Fall Into Forever (19 page)

“What did he look like?” one of the guys says. The girl with them is dialing 9-1-1.

“Um…I…About this tall—” She holds her hand an inch or two over her head.

“Old? Young?”

“I don’t know. A…a student, I think.”

The two guys charge down the hallway and out the door.

Someone must’ve told Bryce, because when we get to the first floor, he and Holly are running toward us.

“Oh my God, Maddy!” Holly runs up to us and flings her arms around her friend, helping her onto a nearby bench.

I step away just as several police cars with flashing lights pull up outside the dorm. Hardly any time passes before a policewoman is interviewing Maddy, and I’m giving my statement. Various security officials spread out to search the campus, including at least one officer with a German Shepherd on a long leash.

By the time I get back to my room, it’s after midnight. Maddy was taken to the hospital to make sure she was okay. Holly and a few other friends went with her. Bryce and the other RAs went room to room to make sure we keep our doors locked, and Campus Security has an officer stationed in our foyer.

Even though I’m dead tired and should really go to bed, I know I’ll never be able to sleep. The events of the night keep replaying in my head in a continuous fast-forward loop. My head throbs. I can tell I’m on the verge of a massive headache. I should’ve gone to the doctor for a refill on my medication. At least I don’t have to work tomorrow.

I slump down on the bed and that’s when my hands start to shake. I held myself together earlier but can feel myself unraveling now. My teeth are chattering. I’m freezing cold. As I lie there wrapped in my quilt with my knees pulled to my chest, I hear a dinging sound. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my computer. The chat window with Jon is still open.

Jon_KREX: Ivy? Are you back?

The time stamp indicates he typed that over an hour ago. He’s probably not still at the station, but I try anyway.

IOTR: Jon? U there?

A few minutes pass and he doesn’t reply. He must’ve gone home. I grab my phone and debate whether to text him or not. I want to talk to someone, so I take my chances.

Hey, Jon, are you there?

Yes.
And then,
Thanks for coming to the KREX chat room tonight. That was fun.

A knot forms in my stomach. It sounds like he’s talking to one of his Parishioners
.

Jon?

Yeah?

My hands are really shaking now. I’m not sure I can type.

Ivy?

I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been able to hold myself together until now. Tears are stinging the backs of my eyes.

Ivy? Everything all right?

Not really.

What’s wrong?

Someone was attacked. The police came.

When? Where?

Before I can text back, my phone rings.

“What the fuck, Ivy. Who? When? In the dorm?” Something crashes in the background.

I feel an odd weightlessness. Like I’m outside my body looking down at myself. “What was that noise?”

“Just my guitar. Goddamn it, Ivy, what happened?”

I need to stay focused. Jon is asking me a question. “A girl. In my dorm. I found her. Down in the laundry room. She’ll be okay. I…I got to her before he…”

My hands are shaking even more. I almost drop my phone.

“Where are you?” His voice is strong and commanding. A door slams on his end of the line.

“In my room.”

“Is Cassidy home yet?”

How does he…? Then I remember telling him earlier that she wasn’t here. “No, she went home for the weekend.”

He curses under his breath. By the way he’s breathing, I can tell he’s running. “Get your shit together. I’m coming for you.”

“What? No, Jon. I’m…I’m fine. I just…wanted to talk to someone. I came back to my room and—”

“You can talk to me in person in five minutes.”

“No, you totally don’t need to come. I’m fine. They have Campus Security stationed downstairs. They’ve got everything under control.”

“I’m serious, Ivy. You’d better be ready or I’ll pack your shit for you.”

* * *

Jon

I pull up to her building less than five minutes later and spot her through the glass doors. She’s with a guy and a girl in the lobby.

I kill the bike’s engine and sprint to the entrance. She comes out to meet me and waves goodbye to her friends. She’s wearing pajama bottoms and a PSU sweatshirt, and she’s holding a pillow and her backpack. I leap up the steps, crashing into her at the top and pulling her into my arms.

“Jon,” she gasps, dropping the backpack and pillow.

For a split second, as the momentum propels us against the glass, I recall her panicked reaction back at the bar when we were in a similar position. I don’t want to scare her or hurt her, like someone else has obviously done to her in the past. I’d die a thousand deaths if I ever hurt her.

She clings desperately, like I’m a life raft. The only one who can help her.

Her reaction shatters something inside me that I’ve been trying for weeks to ignore. Something I’ve been denying even exists. I want to be here for her. To be her rock, her support. I want to be everything she needs.

When I heard what happened, I couldn’t get here fast enough. And now, with her in my arms, I think about what might have been. What if it was her and not some other girl who was attacked? And then my head goes into a really dark place. What if I lost her?

“God, Ivy.” The words stick to the back of my throat. I can hardly speak as the gravity of the situation hits me hard.

She sniffs and grabs my hair tighter. I think she might be crying though there isn’t any sobbing. It’s like she’s keeping it tucked deep inside and won’t let it out.

“I gotcha, babe. Nothing’s going to happen to you now.”

“I know,” she whispers in my ear. And then, very quietly, “I’m glad you came for me.”

Her hair is sticking to her wet cheeks, but my mouth finds hers anyway. I roughly push the strands away, until it’s just my lips against hers. I kiss her too hard. Too desperate. She smells sweet and tastes even better. It’s as if I’ve been thirsty all my life but didn’t know it, and now I finally have water.

Someone whistles from across the street. Ivy stiffens in my arms, her lips still pressed to mine.

“Yo, dudes,” a male voice calls out. “Get a room.”

