Page 12 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Campbell

I break every speed limit driving to Ivy’s house.

My foot bounces up and down on the floorboard as my fingers drum against the steering wheel.

A restlessness runs through my veins that I can no longer control, and when I get there, I park in the back drive so no one will see my truck.

The last thing I need is for my mother to question why I’m here.

Ivy and I need to settle this alone—without the gossips in Benton Falls.

Throwing the truck in park, I march up the path, straight to the front door, rapping my knuckles against the wood, and then I step back and wait.

I can hear her footsteps through the door.

For someone so small, she’s always been heavy-footed.

She used to try to sneak up and scare me when we were young, but I’d hear her coming every time.

Shaking the memory from my head, I focus on the grain in the wood, standing tall with my hands by my side.

Anxiety feels like a fist gripping my chest, but I force myself to breathe through it.

I’ve spent sixteen years wanting answers to my questions.

I’d gotten to a point where I thought I’d never get them.

It’s part of why I sent Ivy away that first night—that and the ring on her finger, because no matter how much I wanted to pretend it didn’t, knowing she’d moved on broke me, mostly because I am angry I can’t.

It’s always been Ivy for me, and after everything she’s done, I hate her because I’m not it for her.

But something about knowing that Hayes is going to have a baby has forced my need for answers to the surface.

Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, I take out the letter Ivy gave me on her first night here. For reasons I can’t explain, I’d tucked it in there when I left for Hayes’s house this afternoon. I guess a part of me knew I’d end up here eventually.

The door opens, and I don’t give her a chance to say anything. I walk into her house without looking at her because I’m afraid the moment I do, I’ll lose the momentum driving me forward.

“We need to talk,” I demand, letting my eyes roam around the house. Everything is just like I remembered—everything but Ivy and me.

When she doesn’t say anything, I spin around, ready to demand answers, but then my eyes fall on hers and everything comes to a screeching stop. Ivy’s eyes are red and puffy, like she’s been crying. She’s pale, and her hands are shaking.

On instinct, I step forward, taking her face gently into my hands, the letter fluttering to the ground.

“What is it?” I ask. “What happened?”

She sniffs, looking away from me, but not before I see the void in her eyes. I’ve always compared her eyes to honey because of the warmness that lived in her irises, but as I look at them now, I can’t help but think they look dead.

“Why are you here, Campbell?” she asks, avoiding my questions, but she doesn’t pull out of my hold—which is good because I don’t think I could let her go. I’m holding on by a thread right now, and unfortunately, it’s the warmth of her in my hands that’s holding me together.

“For answers, Ivy.” My voice is softer than I expected it to be since I’d barged in here just moments before. This is why I’d avoided this conversation for so long. I’ve always been putty in her hands.

She tries to pull away, but I hold her steady. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for, Campbell.”

I scoff, finally letting go of her face and stepping back. “You’re the only one that does, Ivy. Why did you do it?”

Her eyes meet mine. “Do what?”

“Why did you get rid of our baby?”

The words fall between us like a gauntlet.

Ivy’s head snaps back, and she gasps.

“How did you know?” she whispers, and my anger comes back because she isn’t even denying it.

With slow, methodical movements, I bend down to pick up the letter, holding it up between us.

“Because I met with your grandfather after I wrote this letter to you. I wanted to talk to you—wanted to be there for our baby—but you were too busy ignoring me because you didn’t want to tell me that you had an abortion.”

I’ve played this scene in my head a hundred times over the years, imagining what Ivy would say—what excuses she would have—but I never imagined she would laugh.

It’s dry and humorless, sending a chill down my spine.

“Is that what he told you?” she asks, her laugh turning maniacal. “You know what? Don’t answer that because at this point, nothing surprises me. You want the truth? Fine.”

Ivy stops talking, marching past me toward the back of the house.

“Where are you going?” I call, but when she doesn’t answer, I storm after her. “This conversation isn’t over, Ivy. Not this time.”

