Page 148 of Ink Me Three Times
I don’t answer. I just grab the photos from his hand and shove them back into the laundry basket under a pile of jeans as if that’ll make them disappear. Maybe makemedisappear while I’m at it.
“How far along?” he asks, but his voice has gone quiet now. Careful. Like he’s handling a bomb.
“Almost twelve weeks,” I mumble, still not looking at him. If I don’t look at him, maybe this moment won’t exist.
“No way,” he breathes out, and for a second it’s just silent again, except for Pickle’s snuffling as he shreds the dryer sheet with all the gusto of a dog trying to destroy evidence.
Then Jesse’s voice, choked and disbelieving: “Wait… are there… Ivy, is that… is thatthree?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, exhaling slowly. “Triplets,” I say. My voice comes out squeaky, as if I’ve been gargling gravel. “They’re triplets.”
He sits down so hard on the edge of the couch that Pickle jumps and lets out an indignant yip. Jesse scrubs both hands over his face, trying to physically wipe the words out of existence.
“Triplets,” he repeats, but to the ceiling. “holy fuck.”
He drops his hands, eyes finally locking on mine.
“Is it Freddie’s?” he demands. No preamble. No sugarcoating. Just the blunt force of his brain trying to shove everything into place.
I flinch. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” He’s already standing, pacing the tiny living room in jagged lines, movement might keep him from combusting. “You work with him. You’re with his kid all the damn time. And he’s, dammit, Ivy, he’sFreddie. You think I haven’t seen the way he looks at you? I hoped he wouldn’t because he’s my best friend, but…”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly, but my voice is barely there. Fragile. Cracked.
Jesse turns on me, eyes blazing. “Then what the hell is it?”
“I don’t owe you…”
“The truth?” he snaps. “You don’t owe me the truth?”
The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp. I want to reach out, take them back. Or soften them. But I don’t. I can’t. Because I’ve already said too much and nowhere near enough.
“I’m trying,” I say quietly. “You think this is easy for me? That I have all the answers lined up and color coded?”
He barks a humorless laugh and runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in furious, uneven spikes. “You could’ve told me, Ivy.Anyof this. But instead I find out because these pictures fell on the floor.”
“It’s not your business,” I snap, before I can stop myself.
The second it’s out, I regret it.
Jesse recoils as if I hit him. His face twists, pain, betrayal, rage, and then he looks away, jaw working like he’s chewing down a thousand things he wants to say but won’t.
“I’m yourbrother,” he finally says, voice low and gutted. “You’re living with me because of everything that happened before. Because your life was falling apart and you needed a place to stay. Someone to be there for you.”
“I know,” I say, standing and stepping closer. “And you’ve been amazing, Jesse, but this is something I need to figure out alone…”
He shakes his head, backing away. “You could have at least told me.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. My throat’s a locked door, and I lost the key weeks ago.
Jesse lets out another shaky breath and sinks back onto the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor looking for some kind of answer.
“Do the others know?” he asks without looking at me.
I stay silent.
That’s answer enough.
