the water still lingering on her skin. Fresh out of the shower and dressed in a hurry, she stands there barefoot with a light flickering in her left hand. It takes me a second to realize it’s her phone.
“Ruslan.” When she speaks, her voice is shattered as if she’s trying to speak through something sharp in her throat.
My heart lurches in alarm and I slide from the table, tripping over the chair that rests between me and her. “Ivy? What’s wrong?”
She lifts her head, her eyes sparkling with heavy tears. Those tears roll slowly down her cheeks as I reach her, my stomach twisting itself into knots.
“My mom died.”
28
IVY
July is the hottest month on record according to the weather app I read this morning.
Not for me.
I’m cold.
I’ve been cold for the past week and a half ever since I got the call. A nervous nurse stumbled over her words, telling me my mom had run into a complication. Her heart gave out.
She passed away just after ten at night.
I’ve been cold ever since.
At my feet lies the black marble gravestone paid for by Ruslan. Gold ink swirls across the marble, displaying the message that took me five days to decide on.
Here lies Jane Meyer, beloved wife and mother.
A heart that touched many. Until we meet again.
Just underneath, another line of text reads,
Here lies Camden Meyer, beloved husband and father
A life well lived, missed by all.
I don’t know what strings Ruslan pulled to get my father’s ashes from the NYPD morgue, but burying them alongside my mother doesn’t bring me the peace I hoped.
They’re both gone.
