Caged: Ensemble Trilogy, #2

By Rosetta M. Overman

Following the death of her mother, Ivy Matthews moves to America with her estranged father. Despite the blow, she continues on her path to becoming a violinist, working with orchestras.

Her world is knocked on its axis when one of her new coworkers begins making unwanted advances, going as far as to stalk her when she turns him down. Her tentative friendship with the cage fighter Jaime Stockard might help her overcome the fear and oppression her coworker's obsession has buried her under.

Or she might just become a victim .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosetta M. Overman
• Release date: Dec 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386589839

Book preview

Prologue

The sound of the violin filled the house, a smooth, rich noise that always lulled Ivy into a sense of ease. A little smile tugged at her lips as she danced in the middle of the living room, practicing for the recital her mom was so excited for her to be in. At sixteen she was far from participating in her very first recital, but no matter how many of them she danced in she could never get over the joy on her mom’s face as she sat in the chairs in front of the stage, looking up at her daughter proudly. Though all she ever saw was a blur through the spotlights that threatened to blind her, she could always pick out her mom’s giddy expression in the crowd. 

River dancing was exhausting, but it was tiring in a way that was so fun she almost felt like she’d been playing a game by the time she’d stopped. Even with her violin tucked snugly under her chin, left hand drawing the bow over the strings, she still felt exhilarated as she came to a stop, bowing in front of her mom. The woman smiled at her daughter, maternal pride shining brightly in her eyes as she looked at her daughter from her seat on the embroidered chair she occupied in their living room. Outside it was a rainy day in Central London, inside the house was filled with all the warmth, love and excitement of a summer day. Wonderful! her mum praised, clapping her hands together lightly. Unlike her other exuberant daughter, Octavia Matthews was a moderate woman who rarely ever showed too much of any emotion. That was one of the reasons Ivy’s dad had left her for another woman when his job forced him to transfer to America.

Sullen by the memory, one that wouldn’t plague her if Octavia would only take the photograph of him off the mantle, the strawberry-blonde dipped her head in a small show of appreciation. With her eyes open again – they rarely ever were when she was playing – she could once again see the world for what it truly was and, outside her music, she could see very little happiness in it. Thank you, Mum, Ivy replied, a grin that was only slightly forced spreading across her face as she stared down at the woman. She wasn’t particularly tall, about average height for a woman, but whenever Ivy stood up in front of her mum, especially when she was sitting down, she felt like a giant. I been workin’ ‘ard on this one. I reckon I might be gettin’ that scholarship I was after. She wanted to study in America and become something more than what people expected her to and her mum was the only one who supported her in that endeavour.

I’m sure you will, baby. Don’t go lettin’ none of them people tell you different. The other girls were competitive, ready to push her out of the limelight at the first sight of an opening, something Ivy wasn’t willing to let happen. Even though it meant leaving her mum behind, she knew that they would be better off in the future once she’d made it to stardom and could afford to do all the things her mom had to miss out on to raise her. They would travel everywhere and eat fancy dinners, maybe even try that escargot the French were so keen on. Those were her dreams, dreams that she’d inherited from her mom when she was still a child. She never had any reason to adopt new ones of her own.

Grinning childishly, Ivy walked over to her mum, sliding her violin into its case on her way. Pausing in front of her Ivy leaned down, opening her arms wide. Octavia stood up, wrapping her daughter in a warm hug. Nobody’s gonna outshine me, Mum. This is for us. She was blessed in every way. Sure, her dad had up and left, but the row house they lived in was comfortable, the neighbours nice enough and they had each other. Without her mum Ivy wasn’t sure she’d be as cheerful as she had been since she was a child. As a matter of fact, she knew she wouldn’t. Her mum’s pride was hers, as was her mum’s happiness.

Knowing that she’d never have anything more precious than the unconditional love her mum offered, she squeezed the older, smaller woman tightly, cherishing the moment the way she always did. Her dad leaving had taught her not to take anything, not even the little things, for granted. Especially not the little things, they amounted to more than anything else ever could. I love you, Mum, she muttered into Octavia’s greying auburn hair, her hands gripping her shoulders.

Life was so unfair, she realised as her mum dropped back into the chair, her eyes drifting to the photograph of them seven years ago when her dad was still there to take care of them. Her face took on a sullen appearance, eyes seeming a bit duller than usual. That was the way she always appeared when she looked at photographs of Ansley Matthews, her husband since the day she turned eighteen...Up until a few years ago anyway. Ivy crouched in front of her mum, fingers sliding between hers. To her surprise, it was Octavia who turned to speak to her first, a bittersweet smile on her face as she peered down at her daughter’s kneeling form. Yer dad would be proud of you, she claimed, leaning forward to kiss her daughter’s forehead.