My long legs eat up the space between us, and when I reach the kitchen, I grab her arm, spinning her to me. We clash together, leaving destruction in our wake.

Ivy looks up at me with fire in her eyes. “You’re right. It’s not over because we’ve both been lied to.” She pulls out of my hold and reaches over to the counter, grabbing an envelope and slamming it into my arm. “Read that, and then we’ll talk.”

______________________

My hands tremble as I flip through the papers again and again until the words and pictures of a blonde, curly-haired little girl with a pair of honey eyes blur together, and I can no longer make sense of what I’m seeing.

It’s lies. It has to be lies because if it isn’t—

Looking up across the kitchen, I find the same pair of eyes already staring back at me. The girl in the picture looks so much like Ivy, but I know it’s not because when I look close enough, I can see the pieces of me, too.

“When did you get these?” I ask, holding up the papers.

“A few days ago, but I just opened it today.” Her eyes pierce through me, the weight of their judgment stabbing straight through my chest, and with that one look, I know everything I’ve read is true.

“I—I have a daughter?” I ask.

The thought of everything I’ve missed out on over the years because I didn’t know tears me apart from the inside.

I’m no longer numb. I’m angry. It’s an anger so bright that it blinds me, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

Except there’s no one to take my anger out on because the man who caused this—who took away my right to be a dad—is dead.

“Yeah,” Ivy whispers. “We do.”

“What’s—” I stop, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “What’s her name?”

Ivy’s lip trembles. “Willow. Her name is Willow.”

The name hits me in the sternum, cracking it in half.

“I don’t understand, Ivy. Help me understand.” I beg, willing to fall to my knees if I need to.

A single tear slips from her eyes, and I follow the path down her cheek, watching until it drips onto her neck.

Then I’m up and moving, standing in front of her like a man possessed.

I brace both hands on the counter beside her hips, boxing her in.

My fingers grip the smooth marble, a lifeline when I know I can’t touch her.

Her head tilts back, looking up at me. That one tear turns into a pool of tears that may drown us both.

“They told me she died.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the words are delivered with the force of a nuclear bomb.

Everything freezes. Air whooshes out of me, and I don’t move—not even to breathe. Her words ring in my ears.

They told me she died.

All this time, I thought—I’m ashamed of what I thought.

“What?”

A sob slips past her lips, and I’m not sure how I’m still standing because all my strength has seeped out of me with her confession.

She swallows and looks at something over my shoulder, but I keep my eyes on hers. The spark is gone again, and now I know why. She’s dissociating, hiding from the pain—a tactic I’m all too familiar with.

Lifting one hand, I gently twirl one curl around my finger, just like I used to, and tug on it until her amber eyes look into mine.

“Talk to me, sunshine.”

The nickname slips naturally from my lips, but I wish I could take it back—shove it back in and pretend I didn’t say it—because I haven’t forgotten that ring on her finger. She’s not the sun that brings light to my darkness anymore. She’s someone else’s.

This moment isn’t about that, though. We aren’t those two kids who used to love each other. Instead, we are two parents, grieving the life we lost with our daughter because of someone’s selfish lies.

Her hands come up to my chest, but instead of pulling me closer, she pushes me away. I reluctantly let go of her hair, and when there is space between us, she starts talking.

“I almost died.” She says it casually, like those three words aren’t enough to bring me to my knees. I nearly fall right there at her feet. The only thing that keeps me up is the knowledge that I need to hear the rest of her story.

“How?” I croak, my voice cracking. I’m breaking, and I’m all too aware that if I do, there will be no coming back from it.

Maybe that’d be what I deserve.

I’ve spent all these years hating Ivy for what she did when, in reality, I was the villain. She needed me—nearly died—and I wasn’t there.

“Does it matter?” She’s not looking at me again. I don’t blame her. I’m only now realizing how much I failed her, but I need her eyes anyway because I need her to understand that everything about this matters.

