All Over You (All Falls Down #3) (26 page)

"Cam," I choke out, another tear rolling down my cheek.

He thumbs it away, a tender expression on his face. His eyes hold so much emotion, I can't read them all. Love, confusion, and pain mingle with desire and sadness, taking my breath away.

"You can't be here," I whisper, shaking my head.

"Why not?"

"You just…you can't.
I
can't."

"Why not? Talk to me, kitten," he pleads. "Please."

He deserves an explanation, but there isn't one I can give him that will make this hurt any less. Nothing I say will satisfy him or make him leave. I know him. He doesn't give up, especially when it comes to me. He risked his entire career just to be with me. If I tell him I lied to save him, he'll fight me every step of the way. Because he's stubborn and brilliant and no one tells him what to do.

So I don't tell him that.

Instead, I do the only thing I can do. I stick to the story I gave Ventura two weeks ago.

"I lied to you," I say. My voice threatens to break, but I press on, bravely forging ahead before anyone sees us together and any chance he has of salvaging his career goes down the drain. "I was seeing Rory."

He shakes his head, his lips tilting into a deep frown. He doesn't believe me.

"I met him at a show in Los Angeles. Detective Ventura has photos from that night."

"What are you talking about?" he asks, his gaze scanning across my face.

"I'm not who you think I am."

"Bullshit." He reaches out like he's going to pull me into his arms.

I take a step back, fighting not to flinch when pain flashes through his expression again.

I want to fling myself into his arms and soothe the hurt I'm causing him, but I can't. Even though he's going to hate me for what I'm about to do to both of us, I don't have a choice. It's the only thing I can do for him that comes anywhere close to making up for everything he's done for me. It kills me that I can't even tell him that.

"I was using you, Detective," I lie, steeling myself against the look in his eyes. He doesn't want to believe me, but he will. He doesn't have a choice, either. "I knew if I could make you believe I was innocent, I had a chance of getting away with what I did to him."

"Why are you doing this?"

Because I love you. Because I won't let Fake Ivy ruin your life, too.

I take a deep breath, praying for the strength to see this through and for forgiveness once it's done,
and then I say the words that will destroy us both. "You deserve to know the truth, Detective. I'm not in love with you. I-I never was. I lied about that, too."

"Ivy―" Erin says, her voice full of unease and nervousness.

I can't look at her though. The pain in Cam's gaze holds me captive. The emotion is so intense, it rips through me, decimating what's left of my heart. All I can think about is him. He's all I've been able to think about since the very first time he touched me. Every part of me wants him to tell me that he doesn't believe me. That he isn't going to let me do this. That he's not letting me walk away from him. Even though I know he can't, I want him to fight me on this.

But he doesn't say a word as he stares at me. The pain in his eyes changes to anger and finally to defeat before a shudder goes through him. His gray eyes flutter.

He doesn't fight me.

He doesn't call bullshit or yell at me or boss me into telling him the truth.

He doesn't say a word. Not a single sound passes his lips before he bows his head.

"Take care, kitten," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

I love you. I'm so sorry.

With one final look in my direction, he turns and walks away from me, taking my heart with him.

"Are you okay?" Erin asks, standing in the doorway to her guest bedroom, watching me with nervous, worried eyes as I wander around, unpacking my suitcase and hanging my clothes in the empty closet. There are still reporters lurking around my building, and I don't really want to be there alone right now, anyway.

If I'm alone, if I stop moving, I have to feel the pain, and I'm not ready for that. My heart already feels like it's been put through a shredder, and I'm not sure I can handle letting myself feel all of that at once. It's really over between me and Cam. For good.

I can't get the image of him with his head bowed out of my head. I broke him, exactly like I feared I would. And he let me do it. I keep moving, going from task to task so I don't have to think too hard about what that means.

"Call him, Ivy," she says when it becomes obvious I don't have an answer for her. "Tell him the truth. Tell him…hell, tell him anything. Don't just let him go."

"I have to."

"Why?"

"You don't understand," I mumble, smoothing wrinkles out of my slacks before I hang them.

"What is there to understand? You love him, and he obviously loves you," she says, sounding exasperated.

"He's a cop."

"And you're innocent!" She throws her hands up and huffs. "This whole thing is bullshit. You confessed to a crime you didn't commit. Sooner or later, they're going to drop the charges against you or you'll be found innocent. What are you going to do then?"