The older woman looked away quickly after that, staring at the photograph again. Tears glistened in her eyes as she sat in her chair, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Yer the best thing that ever happened to me. When I don’t got nothin’ else, I always got me little darling to keep me strong. Her voice broke and Ivy wondered if there would ever be a time when her mum could smile without that sadness clouding her features, if she would ever take that godforsaken picture off the mantle and lay the man who’d broken her to rest with the rest of her memories. But Octavia was the dwelling type and there was no room for change after she’d lived over forty years that way. She would take Ansley to her grave with her and every emotion she ever felt for him would dwell in her tomb until the day the earth ceased to exist.

IVY SKIPPED DOWN THE stairs, humming quietly to herself so as not to disturb her mum. She was just rounding the stairs when she heard it, the shouting coming from the kitchen. It was loud enough to wake the dead, making her wonder how in the world she’d managed to miss the sound. Her Uncle Henry’s voice was the first she managed to make out clearly, booming through the room loudly enough that it was a wonder the knickknacks and wall-hangings didn’t tremble. You need to tell the girl, Tavy! he shouted, urgency in his tone. She ain’t a girl no more, but a full grown woman. Don’t go ‘round keepin’ things from her! They couldn’t have been more obvious that they were talking about her if they hired a plane to fly up, writing her name in exhaust fumes or whatever it was they used to keep the words in the sky.

An irritated huff came from the kitchen followed by her mum’s calm voice saying, She ain’t but sixteen, Henry. The girl’s got herself a lot of growin’ up to do. There was a short pause followed by the click of a porcelain cup against wood. Octavia was drinking her morning tea, probably reading the paper while Henry ran his mouth off at her. It wouldn’t have been all that unusual had Ivy not been the topic. If they’d been arguing about Ol’ Bess Middler, the woman her uncle was so smitten over, it would have been a much more common occurrence. It was rare that the two ever disagreed about Ivy’s upbringing... And even rarer still for her mum to keep secrets from her about anything. It’s my choice when to tell ‘er, Henry. Let me have that at least.

Henry sighed heavily, but it was clear that the argument was over. There was no winning an argument against her. A person would have better luck milking a bull. Knowing this, Ivy hopped down the last two steps, being sure to be loud enough that they could hear her but not so loud as to disrupt the neighbours. Both of the adults looked up as she walked in, watching her make her way across the floor. Her mum smiled that same smile she always did when she spotted her daughter, standing up to get the girl a cup of tea. Want some milk in yer tea, love? she asked as Ivy studied her, noticing how much thinner her usually voluptuous mum had become.

Ignoring the question, the girl walked over, squeezing her mum’s side playfully. Gettin’ fit fer a man, are we, Mum? she teased, ruffling her mum’s hair with her free hand as the woman jumped, sloshing tea over her hand.

Octavia reached back, slapping her daughter’s hand away halfheartedly, but not before Ivy felt her hip bones protruding. It was on thing for the younger girl’s to do so, she’d always been more on the slight side, but her mum had always had soft curves. What would you know ‘bout gettin’ fit fer a man, girl? She demanded, laughter in her voice. Ivy’s smile melted as her hands pulled away swiftly, concern taking its place. She almost asked, oh how she wanted to, but the reflection of her mum’s jovial expression in the glass before her face kept her mute. She forced her smile to return, meeting twin sets of brown eyes meeting in the translucent reflection.

But Henry was making it difficult for her to ignore what she’d heard, staring at his sister with those knowing, scrutinizing eyes that demanded her to tell her daughter everything. But Octavia kept her secret and Ivy didn’t pry. It wasn’t her business unless her mum wanted it to be, at least, that’s what she told herself as she finally answered the question her mum had asked her. Yes, I’ll be takin’ me tea with milk. She couldn’t drink it without milk, had never been able to stand the bitter taste without a creamer of some kind. Her mum already knew that, but she couldn’t blame her for asking. Maybe one day she’d change her mind, though there was very little chance of that happening.

Her arms wrapped around her mum’s shoulders, squeezing her from the side and kissing the top of her head. Sometimes, especially when Octavia thought about Ansley, Ivy felt like the adult rather than the child and she didn’t mind that one bit, not as long as they had each other. Picking up a line from their conversation the day before, she said just loud enough for Henry to hear, You’ll see, Mum, one day the two of us will be traveling the world together. Then she winked, only barely catching the tail end of her uncle’s accusatory glower.

