Ivy’s hand slips into mine as we leave the parking lot and wander down the path toward the park. The late afternoon light spills golden through the trees, shadows stretching long across the grass. Families are spread out on blankets, kids running wild, the sound of a basketball hitting pavement somewhere in the distance.
It should feel ordinary. But with Ivy beside me, nothing does.
“Feels good to finally see you,” she says, brushing her shoulder against mine.
I huff a laugh, tightening my grip on her hand. “Good? I thought I was gonna lose my mind. I checked my phone so many times I’m surprised it didn’t file a restraining order.”
She giggles, the sound bubbling up easy, and my chest loosens in a way it hasn’t all week. I swear I’d walk this path forever if it meant hearing her laugh like that again.
We stroll in comfortable silence for a while. Every so often, I catch myself looking at her instead of the trail, soaking her in—the way the breeze lifts strands of her hair, the way her eyes light up when she glances at me like I’m more than I deserve.
I’m not paying attention, too caught up in Ivy, and my shoulder slams against someone else’s. Hard.
“Sorry, man,” I mutter automatically.
The guy looks to be mid-thirties, ball cap shoved low, sunglasses hooked on his shirt. He freezes, eyes narrowing as they lock onto mine. “Grayson?”
The name cuts through me like a blade. My stomach drops, chest locking up tight. I haven’t heard that name—not like that—in years.
Ivy’s hand stiffens in mine. She looks between us, confusion flickering in her eyes.
The guy grins, like he can’t believe it. “Man, I’ll be—Grayson Bennett. I thought that was you.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen you since Austin. What was it, that dive bar off Main? You were…”
“Wrong guy,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. My pulse hammers in my ears, hot and bitter. “You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”
The man’s smile falters. He squints, taking a half step closer. “Nah. It’s you. Grayson. You used to play with…”
“I said you’ve got the wrong guy.” The words come out low, clipped. My jaw’s tight enough to crack.
For a second, the guy hesitates, like he’s about to pushback. But then his shoulders lift in a shrug. “If you say so.” He gives Ivy a polite nod, then keeps walking, disappearing into the crowd.
The air feels heavier now, the golden light dimmed. My hand is clammy around Ivy’s, my whole body buzzing with adrenaline.
We walk a few more steps in silence before she speaks, her voice cautious. “Gray…who was that?”
I keep my eyes fixed ahead, jaw grinding. “Nobody.”
“Gray.” She tugs gently on my hand, slowing us down until I have to look at her. Her eyes are searching, soft but steady. “He knew you. He called you…” She hesitates, then says it quietly. “Grayson.”
The name makes me flinch all over again.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. I don’t want this right now. Not here, not when all I wanted was to hold her hand and forget the rest of the world existed.
“I told you not to call me that,” I mutter, more to the ground than to her.
Her brows knit together. “You said it once, but…you never told me why. And now…” She pauses, worry slipping into her voice. “Gray, what’s going on?”
I stop walking, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes for a second before dropping them to my sides. The words knot in my throat. How do I explain that the name feels like a chain? That it drags me back into a life I’ve spent years trying to bury?
“It’s nothing,” I say finally, the lie bitter on my tongue. “Just…part of the past. Leave it there.”
Ivy slows, tugging gently on my arm. “Gray…”
The way she says my name undoes me. I blow out a sharp breath and nod toward an empty bench beneath a sprawling oak. “Come on. Let’s sit.”
We walk the few steps in silence. My pulse hasn’t slowed since that guy said my name, and my palms are slick. I sit down, elbows on my knees, staring at the ground. Ivy lowers herself beside me, close but not pressing, like she’s giving me the choice to speak.
After a long moment, I glance at her. The worry in her eyes twists me up worse than the memory ever could. I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You didn’t deserve it.”
