Page 32 of His Orders

For ninety minutes, I’d remembered who I used to be before Ivy became the one thing I couldn't stop thinking about. But as I’m finishing up, the thought creeps in again. Her voice. That soft, exasperated lilt she used to use when she teased me, always one part amused, one part challenging.

"You need sleep. Or a hobby."

I don’t know why that memory surfaces now, years later, at the end of a surgery, but suddenly, I’m twenty-five again, scrubbing out of a double shift with a knot of exhaustion in my spine and the faint sound of Drew’s voice echoing down the corridor as he rounds the corner—with Ivy trailing behind him.

She was eighteen then, young, bright, and too damn fearless for her own good. She used to sneak into the hospital with Drew on his shadowing rotations, always carrying a drink for me because, as she claimed, I looked like a corpse who needed saving.

That day, she had stared up at me with that little grin and handed over a cup of whatever sickly sweet concoction she had mixed for me. I hadn’t even said thank you, just took it and downed it in one gulp. "Surgery is my hobby," I’d muttered, pulling on a lab coat.

She had laughed then. "That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard."

And it was. But it didn’t matter. Because for a man like me, purpose had always outweighed peace.

Still, she lingered. That was the thing about Ivy. She never seemed in a hurry to leave. Even when she had somewhere to be, even when Drew would sigh and tell her to stop bothering me, she’d hang back. Asking questions. Watching. Pressing me with that wild curiosity that made everyone else uncomfortable but never really bothered me.

I see her now the way I saw her then—back when I still thought she was just a kid with a smart mouth and too much charm for her own good. Only now, the kid is gone. What’s left is the woman who keeps me up at night, the woman carrying a child and still refusing to let me in. Scowling heavily, I leave the OR, toss my gloves into the bin, and scrub out hard enough to turn my knuckles raw.

The halls of St. Vincent’s blur around me. White noise, a rush of movement and white light. I push through it until I find myself in the physician’s lounge. Coffee. I need coffee. The machine is spitting out something close to drinkable when another memory crashes into me. Ivy again. But not in the hospital.

It's summer, back at the lake house. There's a bonfire flickering across the lawn. Ivy in a sundress, tipsy from cheap vodka and dancing barefoot in the grass with someone I didn’t like. Some guy with a too-easy grin and hands that drifted a little too low when he thought no one was looking.

But I had been looking. And when Ivy had laughed too loud, leaning a little too close, I’d moved.

I remember dragging her away, down the dock and into the shadows, and the way she had blinked up at me, still smiling, still defiant.

"You jealous, Cross?" she had teased.

I hadn’t answered, just told her she could do better. That she should be smarter. I hadn’t even known what I meant then. Whether I was warning her about that guy or myself.

Now I know I was already in trouble. Even then.

I sink into the couch, coffee in hand, stuck on one thought and one thought only. She’s always been under my skin. And all I can think of right now is what I can do to help her, to convince her that she doesn’t need to do this alone, even if she thinks she can. A few sips in, an idea forms in my head. Maybe I can’t make her want more from me. Maybe I can’t fix whatever it is she’s so damn afraid of. But I can be there.

11

IVY

Next afternoon, after attending court, I drive back to the rental in my mother’s aging sedan, the same one I borrowed yesterday just to have some independence while I’m stuck in this city. The courthouse did nothing to improve my mood. Hours spent in a room thick with legal venom and old grudges have left me drained, brittle around the edges. My mother cried through most of the deposition. My father barely looked at her. Their lawyers fired off questions like bullets, each one more pointed than the last, and I sat through it like a shadow no one remembered to dismiss.

My hands are tight on the steering wheel as I pull into the driveway. It’s just past sunset, the sky streaked in bruised reds and deep violet. I kill the engine but don’t move. There’s a car across the street. Black, glossy, and very similar to the car from last night, from what I made of it through the window. It's low to the ground like it doesn’t belong in this part of town.

I try not to stare, but something in my gut twists.

I gather my things quickly—tote bag, court files, my phone—and step out. My boots crunch over gravel. As I reach the front door,I feel a shiver run down my spine, as if I'm being warned by the universe itself. I fumble with the keys, trying to slide them into the lock as fast as I can.

Behind me, the car’s engine stirs as it emits a soft purr. It doesn’t drive away fast, just rolls forward, like it’s never been in a rush. I turn slightly, watching the tail lights disappear around the bend. Whoever it was, they wanted me to know they were here.

I shove the door closed behind me and snap the first lock into place. Then the second. My hand hovers a beat too long before throwing the third, even though I know it’s overkill. My fingers won’t stop trembling.

I leave my bag by the couch and head straight for the kitchen, drawn to the soft, amber glow above the stove. The overhead bulb buzzes faintly, casting long, uneven shadows across the counter. Gripping the edge of the counter, I press my fingers into cool laminate and breathe deeply, trying to settle the tremor still running beneath my skin.

I pull out my phone as it beeps.

Still playing house with your unborn baby, all alone? You really think this ends well for you?

My spine stiffens, shoulders knotting as the thought takes shape. I should show this to someone. Drew, maybe. Or even Ethan. But Drew would come barreling in, guns blazing, dragging the whole family into this mess. And Ethan… no. I can’t drag him deeper. Not when Daniel’s threats have turned personal. He wouldn’t hesitate to destroy Ethan’s career just to prove a point.

I try to distract myself by reviewing the paperwork from today’s divorce hearing. It’s a mess. My parents are fighting over their estate like it’s a battleground. My dad wants to liquidate thevineyard property. My mom refuses, says it’s the only thing she still loves.

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