SHE’D SEARCHED FOR her mum the whole time she was on stage, but her face hadn’t stood out in the centre row the way it always did. In fact, as the other girls hurried out of dressing rooms, rushing to meet their families and beaus, she didn’t see a single familiar face in the crowd around her. Never in all her sixteen years had she ever seen her mum miss something. She’d even taken off work for her last day of primary school, so where was she now? Uncomfortable by herself, Ivy pulled her mobile out of the clutch bag Octavia had sworn looked beautiful with the ivory colour of her flowing dress. The one she’d picked out solely because of the dramatic effect it added to her every movement. An effect she was sure her mum would’ve appreciated had she been there to see.

The phone rang repeatedly as she waited for her mum to pick up, getting voicemail three times before giving up. Pressing the end button she dialed her uncle’s number, tapping her fingers against her thigh as sweat built up over her forehead and under her arms. Worry gnawed at her gut, the memory of her mum’s bony figure still fresh in her mind. Ivy, I been tryin’ to reach you, girl, her uncle claimed, her voice sounding just as concerned as she felt. Your mum is in the hospital waitin’ fer you.

Never had words weighed so heavily on her as they did then, her heart stopping for a full beat before restarting again, picking up the pace tenfold. I’ll be right there, she promised, already rushing for the doors, weaving between people as she clutched desperately at the handle of her violin case. Left handed violins were not nearly as common as their right handed counterparts and she knew for a fact that she couldn’t afford to buy a new one. The one she clutched now belonged to her grandmother who’d left it to her only after she’d died the year before.

One taxi ride later Ivy was rushing up to the front of the hospital, demanding to see her mum. Octavia Matthews, she repeated for the third time, fingers tapping an incessant, irregular rhythm over the countertop in front of her as the receptionist typed at a snail’s pace, her too-long fingernails making it nearly impossible for her to tap the keys directly. Ivy grimaced, staring at the elevators as yet another left her behind.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the woman told her the room number, sending the girl speeding off toward the elevators just in time to miss yet another one. Grinding her teeth, she swerved around the elevator bay, jerking open the door with a picture of stairs on it. She didn’t bother to hesitate as she ran down them, her feet pounding loudly, so unlike the graceful steps she usually took. Her hair swayed around her face as she ran, completely out of breath as she came to the ward her mum was on. Shoving through the doors, she nearly slammed into her uncle, who was on his way toward the elevator bay on the third floor. Her hands reached out, gripping onto his arm as she demanded, What’s wrong with Mum? The worry was still mounting as she stared into his face. He must have aged five years in only a few hours.

Without a word he headed back down the hallway toward a row of closed doors. Nurses and doctors bustled about. A few nurses rushed a bed past. Underneath the sheet, Ivy could just make out the figure of a frail human. Her heart squeezed when she realised the person’s face was also covered. In a room down the hall a woman was wailing, her voice echoing off the walls and bouncing back into Ivy’s ears unbidden.

Turning her head away and blocking out the sound as best she could, she followed her uncle, clutching his upper arm for emotional strength she desperately needed. Then the door was in front of them, a light oak colour, completely unassuming, with a small drop box on the front. In a little sleeve above the box was a piece of paper. Reading it, she hissed out a breath. Matthews, Octavia S. How could she be here when she was meant to be in the audience, watching her daughter perform? There was nothing wrong with her that would warrant hospitalisation. Wouldn’t Ivy have been the first to know if something that serious was wrong with her?

Henry opened the door, Ivy walking along behind him mechanically. Her eyes fell upon the frail woman in the bed, the sight not making sense to her. Weren’t they supposed to be visiting her mum? Was there another Octavia Matthews that Ivy didn’t know about, because this thin woman tucked away under layers of blankets, arms exposed by a hospital gown far too large for her, was not the vivacious, voluptuous woman that she was used to seeing, used to holding close and hearing whisper how much she adored her. No, she had to be looking at a stranger who just happened to have the same beautiful brown eyes.

Even the woman’s smile was tired as she held those stick-thin arms out to Ivy, asking, How was yer recital, baby? The breath left Ivy in a gust, her jaw dropping slightly in disbelief. Brown eyes searched the room, locating her mother’s favourite flower print purse and the blue umbrella she always carried. For some reason Ivy wished she was still wearing that ivory dress, because in that moment a part of her understood everything only too clearly.

