Chapter 13 Mitchell
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mitchell
"Crazy, huh?"
Lani’s voice cuts through the hum of the machine like it’s nothing. Like she’s not in the final stretch of a five hour piece on her forearm. Like she’s just chatting over coffee instead of getting her skin needled for the hundredth time.
I don’t look up.
Just wipe the line. Ink and blood and balm smudging into the paper towel.
"Depends what you mean," I say flatly.
She grins up at me, eyes bright, messy bun slipping sideways. "Ivy. Timothy. The Hollow. Last night. Everything."
I keep my face still. My hands steadier.
Of course it’s about Ivy.
It’s always about Ivy lately.
Lani goes on like she’s telling me the weather.
"Apparently, Arlo told Dottie this morning that Ivy and Timothy got real close last night.
Like left together close. Which is wild, because Principle Jenks lives next door to Freddie, and Ivy has been staying there a lot too… she thought they were together."
Lani says it like it’s nothing. Like it's funny. Like it isn’t stabbing me right in the gut.
I press a little too hard into the next line and have to ease up before I blow it out.
No big deal. Just Ivy. Just my anonymous mistake turned daily distraction. Just the girl I haven’t stopped thinking about since she came back into my life and started orbiting my business partners.
I exhale slowly through my nose. "You shouldn’t listen to Dottie."
Lani laughs, unfazed. "Babe, Dottie runs this town. She knows what brand of coffee you drink and how often you refill your prescription. If someone’s walking out of The Hollow at midnight entangled with someone else? You bet your ass she’s taking notes."
Urgh, this is why I’ve always been ambitious, wanting more. Small town life is just too… small.
I keep my mouth shut. Let the machine buzz fill the space.
I shouldn’t care.
She wasn’t mine. Never was.
It was one night.
One mistake.
But hell if it didn’t brand me…
Just as Lani’s sliding her hoodie over the fresh wrap on her arm and tossing me a wink, the door swings open with that same irritating jingle.
And in strolls Timothy.
Hair mussed. Hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder. Looking relaxed in a way I haven’t seen in months.
Happy.
"Yo," he says, nodding at Lani as they pass each other. "How’s the arm?"
"Glorious," she says, flashing her bandaged forearm. "Tell your brother he’s a genius. And drink some water… you look like someone who forgot to sleep."
Tim chuckles. "I remembered. Just… barely."
She winks. "Uh huh. I bet."
The door shuts behind her.
And then it’s just us.
He drops his keys on the counter, humming something under his breath as he starts making a fresh pot of coffee. Like it’s a normal morning. Like nothing’s shifted.
But it has.
He’s got that lightness to him. That looseness in the shoulders. That glow.
He doesn’t say anything about it.
Doesn’t gloat.
Doesn’t even mention her name.
But it doesn’t matter.
I know.
And it hits me harder than I thought it would.
Because this isn’t the smug, post conquest strut I braced for.
This is worse.
He’s just… content.
And that undoes me more than anything else could have.
He likes her.
And maybe, I don’t know, maybe she likes him back.
My stomach twists.
I drag a palm over my face, turning away like it might stop the flood. Like if I don’t look at him, I won’t have to feel this.
He doesn’t even notice.
Tim just leans against the counter, sipping his mug, eyes soft and distant like he’s replaying something good.
I should be happy for him.
He deserves something easy. Something real.
But all I can think about is that night. The curve of Ivy’s throat. Her voice in the dark. Her breath catching when I touched her. The way she left without a name.
And how I let her go without asking for it.
I might’ve told Tim he could go for it.
Might’ve pretended it didn’t matter.
But that was before she started showing up in all the in between moments. Before I started wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t let fear win.
I scrub at the same damn spot on my desk again.
Futile.
Pointless.
A poor excuse for action.
The door creaks open again and Freddie strolls in, hair damp, sunglasses perched on his head like a halo.
He pauses when he sees us.
Looks between us like he’s waiting for one of us to speak.
We don’t.
Tim just gives him a half smile and goes back to his coffee.
I keep my head down, pretending to sketch. Pretending it doesn’t hurt.
Freddie finally says, "Alright. Did something happen or are you two just doing performance art now?"
No answer.
He sets down a paper bag on the counter. "I brought bagels. That’s all I’ve got. No therapy, no refereeing, just carbs."
Still nothing.
Tim shrugs eventually. "It’s just a weird morning. Nothing big."
I can feel Freddie watching me. Like he’s waiting for a cue. But I’m not giving him one.
I can’t.
The silence turns thick. Uncomfortable.
Until Tim breaks it, soft and almost too casual.
"I, uh…" he shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. "I probably should’ve said something earlier. Just didn’t want it to get weird."
I freeze.
He doesn’t have to finish. I know where this is going.
Still, I don’t stop him. I just let the train keep rolling.
"Ivy and I… we hooked up," he says, gentle but certain. "Last night."
Freddie’s head jerks toward him.
I stay still. Stone. Ice. Rage coiling under the surface.
"She’s incredible," Tim says quietly. "And smart. And funny. And I really like her, Mitch. Like… I’m not just messing around."
