Surviving Ice (Burying Water 4)

Her shoulders sag with an exhale of relief. “Yeah, you are.” She checks her phone. “To Black Rabbit, with me. I have to see what they’ve done to the place.”

THIRTY-THREE

IVY

“How bad do you think it is?” I ask, watching the technicolor of buildings pass by.

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

I sigh. “I don’t know.” Fausto phoned me last night to say they would be finishing up this morning and that Black Rabbit—or, as he jokingly called it, “White Rabbit,” much to my annoyance—would be ready. I’d love to hire him to paint Ned’s house, too, but we don’t have the money after I bought the materials to repair the walls.

Sebastian pulls up alongside the curb, where the same rabid rabbit that stared down at me when I was five stares down at me now. I can’t imagine it not being there, but I guess that day will come.

“I’m just going to stick my head in and see what it looks like,” I mumble, hopping out of his car. I step onto the sidewalk with my stomach churning. After what Bobby said about my paint color choice, I’m dreading this, and I don’t necessarily want Sebastian witnessing my breakdown.

“Remember, this is for resale value, not immortalizing your uncle,” Sebastian says, rounding the front of the car. Ignoring my request completely.

I shoot a glare at him, but he ignores that, too, slipping a hand onto the small of my back. He still has that cool, aloof bodyguard aura about him, but more and more he’s taking any opportunity he can to touch me. I guess spending the last few days and nights together has helped inspire that. Whatever the reason, every time he’s near, I find myself leaning into him, craving his touch.

Even now, when I can sense that something is still bothering him. I catch glimpses of it—a furrowed brow, a distant look. He’s distracted. As distracted as a guy like Sebastian, who takes in everything, can be anyway.

The door to the shop is propped open. I hold my breath and step across the threshold. The shock of the glaring, cold white hits me around the same time as the paint odor. “Oh my God, what have I done?” I whisper under my breath, staring at the pristine walls.

Black Rabbit is officially gone. The only place I’ve ever truly thought of as home has vanished, buried under several coats of chalky white. I may as well tear the sign out front down now.

A painter is on his knees in the corner, brushing the thick baseboards with yet more white. It only makes the worn, honey-colored floors look dingier. I want to yell at him to stop ruining the place. I want to find Fausto and scream at him, tell him that he was wrong about this paint color, Ghost or Ice, it doesn’t matter what.

Sebastian’s soothing hand around the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing my skin back and forth, stays me.

Fausto rounds the corner from the back hallway, brush in hand, coveralls smeared.

“So? What do you—”

“I hate it.” I can’t keep the venom from my voice.

He snorts. “You’re joking, right? This looks like a whole new place!”

“That’s the problem.”

He frowns at me, like he thinks I’m crazy. He doesn’t understand.

No one understands. Everyone has already forgotten, moved on from Ned.

Everyone but me.

“When do you think you’ll be finished?” Sebastian asks, taking over the conversation.

“By noon.”

“Thank you. She’ll be fine.”

I’m both relieved and irritated with Sebastian for speaking on my behalf. He’s wrong. I will not be fine. But I don’t want to have to explain that to anyone.

With one last wary look at me, Fausto and the guy working on the baseboards disappear into the back.

“This kind of change was inevitable,” Sebastian says.

I pull away from his hands and scan the space again. “Then why does it feel so wrong?”

We stand in the middle of the empty, lifeless room for a long moment, until finally he says, “Maybe painting it isn’t the issue.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s the issue.” I sneer at the empty white walls. Something about plain white walls drives me crazy. I need color and personality—art.

“Maybe selling this place is the issue. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not you too,” I grumble. Which reminds me, I need to talk to Ian again.

He chuckles. “You made the decision to sell and leave San Francisco when you were upset. You made it so you could run.”

“You say that like you know me.” He’s right, though.

“But maybe that’s not the right decision for you anymore,” he goes on, ignoring my sarcasm. “Maybe, deep down, you want to stay here. Maybe you have a reason to stay now.”

“What would that reason be?” Is this Sebastian’s way of asking me not to leave San Francisco because he’s here? Because if he is . . .

I desperately want that to be the reason.

I’ve known this guy for days, and yet I feel like I’ve been through so much with him. Is this what happens with his clients, too? Do they form hard-and-fast bonds with their bodyguard when he’s shuttling them around, responsible for their well-being, protecting them from harm, spending long periods of time with them? That I’ve just been through a traumatic event only amplifies my dependence on him, I’m sure.

And it also probably doesn’t help that I’m sleeping with him.

I sure as hell hope he doesn’t usually do that with his clients, too.

I’m definitely guessing he doesn’t ask them to go to Greece with him. That has to mean something.

Right?

This is not me. I don’t form dependencies on people, especially guys.

And yet I can’t push him away.

I sense Sebastian approaching me from behind, but I don’t turn. His hands on my hips and the feel of his rough jaw against my cheek as he leans in make me shiver.

Settling his chin on top of my head, he murmurs, “It doesn’t look bad. It’s different, yeah. A bit cold . . .”

I snort. “It’s so cold, it’s icy. I guess that’s why Fausto called it Ice. I hate it. It isn’t me.”

Sebastian hesitates, his body going slightly rigid against my back. “Then make it you. Add enough of Ivy to it to bring it back to life.”

“And then what?”

“Then keep it. Run it.” He spins me around to face him, tipping my chin up until I meet his gaze. “Stay here and make sure you really want this. You can always walk away later.”

I don’t think he’s talking about Black Rabbit right now. “I don’t know the first thing about actually running a shop, though.”

“Do you know anyone who does?”

“My cousin.” And Ian is all on board for keeping it open. “He has a place in Dublin.”

“I’m sure he’ll help you out. It can’t be that hard.” His eyes wander over the corners. “I can upgrade the security system for you. You need something better than a VCR.”

“You know how to do that, too?”

He smirks. “I’m a man of many talents.”

I take a deep breath and begin surveying the walls under a new light.

An Ivy light.

THIRTY-FOUR