Stumbling back a step, she reached up one hand, pinching herself just above her elbow. Another hiss escaped her, this time because of physical pain rather than mental distress. Henry watched her silently before looking down at his sister as if to tell her that Ivy’s reaction was her own fault. Come here, sweetie, her mum said softly, motioning her daughter over, that tired smile still in place on her face. The girl walked forward slowly, feet dragging over the tile flooring. Mum has somethin’ she’s been meanin’ to tell you. It was in that moment that Ivy realised fully what was going on, why her mum was so thin and even how she’d hidden it. The girl hadn’t seen her out of the loose-fitting, long sleeved shirts she’d taken to wearing in more time than she could really remember. She’d been hiding something big underneath those loose clothes.

Are... Ivy swallowed thickly, eyes brimming with tears as she stared down at the one person, the only person, who’d ever loved her more than they loved themselves and tried to force herself to ask the question that she already knew the horrible answer to. Are you gonna die, Mum? Her voice was but a squeak at the end, the tears already flowing down her face, dripping off her chin to drop to the ground between her feet. Her lips trembled uncontrollably, hands clenched at her sides to stop their shaking, but it was no use, her body was already a quivering mass.

Yes, baby, Octavia replied. Ivy wasn’t sure when it happened, at what point she’d fallen to her knees at her mum’s bedside, but the next thing she knew bony fingers were stroking their way through her hair gently. A soft lullaby was sung over her head, one she knew only too well. Her mum always sang it to her when she was sick or sad. Pressing a kiss against Ivy’s head, Octavia said, I know I should’ve told you sooner, but there’s nothin’ to be done for it now. We all make mistakes, girl. I’m sorry this was mine. A single tear dropped onto Ivy’s forehead, rolling down to soak into her eyebrow.

Crawling up next to her mum on the bed, she heard the door shut and knew Henry had left them alone. What’s the matter with you? she asked, not wanting to know but needing to anyway.

This ol’ heart of mine is givin’ out on me, her mum replied, kissing her head again. Now we should go an’ get some rest, yeah? We’ll talk more in the mornin’.

That was the last conversation Ivy ever had with her mum. When morning came she was awoken by a shrill, steady bell tone that pulled her out of a horrific nightmare and into something wholly worse. Doctors and nurses ushered her away from her mum, shoving her to the side of the room, leaving her quivering off to the side while they tried to restart her heart, talking all their medical jargon. Finally, after what felt like hours but in reality was only minutes, one of the doctors backed up from the bed, looking down at his watch. Time of death 8:15 AM, he said, only catching sight of Ivy’s tear-soaked face once the words were out of his mouth.

THE DOCTOR – OR RATHER nurse’s aide – who’d proclaimed her mum dead, handed her a cup of tea. I haven’t been here very long, he informed her, his accent suggesting that he was referring to London rather than the hospital. Looking at him more closely it was clear that he was only five or six years her senior. I’m from Cheshire, what about you? His voice was nice, calm and soothing, not deep or gruff like most men’s voices were. If she ever had a brother she would’ve liked for him to speak the same way, but that was even more of an impossibility now than it was even a week ago.

Bending forward she let out a sob, eyes squeezing tightly as hot tears dripped down her face. His hand landed on her back, awkwardly stroking circles over it in a botched attempt to soothe her. Look, everything going to be alright, he tried to convince her, leaning in close to her face.

Her eyes snapped open, glaring at him so fiercely that he subconsciously drew back away from her. What would you know? she demanded, shooting to her feet as she glared down at him angrily. Ever lost a parent? Well, have you? Her voice had gone deeper, taking on a dangerous note as the poor man shook his head, standing up slowly and glancing around, obviously glad he’d taken her to the little outdoor lounge people rarely ever visited for fear it might rain. Then don’t go tellin’ me everythin’ will be fine. It won’t! It won’t! It... She stopped mid-shout, eyes widening, but it had nothing to do with the man before her. She’d said it, actually said it. Her mum was lost...her mum...her mum was dead.

Slowly, the man walked over to her, peering at her mystified expression in concern. This was wrong, she knew it was. Just last night Octavia had promised to talk to her some more today. She couldn’t die yet, she wouldn’t lie to Ivy that way. Then she had to come back, she had to wake up. Arms wrapped around her, an equally warm body too hard to belong to a woman pressing against her. Her face rested against the fabric of the man’s shoulder, tears soaking it as they continued to fall, but she was