What
am
I going to do then?

I haven't thought that far ahead.

All I can think about is Cam. I miss him and it's already killing me. How the hell am I supposed to keep going when I destroyed any chance of a future we might have had? How am I supposed to move on from this when everything I wanted is gone?

"I did the right thing," I whisper, grabbing my socks and panties from the suitcase before turning to dump them into an empty dresser drawer. I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince myself or Erin.

She snorts, plopping down on the bed.

"He almost got fired because of me."

"That's bullshit, too," she says. "He's an adult and so are you. He didn't break any laws for you. He didn't destroy evidence or lie for you. So he's fucking you. Who cares? He wasn't assigned to the case, so it's not anyone's business but yours!"

"He's a cop," I remind her again. "I've been charged with manslaughter."

"So? It wasn't his case."

"That doesn't matter," I say, shoving the drawer closed. "Being with me violates their Code of Conduct. He was suspended because of it. I don't want him to lose his job, too." He's always wanted to be a cop. I can't let Fake Ivy take that away from him. "I hate her," I mumble.

Erin sighs heavily and flops backward on the bed. "Why? She isn't the one who jumped off the bridge. The kid is the one who decided to jump."

"She told him to."

"So?" Erin sits up again, crossing her arms over her ample chest. "I've told people to go fuck themselves with a rusty pole before. If someone actually did it and died, does that mean it's my fault?"

"This is different."

"How so?"

"You didn't see the things she said to him," I say, zipping up my empty suitcase and grabbing my bag of toiletries. I can't believe she's defending this woman! "She was horrible to him, and he died. If she cared at all, she'd turn herself in."

"Why should she though? I mean, yeah, she said some awful shit, and yeah, she shouldn't have used your identity, but that doesn't mean this kid taking his own life is her fault. They had an argument and he jumped. Seems like, if anyone is to blame here, it's him."

I narrow my gaze on her, taken aback. "You don't mean that."

She stares at me for a moment and then she sighs. "You're right. I don't. He didn't deserve to die. But fucking A, Ivy. This whole thing is just completely insane. You just spent two weeks in jail, dumped the only man you've ever been in love with, and are now crashing in my spare bedroom to hide from reporters all because a kid killed himself after fighting with his girlfriend. That seems extreme, don't you think?"

"I don't know." I shake my head back and forth and then sigh. I don't have the energy to debate with her over this right now. I just want to soak in the tub and then sleep for the next week.

"I'm sorry," she says after a moment. "You don't need this right now."

"It's fine," I lie and offer her an approximation of a smile. "I'm just tired. I think I'm going to soak and then sleep."

Erin climbs to her feet and pulls me in for a quick hug. "I'll be here if you need anything."

"I know."

chapter nineteen

houstatlantavegas

"That's it!" Erin cries a week later, throwing her hands up when she comes in from work to find me curled up on the couch under a pile of blankets, watching
The Notebook
for the eight thousandth time.

I hit the pause button on the remote and look at her through bleary eyes.

"I can't take it anymore," she says, kicking her heels off and glaring at me.

"What?"

"You're sad and miserable and it's depressing as all hell, Ivy. You have to get up and do something."

"I have been doing stuff," I mumble.

She cocks a brow at me.

"What? I have." Okay, so maybe I haven't been doing much, but I haven't just been moping around for the last week. I've met with my lawyer almost every day, trying to plot a defense in case we go to trial. I've spent hours in the gym in Erin's building, running on the treadmill. I've baked enough to feed a small army. Cried myself to sleep every night. Dreamed about Cam so much it hurts.

The only thing I
haven't
done is leave Erin's apartment to do anything other than visit my lawyer.

"You're going to get shelf-ass if you don't get up." She drops her purse on the table beside the door and stomps toward me with her hands on her hips.

"Shelf-ass?" An amused smile twitches at my lips.

"I'm serious!" She flings herself down beside me before reaching for the bowl of popcorn and popping a piece into her mouth. "Watching you is depressing as fuck. It's been a week since you left jail. You need to get out of this apartment."

"I'm not ready yet."

"I'm not saying you need to go out clubbing," she says, twisting her long blonde hair into a haphazard bun. "But you can't stay locked up in here forever. As much as I love having you here, you need to go outside, get some fresh air and sun. Live a little."