And that’s when something in me snaps.
Not because he slept with her.
Not because he likes her.
But because he got to say it out loud.
He got to feel something and own it and not bury it under layers of fear.
And I didn’t.
"You really like her?" I say, my voice low and sharp. "That serious?"
Tim nods slowly, eyes narrowing at my tone. "Yeah. I mean… yeah. I didn’t think it’d be a problem. I asked you before, remember? You said it didn’t matter."
"Right," I snap. "Because I’m such a damn open book."
Tim frowns, setting his coffee down. "Mitchell, what the hell’s going on with you?"
And then Freddie, still blinking like he’s trying to process, finally speaks.
"Wait. Ivy? Something is going on with you and my nanny?"
"Yeah," Tim says. "That okay? I didn’t think it’d be an issue…"
Freddie scrubs a hand over his face. "Fuck."
"What?" Tim asks, eyeing him. "What now?"
Freddie hesitates.
Too long.
Then: "I slept with her, too.”
The silence this time isn’t thick.
It’s solid.
Tim turns toward him like he didn’t hear right. "What?"
Freddie’s jaw tightens. "It wasn’t… I didn’t know you were into her. I didn’t know either of you were."
I stand up so fast the stool legs screech across the floor.
"So we’re just all fucking the same woman now?" I say, the words bitter in my mouth.
Freddie’s eyes harden. "I didn’t know, Mitchell."
"Well maybe you could’ve asked!" I shout.
"I have been keeping my distance," he snaps back. "Because of Jesse. Because she works for me. I didn’t know I should keep away because of you guys too…"
"You should’ve said something," I cut in, venom in my voice. "You should’ve fucking said something, either of you."
Tim turns on me. "You told me it didn’t matter, Mitch! Don’t rewrite that now just because you’ve finally decided to grow a spine."
"Oh, screw you," I spit. "I didn’t know you really meant it. I thought you just wanted to get a rise out of me."
"You’ve got to be kidding me," Freddie mutters, throwing his hands up. "What is this? A fucking pissing contest over a woman none of us had the balls to be honest with?"
"Don’t," I growl. "Don’t reduce her to that."
"You just said we’re all fucking the same woman!" Freddie snaps. "So maybe don’t lecture me on respect."
The air crackles.
The kind of tension that can’t be softened with bagels or banter. The kind that threatens to explode into something ugly and permanent.
Tim steps forward, fists clenched. "You wanna fight, Mitchell? Is that what this is now?"
"No, I…"
What the fuck do I want?
That’s when the door swings open.
The bell jingles softly.
We all turn.
A figure steps inside. Hood pulled low, hands stuffed in jacket pockets.
He moves with a quiet confidence that somehow still feels hesitant.
He pushes the hood back, revealing sharp eyes and a stubble lined jaw.
The room seems to still.
"Hey," the stranger says, voice low and smooth but carrying weight.
Like gravel under silk.
Like he hasn’t spoken in days and forgot how it felt.
"I’m looking for someone who can do a piece for me."
We all stare.
Freddie recovers first, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Uh. Sure, man. What kind of work you thinking?"
The guy glances at each of us in turn, sharp, assessing, as if cataloging every fracture in the room, before his gaze finally rests on me.
"Lyrics," he says simply. "I want lyrics."
I squint at him. There’s something familiar in the way he stands. The quiet watchfulness. Like he’s used to being in the background. Or hiding from it.
"You a writer?" Tim asks, crossing his arms, the tension from moments ago still tight in his shoulders.
The guy lifts a corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. Almost.
"Something like that," he says. "Ezra. Ezra Vaughn." He glances toward the flash wall, then back at me. "Staying at Meadow Creek Retreat for a while. Trying to get used to this town…"
Freddie straightens slightly, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Wait… Vaughn? Like…"
Ezra cuts him off gently. "Yeah. That one."
His expression shutters. Closed. Like the mention of his name is a door he’d rather keep locked.
I hear myself say it before I can think better.
"I can do it."
The words hang there, heavy and pointless, like they might stitch this mess back together. Like taking some stranger’s tattoo is going to clean the air.
Ezra just nods, quiet. Like he knows the hell he’s walking into.
"Cool," he says, voice low and even. "Whenever you’ve got time."
I gesture toward the schedule without looking up. "Got time now."
Liar. My head’s a wreck. My chest tight. Like there’s a fist pressing right under my ribs.
But I need a distraction, and I think he sees that.
Ezra follows me to the back.
The others don’t say a word.
I don’t look at them.
Don’t want to see whatever’s still hanging in the air. The confusion on Freddie’s face, the fire in Tim’s, or the regret probably bleeding off my own skin.
I just lead the stranger past all the wreckage like he’s a lifeboat.
But even as I prep my station, every nerve in me buzzes like that damn machine in my hand.
My thoughts loop like a skipping record.
You should’ve said something.
You told me it didn’t matter.
I didn’t know either of you were.
The truth is, none of us knew what we were doing.
And that… that can get messy.