There’s a burst of laughter and someone else says, “That’s some serious goddamn PDA.”

“Yeah. Another minute and they’d be going at it against the wall.”

“Why’d you stop them, idiot? I’d have watched that.”

Reluctantly, I release her and pick up her things.

A Campus Security officer rounds the corner on foot and beams a flashlight in our faces. “What’s going on?”

“I’m picking her up and taking her to my place.”

“Is that correct?” the officer confirms with Ivy.

“Yes.” Her voice rings out in the cool night air, her breath fogging in front of our faces.

I grab her hand and head toward the bike. “Have you found the guy?” I ask the officer.

“Not yet, but we’re still looking.” He heads across the street to talk to the group of guys, then continues his patrol.

“Jon, I—”

I touch a finger to her lips. I can tell she’s tired. “We can talk about this later. I need to get you home.”

chapter fourteen

The very first moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone.

~ Jane Austen

Jon

I survey the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink as we enter the kitchen. “Sorry for the mess. I’d have cleaned if I had known…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I clear away someone’s soup bowl and the crust of a sandwich. “Care for a nightcap before we retire?” I use my best British accent, hoping to make her laugh and take her mind off what just happened, but it doesn’t work.

She looks dazed, like she’s in shock. “Tea? Hot chocolate?”

“Either one. I have both.”

She purses her lips. “Got any marshmallows?”

“Nope. But I do have whipped cream.”

“Okay, then I’ll have tea, but only if it doesn’t have any caffeine.”

Now that’s one I’ve never heard before. “You drink tea with whipped cream?”

“No, I hate whipped cream, but I only drink hot chocolate with marshmallows. Since you don’t have any, I’ll just have tea.”

I grab the tea container from a cupboard and slide it across the island. “How can anyone hate whipped cream? I’m pretty sure it’s against the law.”

The smile she flashes lights me up inside. “Guess you’ll have to throw me in jail then.” She thumbs through the teabags like files in a hanging folder, chooses one, and hands it to me. “I can’t stand the texture of whipped cream.”

I fill two mugs with water and put them in the microwave. “So I take it you’ve never done whip hits.”

She frowns. “I don’t even know what that is.”

I grab the whipped cream from the refrigerator. “Watch and learn.” I shake the canister a few times, tilt my head back and spray it directly into my mouth.

“Can’t say that I’ve ever done a whip hit,” she says, laughing. “My mom always bought the kind in the tub.”

I lick my lips. “The fake stuff? Well, you haven’t lived until you’ve had a whip hit with real whipped cream. Here.” I lean over the counter and hold the nozzle near her mouth. She tries to take it from me, but I pull it away. “No. I’ll do it.”

She narrows her eyes, looking very skeptical.

“I promise I’m not going to spray you or anything.”

“But can you be trusted? That’s the real question.” She points to the tattoo on the back of her neck. “Remember?”

How can I forget? I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. How’s that?”

“Ha,” she laughs. “Somehow I don’t picture you as a Boy Scout.”

My mind flashes to the scrapbook Mom made for me, with its quilted cover and various buttons and charms glued to each page. At least four or five are devoted to my time as a Cub Scout. She spent months going through the pictures she’d saved on her computer and phone, getting them printed, then crafting each page, but she never got a chance to finish it. “Well, I was. So you can trust me.”

“Famous last words.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I trust you. Hit me. But not too much.” She leans forward and opens her mouth.

I can imagine something else slipping between those pretty lips. Willing my mind out of the gutter, I press the nozzle and fill her mouth with swirls of cream.

“Mmmm,” she says, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk. “That is good.”

“See? What did I tell you? And to think you’ve been missing out on this your whole life.”

“It’s a travesty,” she agrees. I give her another hit.

“You’ve never lived until you’ve done that in the store.”

“In the grocery store? No way.”

“Yes.” I tell her how my friend and I used to go to the Fresh and Easy Market when my mom and I lived near Camp Pendleton. I’d keep an eye out for the manager while he took a hit and he’d do the same for me.

She laughs.

Normally, I don’t like talking about when I was a kid. But with Ivy, for some reason, my past and everything in it doesn’t seem nearly as dark.

The microwave beeps and I pull out the two mugs of hot water.

“Is it too late to change my order to hot chocolate?” she asks, licking the last of the whipped cream from her lips.

“Not at all.” I grab two packets and dump them into the cups.

“You mentioned Camp Pendleton. Was your dad in the military when you were little?”

Ha. “My father is the last person who’d join the military.”

“What if there was a zombie apocalypse and all the remaining people needed to become soldiers to defend the human race? Would he join then?”

Where does she come up with this stuff? I shake my head, laughing. “Yes, even then he’d figure out a way to avoid it.”

“Hmmm. Then he’d probably be one of the first to be infected.”

“Let’s just say he’s the ultimate narcissist. He’d never do anything where he had to be a team player or a small cog in a greater machine. He needs to be the one on top. The one getting all the glory and attention. If you don’t fit into his world or serve a purpose, he has no need for you.”

“And by you, you mean
you?
” Her tone is soft.

I exhale a long, slow breath. “Pretty much. He left my mother when she was pregnant with me.”

“Before you were even born? Wow, Jon, I’m sorry.”

“Yep. Told her he wasn’t interested in being a father.” I stir the chocolate, add some whipped cream, and hand one to her.

She swirls it around, but doesn’t take a sip. She’s chewing the inside of her lip like she’s trying to figure something out. “Do you have a relationship with him now?”