“Do you knit or crochet?” Dr. Mehta must’ve noticed my curiosity.
“Um, yeah. Both, actually.”
“Wonderful,” she says, as she shows me back to her office. “We’re going to get along famously then, because I haven’t met a yarn-aholic I didn’t like.”
It takes me two weeks and four sessions with Dr. Mehta to gather enough courage to talk to Jon.
During that time, she told me about the university’s no-tolerance policy when it comes to stalking and put me in touch with campus security…and didn’t let me blow it off either.
Ha. She figured me out pretty damn fast.
Because Aaron isn’t a student here, there’s not a lot they can do from a legal standpoint, but the IT department is blocking all his incoming email messages to me, so at least that’s a start.
Campus security gave me a pamphlet on all the steps to take when someone is stalking you. I’m supposed to keep a journal of any interactions I have with Aaron, although, if I’m not getting any more emails from him and since I stay off social media, there won’t be much to report. The officer in charge gave me his personal phone number. He actually sat there, making sure I plugged it into my phone, and told me to get in touch with him night or day if I was ever afraid. And when I mumbled, “Okay,” he made me look him straight in the eye and promise to call.
I can’t tell you how much better it feels to have people believe what I’m telling them and truly want to help me. And it’s all because Jon pushed me.
“Do you think the waffle iron is hot enough yet?” I ask him.
We’re standing in his kitchen, and I’ve just finished stirring the batter. Thirty times, to be exact. No more. No less. Who knew Jon was so particular when it came to cooking? But with a recipe called Waffles of Insane Greatness, who am I to question anything?
“Let me check.” He lifts out the last piece of bacon from the frying pan and puts it with the rest to drain on a paper towel. Then he flicks a few drops of water onto the old waffle iron (a gift from Stella), and it sizzles. “I’d say it’s ready.”
A few minutes later, we’re sitting at the table, and although the waffles are insanely good, I can hardly eat. Dr. Mehta’s words keep ringing in my head.
Truth and honesty are the cornerstones of a healthy relationship.
“Jon, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
He looks up from his plate. “You’re joining the circus?”
I laugh. “Do you have a thing with circuses, or what?” Before he says something else funny that will divert me from what I need to say, I take a deep breath. “I haven’t told you why Aaron has been stalking me.”
“There’s a reason other than he’s a troll?”
“He thinks I…killed Chase. That I either grabbed the steering wheel, causing the accident, or that I was the one driving and ran the car off the road on purpose.”
“That’s so fucking ludicrous, it’s not even funny.” Jon takes another bite.
“But what if it’s true? I have no memory of what happened. For all I know, I could’ve been so angry with Chase that I finally decided to do something about it. I knew he rarely wore his seatbelt.”
Jon puts down his fork and stares at me. His expression is dark, unreadable. Is he trying to imagine me doing it? That I reached over and jerked the wheel with the intention of killing someone? My heart is beating so hard that it’s pounding against my eardrums, creating a dull roar in my head.
“Ivy,” he says quietly. “You didn’t kill him.”
“But you weren’t there. What if I did it? What if Aaron’s right?”
“How would Aaron even fucking know? He wasn’t there either.” He pulls me into his arms, and his strength comforts me. “And if you did, then you must’ve been pretty fucking scared out of your mind and did the only thing you could think of to get away.”
My breath catches in my throat. “So, if it turns out I did cause the accident, you won’t think…less of me.”
“Ivy, nothing you do could make me feel less of you. Nothing.”
chapter twenty-two
Love is a serious mental disease.
Jon
We’re in a long line of cars exiting the freeway heading to the Gorge Amphitheater. I grip the steering wheel, hoping I haven’t made a huge mistake. The thing about Ivy is that I’m powerless to resist her when she sets her mind to something. She wanted me here, so, yeah, I caved.
I can’t say I didn’t try, though. Last week when she told me Cassidy wasn’t going to use her Sasquatch tickets and would sell them to us cheap, I said no. I’d seen the line-up. I had zero interest in going.
Ivy looked at me as if I’d sprouted horns. A big group was road-tripping over here and she really wanted to go. James was no help either. I think his exact words were, “There’s no fucking way I’ll miss it again this year.” Way to support your friend, bro.
Ivy kept pressing. God, she was relentless. Listed off a bunch of the bands as if I didn’t already know who was playing. Shit. I’d given away two tickets the last time I was on the air.
But that was last week, and here I am.
I glance over at Ivy in the passenger seat. With her mismatched sock feet on the dash, she’s keeping time to the music while braiding her hair.
“Looks like you’re ready to get down to business,” I tell her.
“I can’t wait!” Excitement lights up her eyes, making me glad I’m here. With her. I can endure anything if it makes her happy. “Do you think the tent will take long to set up?” she asks. “I can’t wait to check out everything.”
“Stella said it’s easy, but obviously, she hasn’t used it in years.”
“You checked it, right? All the stakes and poles are there?”
“Yep. Laid it all out in her backyard and—”
“Ahhhh.” She points to a car trying to squeeze in front of us. “Don’t let him cut between us and the others. We need to go in as a group to get camping spots next to each other.”
Too late. He’s already too far over. I ease up on the gas so I’m not riding his bumper. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” The guy ends up turning into the RV section, so we’re right behind Kelly and Reece again.
The check-in process goes smoothly and soon, with music blaring around us, we’re all setting up our tents. Ivy wastes no time laying out our sleeping bags and zipping them together. This weekend is going to be fun in more ways than one.
Except for Sunday afternoon.
When O-Twist is playing.
Hopefully, I can talk Ivy into heading out before they take the stage. We’ll be tired, right? Besides, a lot of people leave early on Sunday anyway, so it’s not like we’d be the only ones. If not, though, I’ve already got it figured out. I’ll stay back at the campsite. Pretend I’m hungover. Or too tired. Or that I have a stomachache.
One thing’s for sure. I refuse to see my father in person, even from a distance.
As I pull the cooler out of the trunk and dump in one of the bags of ice we bought at the gas station in Vantage, I hear someone coming up behind me.
“Jon!” a female voice shrieks.
Tina?
Before I can turn around, she jumps onto my back, piggyback-style, and wraps her legs around my waist. Even though it can’t be more than sixty degrees and the weather forecast calls for rain tonight, she’s wearing shorts with cowboy boots. Untangling myself from her bare legs, I push her knees down so she has to stand, then I turn to face her. She adjusts her cowboy hat and flashes me a broad smile. Two other girls are with her, including Sara.