Love You Better Page 8

  She barks out a laugh, followed by a cough, and I wince. I wish she’d quit smoking, but at least she doesn’t do it in the house or in the car anymore. Jacob’s asthma put a stop to that. Curse those nasty nicotine demons and the hold they have on my mother.

  “My last full day off was ten days ago, but someone’s gotta make sure the place don’t fall down, Ivy Jean. That someone’s gotta be me.” I hear her deep inhale, probably taking a drag from a cigarette. “The only employee I can trust is Allison and she’s got a son and that deadbeat husband, so I can’t be expectin’ her to be there all the time.”

  “I know, Mom.” I hear this every time. “Just make sure you’re not working yourself too hard, please. Jacob needs you. He shouldn’t be home by himself all the time.”

  “Ivy Jean, I’m the parent here. I know what I’m doin’,” she spits out. “I raised you just fine and you turned out alright. Trust I can take care of Jacob. He is my son.”

  I bite my tongue. She and I have gotten into it over this before, and it’s a sore subject. I love my mother. She’s worked harder than any person should have to, to provide for Jacob and me. Life’s dealt her a really difficult hand and she’s playing it the only way she knows how. But sometimes, a lot of times, I get frustrated with it all, and I grow resentful. I basically raised myself, and Jacob too. I have to remind myself that she’s sacrificed so much—after my dad died, and then Jacob’s dad took off, and then with everything that happened with me my senior year of high school. I’m lucky she’s my mom. But sometimes I wonder if it couldn’t be different.

  There’s an awkward, lengthy pause, and then I hear movement in the background.

  “Is Jacob home?”

  “He just walked up. I’ll put him on.” She takes a deep breath. “Ivy Jean, you know I love you.”

  “I do, Mom.”

  “Bigger than the sun...” she says.

  “...and the moon and stars, too,” I finish. Then she hands the phone to Jacob, and I can’t stop the smile that takes over my face.

  “Bean!” Jacob exclaims. I just talked to him two days ago, but he always acts like it’s been forever.

  “Hey, Bug! Did you just get home?”

  “Yep. I stopped at the library on the way home. I got this book about dragons and a dragon rider and there are elves, and it’s a series and the books are huge, but I’m gonna start it tonight.” He’s so cute when he’s excited.

  “That’s amazing, Jacob! Maybe I’ll check it out, too, and we can buddy read.”

  “Yeah! You can read it with Kelley and me!”

  “You’re reading it with Kelley?” I ask, and I feel my smile grow until I’m a grinning fool. I absolutely love that Kelley and Jacob are close. The way Kelley is woven into my life fills me with feelings I shouldn’t feel, and I work quickly to mentally stomp on all of them. Take that, butterflies.

  “He’s the one that told me about it. He says he’s read the whole series like three times and now he’s reading it with me so it’s his fourth time.” He’s so excited that I don’t think he’s taken a breath.

  “When did you talk to him?”

  “Oh, he called to see how I was doin’ a couple days ago...” Jacob trails off. Kelley must have called to ask him about those bullies at school.

  “How are you, Bug?” I ask.

  “Fine.” His answer is clipped and quiet, and my defenses go up.

  “How’s school?”

  “F-fine.” As soon as he stutters, I can tell something is wrong. He used to stutter all the time when he was younger, but now it only comes out when he’s flustered or nervous. Sometimes when he’s scared.

  “What’s up, Bug? Those kids messing with you again?” I press.

  Silence.

  “Jacob. Answer me.”

  “It’s n-nothing, Ivy. Th-they’re j-just assholes.”

  “Jacob Lee Rivenbark, you do not curse,” I admonish, and I can hear him huff indignantly. “Tell me what’s going on. Are they taking your homework again?”

  “N-no.”

  “Are they calling you names?”

  “N-no, Ivy.”

  “Jacob,” I say more softly. “Tell me what’s happening. You can tell me.”

  He sighs loudly, resigned to finally give me what I want.

