Page 39 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Campbell

L eaving my dad’s office, I follow the sound of banging pots and pans to the kitchen.

Mom is standing at the sink, muttering to herself as she dries and puts away her dishes.

From where I’m standing, I can’t hear what she’s saying, but if I were to guess, I’d say it has something to do with the twins, judging from the deep crease between her brows.

With a glance around the room, I search for the two troublemakers, but it is quiet, which probably means they are planning their next bout of trouble.

That seems like a later problem, though, because if my dad’s office was the place for discipline growing up, my mom’s kitchen was the place for comfort.

Fond memories of growing up in here always slam into me every time I step through the arched doorway.

The smell of the chocolate chip cookies she bakes every day because they are my dad’s favorite.

The rainbows that dance off her antique glassware sitting in the china cabinet from the sun streaming in through the patio doors in the morning.

The view of Ivy’s house through those same doors.

The sound of her softly humming as she stands over the stove, filling each meal with love.

Many times she sat me down at the bar and cooked a meal that felt like it was healing my soul, at least until there were too many broken pieces for it to heal.

Stepping further into the room, I clear my throat, and my mom jumps, gasping and clutching at the pearls around her neck.

“Campbell, you scared me to death,” she scolds, swatting the drying towel in my direction as I walk by. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Chuckling, I plop a kiss on her cheek and take the drying towel from her hands, finishing the dishes as I talk. “I wasn’t sneaking, Mom. You just couldn’t hear me over your cussing.”

“Oh, hush,” she says, swatting me again as her cheeks turn red. “I was not cussing.”

“Sure you weren’t.” I stretch out the words like I don’t believe her and give her a teasing grin. Reaching for a glass, I ask, “Where did the twin tornadoes go?”

An exhausted sigh rushes past her lips, and she leans against the counter, running her fingers through her graying hair. “I sent them outside. Surely they can’t cause too much trouble out there.”

I stop drying the cup in my hand, giving her a look that questions whether she believes that, and she sighs again, shaking her head.

“Fine,” she says, giving me a pointed look for calling her out, “at least the destruction won’t be in my kitchen.”

Throwing my head back, I laugh, a deep rumble from my chest that warms my blood and leaves me smiling. The whole world could fall apart, and my mom would be just fine as long as her kitchen was still standing. I think she might love this place more than her own kids.

When I glance over at her to tell her just that, the words dry up in my throat because she’s staring at me with tears shining in her eyes.

“What?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

Her nose flares as she fights back her tears, swallowing hard against them. “I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I heard you laugh like that.”

“Like what, Mom?”

“Like you’re happy.” Her voice sounds sad—like she’s remembering all the other times I’ve laughed over the years, and she’s just now realizing they were different.

I take my time drying the next glass, considering what she said before, finally saying, “I want to be.”

When she gives a non-committal hum, I shake my head and amend my statement. “Actually, I’m trying to be, and I think it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

I don’t know why that confession leaves me feeling so raw, but I can’t look at my mom after. So I keep my gaze on the dish in my hand, drying it harder than necessary.

Her hand rests against my arm. “And the bravest.” I snap my head up, my skeptical gaze clashing with her understanding one.

She smiles, lifting her hand to pat my cheek.

“Few people know what makes them happy, baby, and even fewer are brave enough to chase it. So the way I see it—you’re not only lucky because you know, but you’re brave, too. ”

“You say it like I’m sure I know what makes me happy. Maybe what I’m chasing isn’t it.”

My mom chuckles like I’m a stand-up comedian delivering my punch line.

“Oh, she’s it, alright. You’ve been chasing Ivy Cunningham since the first time you ever laid eyes on her.

Don’t think I didn’t see how you looked at her the last time I saw you together.

And don’t think I didn’t notice that missing ring on her finger, either.

Fight for her, Campbell, because she is your happiness. That much has always been obvious.”

There’s no use denying what she’s saying because it would just make a liar out of me. Ivy is my very definition of happiness, and that definition has grown to include Willow, too. But I’m terrified of fumbling both of them and finding myself back in the dark. Alone.

“And what if I’m not her happiness? What then?”

