Page 37 of Gravehouse

On screen, she’s stopped. She’s sitting there, shoulders heaving, head tipped back. Even through the grainy feed I can see her working hard to compartmentalize. Then she wipes her face with her uninjured hand and opens a cabinet, pulling out a suture kit. Stitching herself back together like it’s no big deal.

I take another pull, letting smoke sit heavy on my tongue before exhaling through my nose. The rage is still there and it wants to hunt down every man who touched her tonight, but that can’t be me. That can’t be who I am, wearing the title I do now.

She finishes the stitches and tests her hand, opening and closing her fist a few times. Thirty seconds later she has her phone pressed to her ear.

Ah. So this is how we got to where we are right now.

Interesting.

Thoughts drift through the smoke and land in an empty void in my chest as she moves through her bedroom. She pauses, head snapping toward the door.

Wait. Did she know I was there?

I sit up in my chair, tilting my head and zooming out further, opening a second frame that’s outside her door.

There I am. Hand hovering a few inches from the handle.

Inside the room, Ivy’s still frozen mid-step.

My jaw tightens.

She knew I was there.Of course she fucking did.

The moment plays out from both sides of the room. My body turns, leaning back against her door as I rest my head. Regret almost had me breaking it down and coming apart. What I didn’t know was that she was right there too, with hands ready to fucking catch me.

Two sides of the same door. Of the same life. Yet neither of us can fucking open it.

CHAPTER

NINE

IVY

Snow kicksoff his board in a fine spray as he skids to a halt.

I push the swing with my foot, rocking it in a slow arc. The past few days have been the calmest since I landed in this mess. Asher’s been gone. Atlas is quieter than usual. Sinead and Daniel are acting like they’ve known each other for years.

Asher shakes the powder from his jacket.

I pause my movements.

Snow clings to his dark hair before melting against the heat of his skin. He looks good. Annoyingly good. Good enough that I want to shove him back down the mountain.

“You’re alive,” I say, all bright and fake.

“Disappointed?” His mouth curves into a grin, dragging me back to who he used to be. To the version of him that I ruined.

I hold his stare. “Undecided.”

He unclips his bindings, stepping off the board. I’d spent three days of silence wondering where he was, who he was with, and whether he was fucking Camille in private the same way he liked to in public.

“Good to see there’s at least some part of you that hasn’t changed,” I say, blowing steam off my hot chocolate.

“What else exactly is it that you think has changed?” he asks, his tone level as he climbs the steps.

I bat my lashes. “Would you like the list?”

He hesitates, and I wonder if for a brief moment he remembers how we used to banter, but then he brushes it off and drops down beside me.