“Nothing really,” I lied so obviously I was shocked when he simply waited for me to say more without calling me on my bullshit. “They’re just reminders. Things I need to remember.”

Ryder looked back down at the words on my stomach and wrist and when his eyes met mine the silver had been turned to gray granite, intense with anger and frustration and something that looked like…. concern. “And why do you need to remind yourself that your soul is free?” He bit out the words making them sound like he was dragging them across rough gravel. The reverence fell away and left only hatred for words he didn’t even understand.

I mashed my lips together, afraid to answer him, afraid the truth would come pouring out of me eager to divulge every last sordid detail of my f-ed up life. The thought was so ridiculous, the action so close to completing itself that I burst out into laughter before I could burst into tears instead.

“Ryder, seriously, they’re just words. Just little sayings I thought were…. whatever. I don’t really have a cool story or anything. I was drunk one night in Arizona and bored and I convinced this guy to ink me. It’s no big deal. Honestly, I kind of regret it,” I rambled. I took a step away from Ryder and began straightening Phoenix’s hanging shirts and jeans nervously.

“You were drunk during rehab?” Ryder pressed skeptically.

My mouth snapped shut when I realized I said Arizona out loud and that Ryder had correctly associated the time with my “rehab.”

“And I don’t believe you regret it,” he accused, reaching for my hand again but I stepped out of his range, putting the drums between us.

My shirt fell back down to cover my stomach and a surge of panic zipped through me with my tattoos exposed. My mind spun with all the ways Nix could find out about them. Why was my generation constantly documenting their lives for the world to see? If I was tagged in some candid shot online, my life would be ruined in a strangled heartbeat and the random Facebook friend would have no idea how they sent me to my death.

Not that I had that many Facebook friends to brag about….

But still.

“You don’t regret it,” Ryder pushed, his expression flashing with determination. “Otherwise you wouldn’t cover them up so carefully. Why do you need to cover a tattoo that your shirt already covers, Ivy?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I bit out. I could explain this. Or I could brush it off like it was nothing. Or I could just walk away; remove myself entirely from this situation. Which is what I wanted to do…. but what was exactly not happening.

“What does the word ‘blackheart’ mean?” he changed his tactic, his voice softly begged with me to open up. He reached out his hand to me, stretching it across the void between us.

I melted, I couldn’t help it. Nobody had ever cared enough to interrogate me like this, to get to the bottom of something I could possibly be feeling. “What do you think it means?” I tested a bit desperately.

“Because of all the guys?” he guessed accurately.

“How would you know?” I countered, trying to put him on the defensive, still not ready to make myself so vulnerable. Although, I was fighting a losing battle. If Ryder kept trying, kept putting all of him into these questions like this, like he wanted to know every single intimate detail about me, I was bound to give in. I felt raw from his investigation, completely rubbed down to the bone. Exposed.

“People talk, Ivy. Especially about you. All I have to do is listen,” he explained gently. I winced at the compassion in his tone, at the pleading in his eyes for me to trust him. “Is that about Sam? Do you think you have a black heart because of Sam?”

I physically shuddered at his interrogation. How dare he! How dare he bring up Sam and assume that’s where all my messed up issues came from. Sam was just the frosting on a screwed up, pathetic, life-ending cake. “Don’t talk about Sam. You don’t know anything about him,” I ground out through clenched teeth. I wrapped my arms around waist tightly, holding myself together, trying to protect everything hurt and broken inside…. trying to protect Sam. Or at least his memory.

“I know he was the one driving that night, Ivy. I know he was the one drinking, not you. I know you can’t blame yourself because he wrapped his car around a light post and sent himself to the hospital,” he paused to let his words settle in. My chin started quivering before I registered that I was on the verge of crying and I looked up desperately at him, silently begging him to stop. “You do not have a black heart because some seventeen year old kid was stupid enough to drive intoxicated and recklessly ruin his life.”