“Sunshine, look at me,” I demand, but she shakes her head, her curls flying wild. “Ivy, please.”

Another crack forms inside my chest when she finally turns her head again, and the depth of her despair hits me full force.

“It matters.”

She always mattered—even when I didn’t want her to.

Ivy swallows and then spins toward the counter, bracing her hands against it as if to hold herself up as she stares out the window.

I’m worried she’s dismissing me—she’d have every right to—but after a moment, she begins to speak.

“From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I had this feeling in my stomach—like something awful was going to happen. I couldn’t explain it.

At first, I chalked it up to being scared.

I was sixteen and terrified you would hate me for it, and when I finally worked up the courage to tell you, you just stood there, saying nothing. It was my worst fear come to life—”

“Ivy—” I interrupt, but what else is there for me to say? I owe her a million apologies, and that still wouldn’t be enough to change any of this.

She continues as if I haven’t spoken. “Everything after that was just a matter of bad timing. My grandparents weren’t supposed to be home that day, but they were.

They stood in the foyer, waiting for me.

My grandmother was holding the pregnancy test in her hand when I walked through the door, and my grandfather didn’t give me a chance to explain before he grabbed me by the ear and dragged me into his study.

He made it clear that my choices had ruined your life.

” She stops, scoffing as she looks back at me over her shoulder.

“Never once did he mention my life—only yours.” Looking back out the window, she doesn’t give me a chance to say anything before she continues, “Anyway, the decisions were made for me after that. My grandparents didn’t want to stay in Benton Falls.

They couldn’t have anyone knowing I was pregnant.

It would have ruined their reputation as upstanding Christians.

I put up a fight, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

We left the next day to move into their summer home.

I tried to talk to you before we left, but they watched me every second.

I left a letter with one of the maids, though. She was supposed to give it to you.”

Ivy turns her head again to look at me as if confirming she did, but I shake my head.

“I didn’t get it, Ivy.”

A deep sigh pushes through her lips, and I can’t tell if she believes me.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, finally turning all the way around to face me.

I want to argue with her, but I’m afraid she’ll stop if I do.

So I stay quiet, and she keeps talking. “After we left, that bad feeling didn’t go away, but I tried to ignore it.

I was determined to be a good mom, even if I had to do it alone.

My grandparents tried to convince me to give the baby up for adoption, but I refused.

She was—she was a part of me and you, and I’d already lost you.

I couldn’t lose her, too. Each day that passed, though, that bad feeling grew stronger and stronger up to the day I went into labor.

I drove myself to the hospital. When my grandparents finally showed up, they were furious, but I—I just wanted one moment with my baby that wasn’t shadowed by their presence.

In the end, I didn’t get it. After I had her, they placed her in my arms. I got five minutes with our baby while my grandmother scowled down at me the entire time, and then chaos ensued.

Willow started turning blue. They pulled her out of my arms, and I tried to follow.

But I—I started to hemorrhage, lost too much blood at once, and when I woke up, my grandmother was still standing over my bed.

She wouldn’t look at me when she told me our baby didn’t make it.

I always thought it was because she was disgusted with me—that I had done something wrong—but she lied.

My grandfather made her. He was so afraid of what others might think.

I don’t understand everything, and I’ll never get a chance to ask.

That letter in the envelope is all the information I have.

My grandfather paid off a lot of people—forged my signature—and signed away my rights to our daughter.

She was placed into foster care and then was adopted at six months old.

But I guess my grandmother had a little bit of a conscience over the years because she kept up with her through a private investigator. That’s what the pictures are.”

Pure rage burns through my body until my blood feels like molten lava. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I do Henry Cunningham. It eats at my soul, chipping away another piece of me, but I can’t let it take me—not yet.

“I’m sorry, Ivy, that you ever had to go through that alone, but you aren’t alone now.”

Somehow, I would make this better for her.