Chapter 100 Three weeks away from home

Chapter 100 Three weeks away from home
"Leaving hurts more."

I stood at the curb, watching Beck's truck disappear down the street. The taillights blurred. I blinked hard. Three hours away. Three weeks until I'd see him again. My phone buzzed in my hand. A text from him: "I miss you already."

I typed back: "You haven't even left the city limits."

"Doesn't matter."

I pocketed the phone and walked back inside. The apartment felt empty. His jacket was still on the hook. His coffee mug was still in the sink. I picked up the mug, rinsed it, set it in the drying rack. The little things I'd taken for granted were now gaping holes.

The first week was brutal. I threw myself into my work, sketching galaxies that swirled with angry stars. Chloe came over, bringing pizza and a bottle of wine she definitely shouldn't have.

"You look like you haven't slept," she said.

"I haven't."

"Missing him?"

"Like a limb."

She squeezed my hand. "Three weeks. You've survived worse."

I laughed, hollow. "Yeah. I survived my mother trying to kill me. This might be harder."

The phone buzzed again. Not Beck. Elena. "Vanessa's been quiet. Too quiet. Stay alert."

I typed back: "Always."

Beck called every night. His voice was tired, his schedule brutal, but he always made time.

"How's camp?"

"Intense. The coach is a nightmare. The other rookies are sharks." He paused. "I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"I've been thinking. Maybe I can fly you out for a weekend."

"I can't miss class. My professor is already threatening to fail me."

"Then I'll come to you."

"The drive is three hours."

"I don't care."

I smiled. "You're impossible."

"I'm in love."

The line went silent for a moment. "Ivy."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing's going to change. The distance, the pressure, the rumors. None of it matters."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've never been more sure of anything."

A week before Beck was supposed to visit, my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost didn't answer.

"Ivy." Vanessa's voice was smooth, calm. "I have something you want."

"I doubt that."

"The photos from the draft. The ones I took of you and Beck in the parking lot, before Margaret showed up."

My stomach dropped. "What about them?"

"They show you getting into the car. They show you talking to her. With the right caption, they could look very damning."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. I just wanted you to know I'm still here." She hung up.

I called Elena immediately. "She's baiting me."

"Of course she is. Ignore her."

"She knows things she shouldn't."

"She's a journalist. That's her job."

I hung up, my hands shaking. Beck called later that night, but I didn't tell him. He had enough on his plate. He was carrying the weight of training camp, the pressure of the draft, the whispers that still followed him.

The next morning, a package arrived at my door. No return address. Inside, a single photograph. Me, getting into Margaret's sedan, Beck watching from the curb. The caption on the back: "Family watches family. Always."

I turned the photo over. On the other side, a message in Vanessa's handwriting: "I'm closer than you think. Soon, you'll see."

I called Beck. He answered on the first ring. "Ivy? What's wrong?"

"She knows where I live."

"Who?"

"Vanessa. She sent a package to my dorm."

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm coming home."

"You have camp."

"I don't care."

"Beck—"

"I'll be there tomorrow."

The line went dead.

I stared at the photograph. The street was empty. My door was locked. But the photo had been taped to my door, not slipped under it.

Someone had been here.

While I was inside.

I checked the window. The latch was broken.

I hadn't noticed.

I hadn't noticed anything.

And Vanessa was already gone.