Page 147 of Ink Me Three Times
“I’m going to deal with her,” I say, my voice low and firm. “I’m going to put an end to this. No more games. No more showing up and threatening you. No more showing up and threatening me. This ends now.”
Ivy blinks at me, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Freddie…”
I don’t let her finish.
I step forward, cup her face in both hands, and kiss her.
Soft at first, just a brush of my lips against hers, but when she exhales that tiny, broken sound, something in me snaps. I press in harder, deeper, pouring every vow I can’t say out loud into theway I kiss her. EveryI’ve got you, everyI’m not going anywhere, everyyou’re safe with me.
Her hands curl into my shirt, holding on like she’s scared I’ll disappear.
But I’m not going anywhere.
Not now.
Not ever.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Ivy
I’m foldinglaundry on Jesse’s couch because apparently, that’s who I am now.
Domestic. Stable.
The girl who does chores to keep her brain from imploding. Pickle is chewing on a rogue dryer sheet like it personally offended him, and the sun is coming in through the blinds in those golden stripes that make everything appear peaceful as an indie movie.
It’s not.
Because then it happens.
I reach into the bottom of the laundry basket for a hoodie and something slips out of the pocket.
The ultrasound photos.
They flutter to the carpet in slow motion, glossy and accusing, and for a second I just… stare at them. Maybe if I don’t move, they’ll turn invisible.
Spoiler: they don’t.
And of course, that’s when I hear Jesse’s voice behind me.
“Hey, Ivy, have you seen my…”
Silence. Heavy and instant.
I don’t even turn around. I just lunge for the photos, but his footsteps are faster, and suddenly he’s there, scooping them up before I can snatch them back.
His eyes flick down to the top printout. His brow furrows. His mouth moves, he’s trying to speak but his brain has thrown up a 404 error.
“Wait… are these…?”
“Give them back,” I snap, reaching for them, but he just holds them higher, eyes scanning them again, like he thinks he’s reading them wrong.
“Ivy… these are… this is an ultrasound.”
“Congrats, you know what one looks like,” I mutter, heat rising in my neck. My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop the rest of the laundry.
His eyes flick up to mine, wide and horrified. “You’re… you’re pregnant?”