  “They t-took my P-P-P.E. clothes. P-pushed me around a little. Then t-told everyone in the g-gym that I pee my p-pants.” I hear him sniffle. Furious tears fill my eyes in response. I cannot stand the thought of him being so sad. He’s one of the most amazing people I know, and I don’t understand how these kids don’t see that. I would absorb every ounce of his pain if it meant he only ever felt happiness.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “No!” he shouts, making me jump. “No, Ivy. P-please don’t call the school again. It will j-j-just make things w-worse.”

  “But I could—”

  “—N-no, Bean. Please,” he pleads, and my heart cracks right in half. “Please don’t. It will be f-fine. I’m fine.”

  I hesitate. It goes against all my instincts to agree, but I don’t want to add to his trouble. I won’t call the school this time, but I make a mental note to add this incident to my file. Just in case.

  “Okay,” I relent. “Promise you’ll tell me if things get worse?”

  “I promise.” His voice is strong, and I can almost picture him standing his ground, a determined set to his jaw and his brows furrowed seriously.

  “Okay. I’m at the library now, so I’m going to have to let you go, Bug. But I’ll talk to you tomorrow and I’ll see you soon.”

  “Thank you, Ivy.”

  “For what, Bug?”

  “Just for being my sister,” he says, and my eyes fill with tears again. “I love you big, big, Bean.”

  “Bigger than the sun and moon and stars, Bug.”

  I hang up with Jacob, enter the library, and head straight to the study carrell I reserved for this afternoon. I set out my computer, my LSAT prep books, and plug in my phone.

  Then I take a deep breath and allow myself a few moments to feel sad, worried, helpless, lost—all the things that come with knowing my brother is hurting and I can’t fix it. I graze the surface of those emotions, acknowledge them, and then compress them into a tiny box and file that box away in my brain to be dealt with later.

  If I think too much about it, I will lose myself in sobs, and I don’t have time to cry. Right now, I need to focus on what I can control, and that is my preparedness for the LSAT. Because I will ace this test.

  Tonight, Jesse and I have found ourselves at the Sig Chi fraternity. They’re having a heroes and heroines theme party, so we dressed up like Danny and Post-Peer Pressure Sandy from Grease. We don’t usually go out on Thursdays, but I need a distraction from my phone call with Jacob earlier. Kelley and I have decided to drive home this weekend, so when J asked if I would hit up this party with him, since we won’t be going out tomorrow, I said yes.

  Jesse is really feeling himself in his leather jacket and wayfarers, an unlit cigarette propped behind his ear. He’s got his dark, curly hair gelled into the traditional T-Bird style, and with his cuffed jeans and white shirt, he definitely passes for a Greaser. I’m surprised I fit my butt, thighs and hips into these leather pants, but I’m feeling myself tonight too.

  “J, you’re looking spicy tonight,” I say playfully as we walk up the steps of the house. He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, and even though he’s 6’3” and probably 200 pounds of solid muscle, he looks like an excited little boy on his birthday.

  “I’m feeling spicy, V,” he says. Then he quirks his upper lip, splays his palms out at his sides and swivels his hips. “I’m a hunka hunka burnin’ love.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Noooo, J. You’re Danny from Grease.” I’m giggling so hard right now. “You’re not Elvis.”

  He freezes, leaving his hands out and lip quirked, and pops a brow at me. “Huh?”

  He looks absolutely ridiculous, and I’m tearing up from
laughing.

  “Grease!” I shout. “John Travolta? Olivia Newton John? The T-Birds!? The Pink Ladies?”

  I’m actually shocked, because there’s not a single ounce of recognition on his face. He’s just standing there in the same position, lip still quirked, looking like a wax statue that was molded to be Elvis but was dressed like Danny Zuko and then given a really dark tan. I take out my phone and snap a picture, which makes him break into a smile.

  “Looks like we’re gonna have to have a movie night, V. I need more of these Pink Ladies,” he says with a wink.

  “Ew, J.” I laugh.

  “And send me that picture,” he adds as we walk in the frat house. “That’s gonna be my new profile pic.”

  About an hour later, Jesse is cozied up to a pretty brunette on the couch and I’m officially off duty. I’m here strictly as his wing woman tonight, so I’m not looking for company. Two weekends in a row was a lot for me. Add in the phone call with my brother earlier, and I’m mentally and emotionally drained. Instead of mingling, I’m sitting on the counter in the kitchen scrolling TikTok and sending Kelley the videos that make me think of him.

