“Call Gray, Ivy.”

“I’ve texted him.” A stab of pain hits my heart. “He’s been distant. Doing his own thing.” Just like I asked him to do. And all I can think of is Gray out, meeting girls, moving on.

Fi sighs. “Yeah, not the same. Call and tell him that you’ve been an idiot. A big ol’ flaming idiot—”

“Hey!”

“And that you want him bad.”

My chest clenches as my pulse spikes. “I don’t—”

“You do. Lie to me if you want, but don’t lie to yourself, Iv.”

Grimacing, I press my cold fingers to my eyes. They feel too hot. Prickles are forming behind my lids. “It’s for the best. Us cooling things down. I’m leaving for London anyway.”

“And yet you told me you don’t want to work with Mom. So why go away? Stay here for a while, Ivy. I know I’d love it. Dad would too.”

“Which bring us to the fact that he’s going to work with Dad,” I say lamely. “He wasn’t happy about the idea of me being with Gray.”

Fi snorts. “So the fuck what? Have you ever considered that Dad might be more worried about you getting with that hot-ass mountain of man sex than the possibility of losing Gray as a client?”

“What? No.”

“Oh, please. He’s still our dad. And he’s never liked us going out with anyone. You just made it easy for him because you never really cared before.”

I clench the back of my aching neck. “Look, it doesn’t matter what Dad thinks. Or where I live. Not really. Gray… Shit, Fi. He’s my best friend. What if I tell him I want to take it further, be exclusive, and he doesn’t? Or if we do get together and it ends? I can’t lose him.” But I already am, and it’s killing me.

Fiona’s silence is like a condemnation.

“Why do you think it will end?” she finally asks.

“Oh, come on,” I whisper brokenly. “He’s a football star and will soon be an even bigger one. The odds are stacked against us.”

“Not all men cheat.”

I flinch, her words like a punch to my chest. I’d meant that our lives were on divergent paths, and Gray doesn’t even believe in relationships.

“I don’t think he’ll do that,” I say.

“But you fear it.”

Suddenly I don’t have the strength to stand. My ass hits the stool hard, and I stare off, not seeing my kitchen but the past.

Fi and I witnessed the fights. Heard the phone calls when Mom tried to find out where he was. The hideous sound of Mom crying behind her bedroom door when Dad didn’t come home. I’d been ten when they divorced. Even then, I’d vowed never to let a man do that to me.

Did I really think Gray would be like Dad? Did I put that on him?

“Shit.” The sides of my throat hurt, as if a cold hand is squeezing it. I lick my dry lips, wanting Gray more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Everything is clear and pure when he’s with me. Without him, it’s all static.

“Call him, Ivy,” Fi whispers into the phone. “Let him in.”

My voice sounds like a frog’s when I can speak. “I’ve got to go.”

By the time I hang up with Fi and dial Gray’s number, my fingers are shaking. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. Come back to me. I need you might scare him. I was a stupid ass is probably better.

But he doesn’t answer. It goes straight to voice mail. And when I text, telling him that I need to talk to him, he doesn’t respond.

* * *

Gray

“He’s not eating, Drew. It’s beginning to freak me out.”

Anna’s stage voice drifts through my fog, but I don’t respond to it. I can’t. I’m a goddamn mess. I tried being the old me. Crashed and burned. Couldn’t even keep up the pretense of Happy-Go-Lucky Gray for more than five minutes with that chick at the party before I fled. Can’t get my mind focused on football. Can’t do anything but bleed inwardly.

My chest hurts, my throat is closed, and I keep replaying every word Ivy uttered when she demolished my heart, keep visualizing that evil-as-fuck picture of her dancing with another guy.

“Maybe he’s coming down with something,” Drew answers before giving my foot a kick under the table. “You feeling all right, Gray-Gray?”

“Yeah,” I get out, because he won’t stop if I don’t respond. “Great.”

It was a mistake coming to Drew and Anna’s house for dinner. It is freezing cold and raining out, not the best night for driving. But I needed the distraction their happy chatter could bring. Now I just want to leave without any more questions being thrown my way.

“Well, it can’t be the food,” Anna says, getting up to clear her and Drew’s empty plates before taking my full one. “My lasagna is killer.” She’s not lying. Anna doesn’t make the heavy American version of lasagna, but a masterpiece of thin, delicate noodles between layers of béchamel and Italian sausage. She gave me the recipe, and I’m never going back to the old way. It’s a shame I can’t stomach one bite tonight.

“So I’m guessing no humble pie for desert, huh, babe?” Drew teases, giving Anna’s ass a playful swat.

“If you ever want pie again,” Anna warns, “you’ll eat those words, bud.”

Drew hauls her onto his lap where she happily settles in. “Now, Jones, you and I both know that prohibiting me from eating pie hurts you more—”