A Broken Kind of Beautiful (43 page)

The heavyset D.J. had a large headset around his ears. He removed them and looked down at the complicated panel, careful to keep his attention diverted from her face. Just like everybody else. “I think so.”

“Good.”

Ivy turned around, headed to the lobby, and found Jordan, sans his grease-stained blue jeans. Instead, he wore a pair of khaki shorts and a Hawaiian-style button-up. Unlike everybody else, he looked her in the eye. It was altogether welcomed. “Jordan, I’m so glad you’re here. Has Sara arrived yet?”

Her stomach dipped. Sara was supposed to arrive with Davis as soon as she finished her Braille lesson. No sign of them yet. Ivy held on to a hope that Davis wouldn’t come at all, which, of course, was a silly hope. Davis was a man of his word. He would never leave them high and dry. Still, imagining him actually seeing her face when the mere thought had sent him running a few days ago made her heart squeeze with dread.

“She should be here soon,” Jordan said. “I’m glad you’re okay, Ivy.”

His sincerity soothed her. “Thanks.”

“And I never got a chance to tell you before, but that was awfully nice of you, what you did for Twila. Organizing that photo shoot with her and Davis. It was all she talked about last week.”

Twila! How in the world could she have forgotten about Twila? She would have had her bone marrow transplant already—the Hail Mary pass—and Ivy had no idea how it went. She put her hand on Jordan’s arm. “Have you seen her? Is she doing okay?”

“She’s pretty nauseous, but the doctors aren’t worried. So far they seem really pleased with how she’s responding.”

Ivy cupped her hand over her mouth, unprepared for the lump that lodged in her throat.
Thank You, God. Thank You
.

A startling pop sounded from the sanctuary.

She jumped. So did Jordan.

Big Bubba poked his head out from the arched double doors. “One of the overhead lights just busted.”

The door behind them opened, bringing in a gust of warm air.

Big Bubba smiled. “Well, hey there, Sara, Davis. ’Bout time you two showed up.”

Without thinking, Ivy turned around and found herself facing the one man she wasn’t ready to see. He stood not more than four feet away, staring straight at her. And what he saw made his face turn white.

Heat burned Ivy’s cheeks. She ducked away from his scrutiny and turned around, heart hammering in her chest. She wasn’t ready for this. Davis could fix the lighting. Marilyn could manage the models. Ivy shouldn’t have come.

Davis couldn’t feel his fingers or toes as Ivy turned and walked away. Seeing her was like someone had shot him with Novocaine. He tried to shove away the image of her broken body on the concrete. The image of her in the dark, trying to escape Doyle. How terrified she must have been. How much pain she must have endured. He took a step to go after her, then reconsidered. If Ivy didn’t want to see him, he needed to respect her wishes.

“Davis, we have a busted light. Think you might be able to take a look?” Big Bubba jerked his head for Davis to follow him.

Jordan reached out to take Sara’s arm. She accepted the invitation by slipping hers around his waist. Bubba waited beneath the arched doorway.

Fix a light. He could do that. It would take his mind off Ivy. He followed Bubba onto the stage, into a hub of activity, and looked at the light in question. While he surveyed the damage, he scanned the room. He could only imagine how hard being here was for Ivy. Yet she’d come. Because she cared about Sara and Marilyn and this show.

He finished his examination. “If I can’t fix it, it shouldn’t be too big of a deal.” Not with its location—off center and toward the back. If he needed to, he could go out to his car and grab some extra lighting from his Jeep. He’d brought every piece of equipment he owned, just in case. He stepped off the ladder and checked his pockets for his keys to the church’s supply closet, but he’d given them to Sara to put in her purse.

He spotted his sister at the back, with Jordan, manning the sound booth as she filled the sanctuary with classy, upbeat music—her smile reminding
him that hope wasn’t lost. On the drive over Sara had told him that she had been accepted into the University of South Carolina–Beaufort. Starting the spring semester, she’d be on her way to becoming an elementary school teacher.

“I know you want to give me that art program, Davis,” Sara had said in the parking lot. “But I was thinking, what if we used the proceeds of the show to help Annie with Twila’s medical bills instead?”

He’d been shocked. “But I thought you wanted to paint again.”

“If you would have asked me a few months ago, I would have absolutely said yes. But anymore, I’m not sure. I think God is ready for me to close that chapter of my life for good.” She squeezed his elbow. “And besides, wouldn’t it be great to bless Annie with this?”

Davis couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

“Do you think it would be possible?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. We’d have to run it past everyone first.” Somehow, he didn’t think anyone would object. The town’s enthusiasm surrounding the fashion show was much less about the art program and much more about having some fun. Davis shook his head, amazed that God could use a tragedy like Sara’s to accomplish His purposes not only in her life but in the life of a sick little girl. He’d taken his sister off one path and set her onto another. She would make a wonderful teacher.

God, will you do the same for Ivy?

He hoped so. And even though he knew it was unlikely to happen, he found himself wishing, as he walked over to Sara, that he could take part in the journey. He reached over the sound booth and touched his sister’s elbow. “I need my keys.”

Sara handed over her purse, her attitude decidedly different than it had been in the parking lot.

He pulled apart the straps. “Are you upset about something?”

“I’m upset about you. You’re being a fool.”

Jordan ducked his head and pretended to fiddle with the volume.

Davis raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I thought you loved her.”