There was a full minute of silence between us as I tried to digest those words…. listen to them…. really hear them. But I already knew the truth. Knew it. There was no lying to myself. I had been over this same argument a million and thirteen times before, always trying to convince myself of the same thing.

“I know all that,” I said so softly Ryder took a step forward to hear me better. “But here I am today. Walking. Going to school. Going to more parties. With Chase. And there will be more boys. After Chase. And after the guy after that. And I get to graduate high school. And live my life. And I won’t look back at him, not ever. Not Sam, not Chase, not the dozen guys before them, or after them. I have to get out of here…. I have to.” I paused for breath, to get something into my lungs, anything to keep from passing out. And then I announced with a tiny gesture toward myself, “Blackheart.”

“Ivy, that-“

Whatever Ryder was going to say was cut off abruptly when Chase, Phoenix and Kenna walked into the room noisily. They called out our names and were laughing about something that happened downstairs.

Ryder held my gaze though, not turning, not even acknowledging them. Quietly, so only I would hear he said, “That’s only true if you believe it, Ivy.”

I nodded like his words had some deep impact on me, but the truth was I did believe it. All of it. Because it was true. His psychobabble was completely lost on me. But I didn’t want to invite any more conversation with Ryder about it, so I turned my expression thoughtfully sad and just nodded.

Ryder let out a frustrated sigh, apparently my act wasn’t Oscar worthy by a long shot.

“Ryder-“

He cut me off, turning his back on me. “I’m not going to tell anyone, Ivy.”

He was disappointed in me.

But at least he knew the truth. At least his eyes were completely opened to the vapid, black hole of emotional trauma that I really was. Still the strong wave of his angry disillusionment punched me painfully in the stomach.

Ugh. Ryder. Why did I care so much?

“I was showing Ivy your drums,” I heard Ryder announce after he left me alone in the closet.

I stood there battling with myself whether I could leave the closet and face the others or if I would need to pretend sickness so I could get Chase to take me home. I wanted to believe I was brave enough to face everyone, but I wasn’t. I was weak, and selfish and….

“Hey, you Ok?” Chase asked from the doorway. His happy, all-American face was pinched with concern. He glanced quickly over his shoulder as if gauging if he should confront Ryder or not.

“Actually, I’m kind of hiding,” I admitted, realizing my decision as I said it out loud. “I’m sorry, this party is a little more than I can handle.” I looked up at Chase from under my lashes and prayed for undeserved compassion.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked, chivalrous as ever.

“Do you mind taking me?”

“Not at all,” he offered me a comforting smile. “Maybe you need to talk about it?”

“Maybe,” I relented. “Maybe in the car.”

He smiled down at me and I stepped into him, forcing him into a hug. I knew I wouldn’t talk about this and I knew this was the best I could give him. His comforting arms helped ease the raw pain Ryder had ripped open and I relished in the easiness that came with Chase. I wasn’t getting attached to Chase and that thought made it easier to inhale. I would be able to break up with him, even if the idea felt very similar to giving my favorite pet away. And though it would be difficult, it was doable. And that thought made it easier to exhale.

See? Blackheart.

I was right all along.

Chapter Seventeen

Thoughts of the night before attacked my emotions as I sat motionless in the passenger’s seat of my mother’s Escalade. We drove silently on the way to our Sunday visit with my little sister.

Usually I was dying to see Honor, make sure she was Ok, make sure the curse wasn’t destroying her life…. But last night replayed in my head like a destructive addiction.

How could I have been so stupid to let Ryder see my tattoo, first of all?

And then how could I have let his words affect me like that?

Blackheart. He knew better. Everyone knew better! Even people that didn’t want to see the truth, that preferred ignorance is bliss and all that, knew better.

I was a borderline sociopath.

There wasn’t an excuse in this world that covered my long list of sins. And that list would only lengthen unless I got the hell out of here.

“When we get there,” my mother’s melodic voice cut through the silence, “you need to be on your best behavior. I am not going to put up with any of your antics, Ivy. You owe me.”