  So far, I’ve sent him ten, and he’s liked almost all of them.

  No matter how many times I try to ignore it, I still feel a bit giddy when I know I’ve made him laugh. I tell myself it’s normal to want to make your best friend happy, and then I promptly squash any of those pesky tummy butterflies who don’t get the Just Friends memo. The dang pests are persistent, though.

  Apparently, my RBF and phone scrolling don’t send a strong enough message, because soon a guy with blond hair and biceps for days is sliding up beside me.

  “Hey,” he says. Real smooth. Poetic. A regular Wordsworth. I stifle a laugh.

  “Hey,” I reply without looking up from my phone.

  Go away. I’m not interested.

  “I’ve seen you before.”

  “I go to school here. It’s not that big of a school,” I deadpan while watching a video of a dancing cat wearing a party hat. It’s so funny. I shoot it to Kelley and wait for his reaction.

  “No, that’s not it,” he says, and moves in front of me, bracing his hands on the counter, boxing me in.

  “Excuse you,” I snap, and glare at him in warning, but he doesn’t back off.

  “You were with my brother Brock last weekend.”

  “Oh, you mean Chlamydia Brock?” I say with attitude. He’s too close and can’t take a hint, and if he gets any closer, I am going to show him just what four years of self-defense training has taught me. “Yeah, I remember him. He’s your brother? Just how close are you? Do you share STDs?” I say the last part loudly hoping he’ll finally get the message and leave me alone.

  “Don’t be like that, Ivy,” he croons, and I bristle at the fact that he knows my name. “Brock is a dick. He doesn’t know how to treat a girl like you. But me?” He winks at me and I get a sick feeling in my stomach, anger and unwanted fear swirl violently. “I could treat you real good.”

  He leans in, invading my space even more, and I’m about to tell him to kick rocks, maybe knee him in the nuts, when I get a whiff of a spicy, expensive, and absolutely terrifying scent that sends me reeling.

  My chest tightens, my skin pricks, and I can feel sweat dotting my hairline. I push his chest away with my hands and squeeze my eyes shut, but my panic intensifies when flashes of memory play out on the backs of my eyelids. The same flashes I haven’t seen in almost a year.

  A dark mesh jersey.

  A low rumbling voice.

  Dark hair.

  Navy curtains.

  Pressure.

  And now a new one.

  A spicy and cloying blend of leather and ginger.

  It’s a rapid-fire viewfinder playing back my nightmares.

  “What cologne are you wearing?” I choke out, unsure if he can hear me over the blood pounding in my eardrums, and he chuckles.

  “You like it?” he says in a way that I’m sure he thinks is seductive, but if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to vomit all over his too-small t-shirt.

  A dark mesh jersey. A low rumbling voice. Dark hair.

  “What is it?” I press again, trying my best to breathe through my mouth, to avoid the stink, but it’s getting harder to do. My heart is racing, I’m feeling dizzy, and I can feel the kitchen cabinets closing in on me. It’s getting louder by the second. My skin is tight and itching. I try to recite the Attorney’s Oath but can’t even recall the first sentence.

  Navy curtains. Leather. Ginger. Pressure.

  “It’s Juego Voss... Hey are you okay?” The guy moves his hand to my shoulder, but I shove him off.

  Jersey. Dark. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure.

  “I’m going to be sick,” I say, and he steps back quickly as I jump off the counter and rush to the stairway. I clutch the railing and stumble up the stairs, steadying myself on the wall for a moment once I reach the top. Then, hurriedly, I bypass the line for the bathroom and push past the girl coming out the door.

  “Sorry!” I force out with a scratchy voice to the pissed-off coeds, and then slam the door and lock it behind me. I have enough sense to send Jesse an SOS text before I puke my guts out in the toilet.

  In a matter of minutes that feel like hours, Jesse is banging on the door to the bathroom.

  “Let me in, Ivy,” he calls through the door, and I stumble over to unlock it. When he steps in, he immediately gathers me in a hug, and I start sobbing. I still can’t remember the Attorney’s Oath, so I switch to memories of Jacob.

