Love You Better (Better Love 1)

“Shut the fuck up, Preston,” Kelley growls, and Preston laughs.

“I had her first. Can’t change that.” Preston spits again. “Next time you fuck her, remember I was there first.”

Kelley breaks Jesse’s hold and throws another punch at Preston, making him stumble backward. Preston runs at Kelley, crashing his big body into him, and just as

they’re about to get into it again, the cops arrive. Someone must have called them when I was screaming for help, and when the officers reach the top of the stairs, they break up the fight and arrest both Kelley and Preston.

“Ivy, call my mom,” Kelley says as the officer cuffs his hands and leads him outside. “Tell her to meet me at the police station near campus.”

“Okay,” I croak.

“It’s going to be fine,” he says as they put him into the back of the police car, and then they’re driving away.

As much as I want to crumple to the ground and cry, I have to focus on what I can control. I need to get to Kelley. I need to get to Preston. I can’t let Preston get away with this, and this time, I’ve got a plan.

The wait time for an Uber is too long, and Bailey isn’t answering her phone. Jesse is drunk and can’t drive, so I dart into the house to find Scotty. The music has stopped and people are leaving since the cops crashed the party, but I manage to spot him on the deck. When I explain what happened, he hands me the keys to his truck and wishes me luck.

Then I rush back inside to find the jerk in the Cubs cap.

22

I listen to Bailey and Ivy joke in the kitchen, laughing about something in a book they’re buddy reading, but I can’t focus on anything except Ivy’s huge smile and her deep dimple.

My girl is always gorgeous, but she’s even more so when she’s happy.

In the two weeks since I was arrested, things have been a chaotic whirlwind of action.

When Ivy told me about what happened to her at the graduation party, I was angry for her. I hurt for her. I wanted justice for her. I wanted to do everything I could to help her heal.

But when we discovered that Preston was the one who hurt her?

I wanted to fucking kill for her.

I wanted to make Preston pay for the pain he’d caused, the damage he’d done, and the time I’d lost with Ivy.

He’s actually really fucking lucky the cops showed up when they did, or I might have done far worse than three cracked ribs and a fractured cheekbone. I can’t claim the busted nose—that’s Ivy’s work.

I was contemplating ways to hold Preston accountable for what he did to Ivy when my parents showed up at the station. I was prepared to do any and everything necessary to make sure he was thrown in jail, but it turned out Ivy didn’t need my help.

My girl came strolling into the police station with three different cell phone videos of the fight, and all three incriminate Preston harshly. Then a fourth video was leaked online, and victims of Preston’s from Stanford started coming forward.

It doesn’t look good for him, and I fucking hope he gets everything coming to him.

Ivy’s been coping surprisingly well, all things considered. She had nightmares almost every night the first week after the fight, but they’ve decreased in severity, and her therapist has scheduled her for weekly sessions for the next two months just to be safe. She’s chatting in her online support group daily, and she’s even got me joining in on morning mantras and breathing exercises. These symptoms may never go away, but I’m going to be there to help her in any way she needs. Ivy doesn’t hide from her scars, and she doesn’t let them define her. I’m just in fucking awe of her.

From my seat on the girls’ couch, after two exhausting weeks, I feel like I can finally relax. Their apartment is decorated with tiny paper hand turkeys, the table is set with placemats that Jesse knitted, and the savory smells of butter and gravy and something else delicious float through the air. We’re celebrating our second ever Friendsgiving dinner, and there is nowhere else I’d rather be.

“What about Piercenbark?” Jesse blurts randomly from where he’s stretched out on the floor, and I bark out a laugh.

“Gross,” Bailey calls from the kitchen. “Cool it with the ship names, J. They’re just...bad.”

“Kivy wasn’t that bad,” Jesse pouts, and Bailey laughs as she and Ivy join us in the living room.

“Kivy is terrible. And so is Ivelley and Kellenbark and all the others you’ve come up with.”

As Bailey and Jesse get into the same argument they’ve been having for the last month, Ivy tiptoes behind me and leans over the couch. She slides her hands down my chest before whispering in my ear. “Come with me.”

I’m out of my seat and following her into her bedroom in milliseconds.