I wanted to ask, for what? Instead I nodded meekly, “I know. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Better than your best behavior,” my mom pressed.

“Ok, yes. Better than my best.”

I thought that promise would be enough to pacify her, but she had too much experience in all of this. “I mean it, Ivy. You have no idea what you put me through last spring. You have no idea what you put Nix through! And God, Smith was so concerned about you; it was like you were his daughter. He immediately blamed me of course. Until I explained about the accident and what happened to that poor Sam Evans.” She said poor Sam Evans, but I would have had to be deaf not to hear the smile in her voice…. the excitement. “Still, Smith was so concerned about you, so worried. Honestly, it was a little sickening. I don’t know what happened to him. There was a time when he adored me. He bought me that Tiffany necklace. You know the four karats one? Just because! He bought me that gorgeous piece of art just because and now look at him! I swear it was those cancer drugs. They screwed with his mind. He’s not right. He shouldn’t have Honor. Who knows when he’ll turn on her? Then what? She’s my daughter and I’ll be damned before I let anything happen to her.”

My mother rambled on and on like that until we pulled through the gated driveway of Smith Porter’s gigantic West Omaha mansion. He was filthy rich, like more money than God loaded. It was what drew my mother to him in the first place, but he somehow clawed his way out of hell and my mother’s greedy fingers. He must have been a monk in a former life, or Mother Theresa or something because to defeat stage four brain cancer and the curse was like legend status.

Maybe he was a super hero.

Honor certainly thought so, which made me immediately fall in love with him. Any man my mother hated and my sister loved was basically a saint in my book.

My mom pulled the car to a stop in front of the pillared front entryway of his huge modern estate and we exited the giant SUV in silence. My mother preferred demure-classy-Ivy over all other options and so I obliged her. She had the power to take away these visits and making sure Honor stayed as far away from our mother as possible had become my life’s purpose.

Or one of them. Making sure I got far away from our mother was the other.

“Smile, Ivy,” my mother commanded through her own plastic expression. “Look like you love me.”

I obeyed and kept smiling as we were welcomed into the house by Smith himself and led to the drawing room. Ok, it wasn’t actually the drawing room, but that’s what it felt like. Smith had a whole household worth of servants but he preferred to answer the door himself when my mom was around. Personally I didn’t think he trusted her around any man, even ones that worked for him.

Obviously he was smart.

“Ava,” Smith greeted her coolly. He didn’t even hold out his hand to her. Where in most of these pretentious circles people greeted each other with kisses or at least a handshake, Smith stayed as far from my mother as he could. It annoyed her to no end. “Ivy, it’s so good to see you back home and healthy,” he smiled down at me, bringing me into a hug. Another thing that would annoy my mother.

I let it happen. Smith was like the fun uncle I never got to have. He was devilishly handsome in that refined gentleman kind of way, with short, cropped blondish hair infused with streaks of gray although he was still in his early forties. He had a classic jawline and strong nose, and his eyes were deep brown but lightened when he laughed. I could so easily see why my mother had chosen him. And the best part about him was his easy going personality except when it came to everything Ava Pierce.

“Ivy!” my little sister squealed from across the room.

I wrenched out of Smith’s grasp to open my arms just in time to catch her. She wrapped her stick thin arms around me, squeezing me until I could barely breathe. But I wouldn’t have pulled away for anything. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes as I held her close, inhaling her unconditional love. She was like this mini version of me, with deep auburn hair and bright green eyes and perfect flawless skin. Her freckles spattered the bridge of her nose too, but scattered over her cheeks and one just to the corner of her eye. And she was untouched by our world, completely innocent.

I prayed every day that she would stay that way.

“I missed you so much,” I confessed into her hair. My voice was full of emotion and I didn’t even try to hide the catch in my throat.

“I missed you too,” she squeezed me tighter, stepping on her tip toes so she could get a better hold. “Did you get my letters?”