She's right. I know she is. But I'm not sure I'm ready to face the world yet. While the media seems to have lost interest in me for the time being, I don't know if the rest of San Francisco has. Dealing with stares and whispers isn't appealing to me. Neither is the possibility of running into Cam.

God, Cam.

What is he doing right now? Is he thinking about me? Does he miss me? Or has he moved on already?

The thought of him with someone else kills me. But I know it will happen sooner or later, and I can't keep hiding out here, too chicken shit to step outside for fear I might run into him. There's been very little news on whether the charges against me are going to be dropped or if I'm going to have to go to trial. There's plenty of evidence suggesting I'm innocent, and just as much that paints me as guilty. Until service provider records can be subpoenaed to prove the messages weren't sent from my IP address, we're at a standstill. No one's found Fake Ivy yet, and I'm no longer sure if anyone is even looking for her. All I know is that I can't keep waiting for something to happen before I dig myself out of my hole and start living again. I can't stay in limbo forever, no matter how much moving on hurts.

"You're right," I say with a reluctant sigh. "I need to leave the apartment."

"Then let's go!" she cries while throwing her hands up again. "I have to leave in the morning for that convention in Atlanta. Let's have a little fun before I go."

"I'm not going drinking with you," I warn her. While the D.A. agreed to let me leave jail with no restrictions aside from not leaving the state, going out and getting hammered won't win me any points. I'd prefer not to push too far, not until we know if she's going to drop the charges against me.

"Fine." Erin rolls her blue eyes at me. "Then we'll do dinner. We'll devour nachos and drink G-Rated drinks, and be perfectly respectable while I'll tell you all about my hot new coworker."

"You mean Sam?"

She nods.

"Didn't you say he's gay?"

"So?" She climbs to her feet before grabbing the popcorn bowl from me. "He's still hot, and I'm single. I can look all I want to. Now, go shower and I'll deal with this." She waves her hand around like I've wrecked the place, but I haven't. If anything, her apartment is neater since I've been crashing in her guest room. I don't think she's ever dusted before, and I've had nothing but time to kill for the last week.

"Fine," I grumble and drag myself to my feet, stretching my arms over my head.

"Wear something sexy."

"Uh, no."

"Fine, then wear something that
isn't
yoga pants."

I shake my head, refusing to acknowledge out loud that I haven't touched real clothes in a week. Not even visits to my public defender were incentive enough to put actual pants on. "Can I use your computer? I need to check my account balance."

I'm almost afraid to look. The school board has opted to keep me on administrative leave for the remainder of the school year. I cried when Bryan dropped that bomb. There are only a couple of days left in the term now, and I won't get to see my kids again before they graduate from kindergarten and move on. I feel like I've let them down, and I hate that. At least I haven't been fired yet, though.

"Sure," Erin says over her shoulder. "Just use the desktop in my room. My laptop is in the car. Oh! And save the manuscript I have opened, please."

"Thanks." I grab my phone from the couch and head toward her bedroom. When I step inside, I can't help but to laugh a little. Her room is as chaotic as she is. Done in a soft cream color with deep purple accents, it's definitely a girl's room. Clothes, shoes, and designer handbags are spread from one side to the other. A stack of manuscript pages sit on her bedside table. Another stack takes up half of her desk. It's a mess.

I pick my way carefully through the minefield of her room, being careful not to step on any of the heels poking up from the mess, and plop down at her desk. When I move her mouse, the computer screen comes to life, opening to a Word document full of corrections and typed comments in the margins.

I skim over them, smiling.

Erin is a mess most of the time, but she's damn good at her job. She puts her whole heart into her work, and it shows. I've lost count of how many bestsellers she's helped cultivate over the last year and a half. My best friend is kind of a bad-ass.

I save her document and then hit the icon in the very bottom corner to shrink everything down. Chris Hemsworth is shirtless in the background image splashed across the desktop. Unlike her bedroom, the files on her computer are highly organized. Everything is neatly labeled and grouped together in different areas. Program files are ordered in the top left corner, with work files in the top right. The bottom left is reserved for folders with labels that make me laugh out loud. Every single one of them says something about porn.

A lone folder in the bottom right corner catches my attention. It has my name on it.

