The Friend Zone (Game On 2)

“We all screw up. Kind of think it’s a requirement of being human.”

I snort, but I’m too weak and sorry to really make a sound. “I’ve got to make this right.”

“Yeah.” Drew gives my head a tap. “But get yourself together, first. ’Cause you look like shit.”

Wiping a hand over my face, I glance back at him. He smiles, but his expression is too serious to carry it off. Lightly, I elbow his side. “Thanks. For being here.”

“Man, you know you don’t have to say that.”

I do know that. He’s the brother I wish I had instead of the fucknozzles I’ve been stuck with.

Just like that, all things circle back to the family I have left and what I’ve lost. Blinking rapidly, I grind my fists against my lips. Because I need to find the one person I want to be my family. Ivy.

And I realize that she is here. She’s found me instead.

Twenty-Six

Gray

I feel her before I see her. It’s a struggle to lift my head, face her. But I do it. She deserves that and more.

Ivy stands in the doorway, her expression blank, the harsh overhead lighting a haze around her long frame. Her face is so pale, it looks bleached out. Red blotches around her eyes and nose. She’s been crying. Something inside of me seizes. Need, fear, guilt, desire, self-loathing. I can’t move. I want to tell her I’m sorry, but I’m frozen.

Her dark gaze flicks to Drew, who is rising to his feet. He gives her a nod, and I know he told her where to find me. With a final squeeze to my shoulder, Drew walks out, leaving me alone with Ivy.

“Ivy, I…” Words fail me.

She steps forward, extending her arm. “Come here.”

I take her hand and stand. She doesn’t let me go, doesn’t say a word. Like a zombie, I follow her lead, tethered by her hand in mine. She ignores me, clicking away at her phone, sending texts to God only knows who. I don’t ask because I ought to be apologizing now. I know this. Shame holds me silent. We don’t speak as she drives, me crammed for once in the passenger side of her pink car.

Inside her house, it’s cool and dark. Ivy leads me to toward Fi’s bedroom, and I halt, confused.

“Fi isn’t here,” Ivy says, tugging me along. “And she has a bathtub.”

The room is dim. A single lamp glows, casting the room into shadows. We walk into the bathroom. Someone’s drawn a bath and left the lights on low.

“I asked Fi to help me out before she left.” Ivy’s voice is subdued. I expected anger, or at least an accusation. But she simply turns and pulls my sweaty shirt over my head.

I stand there, letting her undress me, watching her. She so fucking beautiful. I know every line and curve of her face better than my own, and yet each time I look at her, it’s like she’s brand new.

“Get in,” she says, not looking at me but at the tub.

And because I’ll do anything for her, I obey. The water is hot, soothing. I don’t want to be soothed; her kindness is killing me. I lean forward and press the heels of my hands to my eyes.

She steps in behind me, and my eyes snap open. I hadn’t even noticed her undressing, but now her silky legs slide along mine, wrapping me up in her embrace. Water sluices over my back as she begins to wash me.

Such a simple thing, but strangely effective. With each stroke of her hand, a bit more of the ugly, clenching, sick feeling leaves me, and I’m so grateful for her that my vision blurs.

“Say something,” I whisper past the lump in my throat.

“Something,” she repeats, equally quiet. Her strong fingers massage my scalp, and a heated prickle forms behind my eyes.

I blink rapidly, willing myself to calm down. “Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

Her movements still, and she rests her forearms against my back. “That would be easier for you, wouldn’t it? If I yelled and relieved your conscience.”

I wince, because she’s right.

Ivy sighs and starts washing me again, more brisk now, picking up a bar of soap and scrubbing beneath my arms. “I wanted to scream my throat raw at you. When I couldn’t find you, I wanted that.” She slows, and I’m half distracted by her fingers running over my nipple and her lips just brushing between my shoulder blades as she takes a deep breath. “But you looked… You’re in pain, Gray. And it hurts me when you hurt. So, no, I’m not going to scream at you now. I never want to be the one to kick you when you’re down.”

This girl. A shuddering breath tears out of me, and I capture her slim hand, bring it to my mouth to hold it there. “I’m so sorry, Ivy. So fucking sorry that I ran out on you.” Because she’s right—it hurts worse knowing that I’m the cause of her pain.

Ivy doesn’t say anything, but pulls her hand from mine, and turns on the shower attachment. That efficient manner returns as she rinses me clean. A flick of her wrist and the water is off again. Before I can say another word, she launches from the tub, all long limbs and slick skin.

“Ivy—”

“I’m pissed.” She grabs a robe and wrenches it on before facing me. “Okay? I don’t want to yell but…” Her eyes go glassy and she makes a face of disgust. “You hurt me, Gray.”

God, the disappointment in her voice, it rips through my chest. Water sloshes over the edges of the tub as I rise. “I know, honey, and I’m—”

But she’s walking out of the room. I hop out of the bath, pulling a towel around me as I go. “Ivy.”

She faces me in the bedroom, her eyes flashing. “I get why you freaked. Breast cancer, your mom. I understand, Gray. I do. But you just ran out on me like I had the plague. I needed you…” She takes a shaky breath. “More than you know. I needed you to talk to me. You promised—”