I was sixteen then. Ivy was barely eight then hollow-eyed and silent in a way no child should ever be. I still remembered the way she'd stood in the doorway of Lucas's old apartment with a single suitcase, like she was afraid to take up too much space.
Lucas hadn't hesitated. He'd taken her in without discussion, without conditions. Noah and Caleb followed soon after, rearranging their lives around a girl who wasn't technically their responsibility but became their sister anyway.
And me?
I'd just slid into place beside her, the way I always did.
The security guard recognized my car and waved me through without question. The gates opened smoothly, familiar and comforting in a way my grandfather's house never was.
I parked and went inside without knocking.
The house smelled like coffee and something baking and….. burnt? probably one of Lucas's failed attempts at pretending he enjoyed domestic life. The sound of footsteps echoed upstairs.
"Ivy?" I called.
"In my room," she answered, her voice tight.
I took the stairs two at a time, my chest heavy with everything I hadn't told her yet. When I reached her door, it was already open.
She was pacing.
Back and forth. Barefoot on the rug. Phone abandoned on the bed. Her hands kept fisting in the hem of her sweater, like she didn't know what to do with them.
She looked up when she saw me, and her face crumpled immediately.
"Oh thank God," she said, crossing the room in three quick steps and wrapping her arms around me.
I held her tightly, pressing my chin to the top of her head, breathing her in. She smelled like vanilla and laundry detergent. Familiar and Safe.
"I'm so tired," she whispered into my shoulder. "I don't want to this."
"I know," I said, rubbing her back in slow circles. "I know."
She pulled away and started pacing again, words spilling out as fast as her feet moved.
"He didn't even ask me if I was interested," she said. "He just told me where and when. Like my answer doesn't matter."
My throat tightened.
"He's always done this," she continued. "Ever since Mom and Dad died. Like he's trying to plan my entire life so nothing can go wrong. But it feels like I'm suffocating."
I watched her, every detail etching itself into my memory. The crease between her brows. The way her voice wobbled when she tried to sound angry instead of scared.
I thought of Zane Whitmore.
And something in me hardened.
"Ivy," I said gently, stopping her with a hand on her arm. She looked at me, eyes glassy. "You trust me, right?"
She nodded without hesitation. "Always."
"Then let me handle this," I said.
She frowned slightly. "Handle what?"
I forced a small smile. "Grandpa. The dates. All of it, just calm down and I'll talk to grandpa tomorrow."
She hesitated, then sighed. "Okay. I just don't know what I'd do without you."
Neither did I.
And that was when I knew.
Whatever it took, I wasn't letting her face this alone.