Curious about what she's put in there, I hover the cursor over the folder and then hesitate. I shouldn't be going through her personal stuff, even if it does have my name on it.

I quickly move the cursor away, open a browser, and surf to my bank.

Looking at my balance is depressing. I have exactly $138.74 in my checking account. Not enough to live on for long. Luckily, Bryan convinced the school board to pay me through the end of the school year, so I'll have at least one more paycheck coming in. After that, I'm honestly not sure what I'm going to do. I have to decide soon though…preferably before I'm destitute.

Opting to use the little bit of cash I still have in hand from cleaning out my savings account, I log out of my account and close the browser. My gaze catches on the file with my name on it again. This time, curiosity gets the best of me and I double click to open it.

There are all kinds of pictures of me saved inside. Some are my modeling photos, others are more recent. A couple of pictures with me and my family are sprinkled in. There are a few of me and Erin, and a couple of us with other friends, but most of them are of my by myself.

A weird sensation bubbles up from the pit of my stomach as I scroll through. There are, literally, hundreds of pictures of me saved to the folder. I don't even remember some of them being taken. They look almost as if someone was photographing me from afar.

Why does she have all of these? And where did she get them?

"Hey, do you want to go to Santo Rosario or El Pescado?" she hollers, her voice growing closer.

I quickly exit out of the folder and jump to my feet, my heart pounding hard. "Um, Santo Rosario is fine," I say when she pokes her head into the room. "I'm not feeling seafood."

"Cool." She gives me a funny look. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I nod and grab my phone from the edge of the desk before squeezing past her into the hallway. "Seeing my balance was depressing," I say, giving her a half-truth. I'm a little freaked out at the fact that she has hundreds of photos of me saved to her computer, but little alarm bells are ringing in the back of my mind, urging me to keep quiet about what I found until I know what it means. All I know is that something isn't right.

"I'll pay for your dinner."

"No, that's okay." I shoot her a weak smile. "I'm poor, but I'm not that poor yet. I can swing dinner."

"Okay then." She shrugs before stooping to grab a pair of jeans out of the floor. "Any chance you saw a pair of black Jimmy Choo's with a four inch heel in here?"

"Nope."

"I knew you were going to say that," she says with a dramatic sigh.

"I'm going to shower."

She waves me off before tossing her jeans on her bed and rummaging through the piles in the floor in search of her shoes, muttering to herself about how she's going to hire a male maid to clean for her because nothing is sexier than watching a man clean. I watch her for a moment before darting down the hall to the guest room. Once inside, I close the door and then lean up against it, breathing hard.

"What in the hell is going on?" I mumble to myself, almost afraid to find the answer to that question. Except…I'm pretty sure I have to do so. Something is seriously off, and I
need
to know what. I don't think I have a choice.

"Have you talked to Todd lately?" I ask over dinner, striving to remain calm and collected, though the longer I think about that folder, the more uneasy I become. Sure, we all have pictures of our friends. But most people don't keep hundreds of them in a folder on their desktop. And most people don't have pictures said friend doesn't even remember. That's weird, and I don't think I'm overreacting. I don't want to assume the worst, either. She's my best friend and has been for years.

There has to be a rational explanation…right?

I'm not sure.

"Ugh," she groans, dragging a nacho through a pile of guacamole on her plate. "I haven't spoken to him at all since I dumped him."

"Oh." I toy with my straw, circling it around and around in my glass. "How long were you two dating? I can't remember."

"I don't know. Eight or nine months, I guess."

"Right after we went to L.A. last summer," I murmur.

"Yeah. He was a big waste of time."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "It is what it is."

"You met him at a convention, didn't you?"

She gives me an odd look, one brow cocked. "In Vegas. I told you, remember?"

"That's right. Is he an agent also?"

"What's up with all the questions about Todd?"

"Just curious," I say, giving her a calm smile. Inside, I'm anything but cool and collected. My instincts keep nagging at me, and they're telling me there's a whole lot more to that folder than I want to believe. "We haven't had a chance to talk about your break-up like we were supposed to do before…well, before everything. I feel bad."

"Well, don't. We were bound to break up eventually. I'm not you, Ivy."

My eyes widen at her tone. "What do you mean?"

"Look at you." She waves a hand in my direction. "You're gorgeous. Guys throw themselves at you."

"That's not true."