“Loved who?”

“Ivy! Who else?”

He sputtered like a waterlogged engine.

“Because she’s in love with you.”

No. Sara had it all wrong. Ivy wasn’t in love with him; Ivy wanted nothing to do with him. Sara couldn’t see the way Ivy looked at him. She couldn’t see the severity of Ivy’s injury. She didn’t understand what he’d done.

“Do you love her, Davis?”

He opened his mouth, only nothing came out.

She stuck her fist on her hip. “Well?”

Davis groaned. “So much it’s killing me.”

“Then be a man and go tell her.”

In her quest to escape, Ivy had found a small room—something like an old-fashioned hat closet—and sat in the corner on a balance beam. Why the church had one, she had no idea. Ivy put her hands on either side of her legs and looked down at the ground.

Who was she kidding? She couldn’t run a fashion show. Even on a good day, but especially not on this one, with her heart aching for Davis and her face unrecognizable. Her skin itched beneath the gauze, so badly it was next to unbearable. She carefully pulled away the bandages and resisted the urge to scratch.

Old familiar voices rose up in Ivy’s mind—the ones that said she was nothing more than an empty, beautiful shell who wasn’t even beautiful anymore. Only this time, Ivy was tired of listening to them. Could an empty shell have accomplished all that she had in the last few months? Everything she’d done to make the fashion show as big as it was going to be. Convincing Davis to take pictures of Twila. Getting Sara and Jordan back
together. Helping Marilyn at the boutique. None of those things had anything to do with modeling or her looks. And here she was, sitting in a closet, dwelling on all the wrong things, listening to all the wrong voices.

Where would it get her? In a closet, that’s where. What would it get her? Nothing.

This was her chance to show herself that she was more than a beautiful face. And even if she failed, life would still go on. Because this wasn’t her identity. This didn’t quantify her worth. It was a discovery that had set her free last night. So where was her freedom now? She stood from her makeshift seat and headed for the door, determined to be the person Marilyn believed her to be, when the door creaked open.

Davis stood on the other side.

Her knees went wobbly. Ivy took a step back and looked away. At the wall. Down at the carpet. Anywhere but at him. She didn’t want to see the revulsion on his face. Not when she’d finally mustered up the gumption to get back out there and kick some charity show butt. But Davis stood in her path, blocking the door. She stared at a spot on the carpet, next to one of the balance beam’s legs, wishing she’d never removed the gauze. “Excuse me, please.”

He didn’t move.

“I need to get by,” she said, a little louder this time.

He stepped inside the room and closed the door.

She took another step away, her heart flip-flopping inside her chest, feeling suddenly claustrophobic.

He stepped closer.

She held out her hand for him to stop. Right there. Because as much as her heart ached for his nearness, she knew she’d only end up hurt. And her heart could only break into so many pieces. “I came to run a fashion show. Could you please let me by?”

He ignored her hand and took another step closer. “I was looking all over for you. Why are you in here?”

Keeping her eyes trained on the ground, she stepped back. Her calves hit the balance beam. “I needed to gather my thoughts. But I’m done now, and I’m ready to get back out there.”

“I know you’re angry with me. You have every right to be.”

Her heart wedged inside her throat. He was close. Much too close. His nearness hurt worse than her wounded shoulder and face combined. “You have no idea how I feel.”

“Tell me, then.”

She ran a trembling hand through her hair, wishing she could cover her face with it. Or maybe flip off the lights altogether. Why had she taken off her bandages? She kept her face turned down, away. “We don’t have time for this right now.”

“I’m sorry about Doyle. I wish more than anything I could take that night back. I wish you had never ended up alone with him.”

She couldn’t help herself. She looked up and threw his words back in his face. “You think I care about Doyle?”

She didn’t miss the shock on his face as his eyes took in the full extent of her injuries.

“You think I want your apology? Or your sympathy?” Ivy swallowed, hating the lump building in her throat. She needed to get away from Davis and the things he made her feel. “Those are the last things I want.”

“What do you want then, Ivy? I’m not a mind reader. I can’t read yours.”

“I wanted you to fight for me!” The words exploded inside the small room. “Just once, I wanted somebody to fight for me. To chase after me. To not let me push them away. But you know what? I don’t need you to chase after me anymore. I don’t need you to tell me I’m beautiful. I don’t need any of that because—”

But she didn’t get to explain, not about Marilyn’s love or Sara’s card or the words that had become Ivy’s new motto. She didn’t get to explain any of it. Because before she could get it out, Davis grabbed her arms, pulled her to
his chest, and kissed her. And all she could think, all she could wrap her mind around was one thing. A kiss like this had nothing to do with sympathy.

He pulled away, his chest rising and falling with hers as he looked at her face. Her breath snagged in her chest. Her face. She tried to turn away, to look down, but he brought his knuckles beneath her chin and, with a barely there touch, skimmed the edge of her jaw with the pad of his thumb, studying her wounds, her bruises, her stitches … not with revulsion but a tenderness that melted through her like warm chocolate.

“Because why?” he asked.

She grasped at her thoughts, trying to piece them together, but she couldn’t think past the thudding of her heart. “Why what?”

“You were about to tell me why you don’t need me to chase after you anymore.” His warm breath whispered against her uninjured cheek as he laid the gentlest of kisses against her earlobe. “Or tell you that you’re beautiful.”