Page 142 of Ink Me Three Times
“Answer me,” Jesse growls, stepping closer, eyes darting between my split lip and Mitchell’s bloody knuckles. “What the hell is this?”
“Nothing,” Mitchell mutters, wiping his hand on his jeans. He winces as he does, skin already purpling across his knuckles.
“Bullshit,” Jesse snaps. He turns to me. “Timothy.”
I open my mouth, but the words won’t come. What am I supposed to say? Oh, hey, just your sister’smaybe baby daddiesbeating the shit out of each other before breakfast?
“I asked you a question,” Jesse says, voice low and dangerous now.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing, man. Just… tension.”
“Tension,” he repeats flatly.
Mitchell turns away, breathing ragged. He grabs his pencil off the floor with shaking fingers, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
Jesse looks between us, jaw clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grinding.
“Where’s Freddie?” he asks finally, glancing around, expecting him to pop out from under a table.
“He’s not working today,” I say, voice hoarse.
Jesse’s nostrils flare. “I came to check on him. Thought he was opening.”
“He’s home with Penny at the moment.”
Silence stretches, brittle as glass.
Jesse rakes a hand through his hair, exhales sharp through his nose, then points between the two of us. “You two need to figure this out in a better way than beating each other.” He turns and stalks out the door.
The bell jangles violently behind him, leaving nothing but pounding heartbeats and the sour tang of blood in my mouth.
Mitchell sinks onto his stool, head in his hands. His shoulders quake once, twice, he might sob or scream or both.
I taste copper on my tongue as I wipe my lip.
Outside, the sun keeps rising.
Inside, I’m not sure anything will ever be the same.
CHAPTER FORTY
Ivy
The replyto my message is short.
Freddie: Yeah, meet me in the park before work. We can talk there alone.
No emojis. No punctuation beyond a few periods. No warmth. No warning.
Just... Freddie.
And somehow, that makes it worse.
Because I want things to be normal. I want this to be easy. I want, no, Ineed, someone to meet me in the middle of this hellscape without flinching. Without looking at me like I’m a grenade that already went off and left shrapnel in their chest.
So I go.
I pull on clean clothes that don’t fit the way they used to. I change shirts twice. Nothing fits right. Everything clings too much or not enough, and the mirror is no help. It just reflects back someone who looks too tired to be brave.
