Page 139 of Ink Me Three Times

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I press my palm to my stomach, light and trembling. “Hey,” I whisper. “I’m trying, okay? I promise I’m trying.”

The room is silent, but in my chest, the promise echoes back. I don’t know how to do this.

But I want to.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Timothy

The secondI walk into Ink & Iron, I know I should’ve stayed home.

The lights are too bright for how early it is. My shirt collar feels tight, like it’s trying to choke me out before Mitchell gets the chance.

There’s a smear of yesterday’s stencil ink still on the counter, dried into a blue ghost, and somehow that’s the only thing that feels normal right now.

The vibe is off… smoke before the fire off.

No hum of music. No smell of coffee. No Freddie humming under his breath in the back.

Just Mitchell.

Already here.

Already brooding.

He’s parked at his station as if he’s been up all night, sketchpad open, pencil working overtime. He doesn’t even look up when I walk in, which, okay, not entirely unusual, but today?

It feels pointed.

“Morning,” I say, real casual.

No answer.

Alright. Cool. This is how we’re doing it.

I drop my bag behind the counter, glance around, and try not to take the bait. He’s probably just hungover on three hours of sleep and two decades of emotional repression.

But still.

“You want your coffee or are you too busy committing graphite homicide?”

His shoulders twitch, like he’s trying to shrug off a phantom weight. The pencil taps against the page in this manic little rhythm, faster and faster, until he finally snaps his head up.

And it’s not a look. It’s a glare.

Oh good.

Here we go.

“You knew.”

I blink. “Huh?”

He throws the pencil down. “You knew, Tim. About Ivy. The pregnancy. You brought her here.”

“I brought her right after she told me,” I say, keeping my voice low. “She wanted to tell you herself.”

“You didn’t think maybe I deserved a heads up?”

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