I’ve never heard my mother snort, but that’s her response to my question. My eyes widen when the snort turns into a full-on cackle, and I start to worry that she might be possessed.

Pressing one hand to her stomach, she swipes at her eyes, knocking away tears. “Now that was funny, son. Have you seen how that girl looks at you?”

“Um—no?”

With an exasperated sigh, she rolls her eyes and mutters, “Men,” under her breath. Louder, she says, “Honey, she looks at you the same way you look at her—like you’re the thing that lights up her life. So fight for it, Campbell, with everything you have.”

“Ma’am, yes, Ma’am,” I say, lifting my hand and saluting her with an easy grin to ease the tension this conversation has sent thrumming through my veins.

It’s a habit. When things turn serious, I make a joke, but I’ve since realized that I’ve been using it to hide behind.

I no longer want to hide, so I clear my throat, letting my smile slip away, and meet her gaze. “I promise I will, Mom.”

A mischievous spark twinkles in her eyes, reminding me of the twins. I get a little nervous when a sly smile slips onto her lips. “Good, and you can start right now because Ivy just walked out her door with several moving boxes in her hand.”

“What?” Panic hits me square in the chest, and I turn my head to look out the window above the kitchen sink. Sure enough, Ivy is walking down her back drive toward her car with a box big enough to hide her face from me. That panic turns into ice-cold fear.

Blindly shoving the drying towel in my mom’s direction, I take off running toward the patio doors, but my mom’s voice stops me before I’m fully gone.

“Wait, Campbell, I have just the thing to help win her over.”

She walks to the other side of the kitchen, and I bounce my foot against the tile, glancing out the glass door to assure myself that Ivy hasn’t gotten in her car and driven away yet.

When my mom returns to my side of the kitchen, she’s carrying a container of cookies in her hand with a bright smile on her face.

“Go fight for your happiness, Campbell.”

I swallow, terrified of what I’m about to do, and take the cookies from her. “Yes, ma’am.”

______________________

With the cookies in hand, I don’t waste any time getting out the door and sprinting across my parents’ yard to where Ivy is loading the box into her trunk.

By the time I make it to her, I’m sweating and breathing hard, not because I’m out of shape, but because my nerves are on the verge of sending me into a panic attack.

So I force myself to take a deep breath before calling out her name.

Her head whips up, turning to look at me, and I’m hit with the force of her honey eyes. They will forever be my favorite color, no matter how many seconds pass.

“Don’t leave,” I beg before she can get a word out.

I need to get this out now because if I don’t, I might find a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t.

So I press on, laying everything on the line.

“Don’t leave, Ivy, because I can’t breathe without you.

I’ve been trying to for years, and it wasn’t until you showed up back on my doorstep again that I felt like I finally got a good breath.

Don’t leave because I can make you happy—I swear I’ll make you happy.

Every day, I’ll do whatever it takes. Don’t leave because I love you, and I’ve been loving you since I was nine years old. Just please, don’t leave.”

The last part slips out unbidden. I hadn’t planned on confessing my love to her, but somewhere in the middle of me begging, I realized I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. By the end of my plea, I’m breathing hard with my heart trying to beat through my chest as I wait.

She stares back at me for a long moment, her eyes flicking between mine. Fear creeps in, bringing some of the numbness I hate so much with it, but when she launches herself into my arms, pressing her lips against mine, it slips away, letting the light in.

I drop the cookies to the ground and catch her, wrapping my arms around her and holding her so close that I don’t know where I start and she begins. Although I think every part of me has always begun with her.

Ivy gasps, but instead of kissing me deeper, she pulls away, shaking her head.

“Wait, Campbell,” she gasps again, “wait—I–I’m sorry.”

Two words, and I shatter right there at her feet. I drop my arms from her waist and step back, placing space between us, all while my entire body screams to feel her pressed against me again.

Scrubbing at the back of my neck, I try to wipe away the sting of her rejection. I don’t look at her. I can’t. I’m barely holding myself together. “I should go. I’m sorry.”

“Campbell,” Ivy says, her voice sad. I wish I could take back everything I just said because this feels like losing her again, and that’s not something I want to survive.

“It’s okay, Ivy. You don’t owe me an explanation.”