  Teaching him to ride a bike. Breathe in. Taking him for ice cream. Breathe out. Reading Percy Jackson together. Breathe in. Helping him bake cupcakes for Kelley’s birthday. Breathe out. I put a picture of him in my mind and go over each of his facial features. His eyes. His smile. His floppy hair. Breathe in and out.

  I vaguely feel, as if through a thick wool blanket, Jesse maneuver me to the floor, his hand rubbing gently up and down my back in a comforting gesture. I think I hear someone banging on the door, but Jesse bangs right back and yells something that I don’t pay attention to. I don’t know what he says, but the angry commotion from outside the door stops, and when my ragged breaths quiet, I unfold myself from the slouched position I’d been sitting in.

  I’m still itchy, my skin still crawling, but I’m no longer on the verge of vomiting again. I’m teetering, and Jesse can tell, because he grabs my discarded clutch from the floor and pulls out my emergency Lorazepam. He hands it to me, and I take it dry.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Brown eyes. Thick glasses. Crooked smile... Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  “What happened, Ivy?” Jesse asks quietly after about fifteen minutes. “Did that guy do something?”

  I shake my head and wipe the tears from my cheeks. “No. No, he was a jerk, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”

  He eyes me skeptically. “This hasn’t happened in almost a year. What caused it?”

  “His cologne.”

  “His cologne?” Jesse pauses for a minute, confusion etched over his face. “His cologne triggered a panic attack?”

  I look at him and nod my head slowly. His eyes grow wide.

  “You think it was a memory? A memory from—”

  “I don’t know,” I respond quickly. “I don’t know for sure, but I think so.” I shrug once more, and the tears return. A loud hiccup breaks from my chest, and Jesse pats my back again.

  “Why, Ivy?” he says sternly. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

  I freeze.

  “What do you mean?” I’m confused. He can’t mean what I think he means.

  “Why do you put yourself through this? I know it’s hard for you. Why do you put yourself in these situations if you know this can happen?” His voice is broken, and though he’s asking out of concern for me, it doesn’t stop the anger from coiling tightly in my chest.

  “Don’t, Jesse,” I growl as I scoot away from him, trying to keep another wave
of tears at bay and failing. “I won’t let one bad night ruin me.” I tug my hair out of my ponytail. “It wasn’t my fault. I’m not going to suffer for it for the rest of my life. I won’t!” I press my fingers hard on my forehead.

  At Jesse’s shocked expression, I shut my mouth. He’s never seen me like this, frantic and shouting and full of angry desperation. Even with the panic attacks, I’m never mean. I never lash out. Tears are cascading down my face, but I take a deep breath. Jesse doesn’t deserve my wrath. When I open my mouth to speak again, I keep my voice low and as calm as possible.

  “I can’t undo what happened, Jesse. I can’t change it, but I refuse to believe that the damage is irreparable. I won’t let these scars shadow everything I do. I’m not going to let him take away my ability to live my life. I wasn’t given a choice before. I’m taking that choice back now.”

  “But is this the best way to do it?” he questions, and my anger flares hotter and my tears flow faster.

  Curse my overwhelmed, chaotic emotions.

  “Don’t you dare judge how I deal with my trauma,” I scold him. “Because I am dealing with it. I see a therapist. I’m in a support group. I’ve taken years of self-defense classes. It happened, it’s part of me now, and I’ve accepted that. Now, I’m choosing to do what I think is best for me. I’ve chosen to come back stronger. It’s my choice, Jesse, and you don’t get to tell me how to heal. You don’t have a say in how I choose to conquer my demons.”

  “I know,” he says on an exhale and gives my shoulder a light squeeze. “I know, V. I’m sorry. You want me to take you to Kelley?”

  “No. Definitely not.” I shake my head quickly. My best friend would definitely soothe the ache in my chest, but I’m not ready for him to see me like this. I’m not prepared for him to know everything. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.” I apologize to Jesse with a shrug. “You can go back out there. I’m okay now.”

  “Nah, girl. Queens before Peens.”

  I snort out a laugh, and he grins.

  He gives my shoulder one last squeeze, then gets off the bathroom floor and offers me his hands.