Chapter 31 Mitchell
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mitchell
The shop’s too quiet.
Post con crash always hits hard. Three days of noise, people, needles buzzing non stop, and now… silence. Just the hum of the fridge in the back and the faint smell of cedar and antiseptic clinging to the walls.
Should be calming.
It’s not.
I’m pacing, restless. Tried sketching earlier, but nothing stuck. Lines came out shaky. Off. My hands were still wired from the chaos and my brain hadn’t caught up.
Or maybe it’s her.
No. Not maybe.
Definitely.
Ivy’s been in my head since we got back home.
It’s messing with me.
So I’m just about to close early, go for a ride, try to shake it off, when the bell chimes.
And there she is. Almost as if I conjured her up just by thinking of her.
Ivy.
Looking ghostly. Pale, lips pressed into a thin line. Hoodie sleeves covering her hands, even though it’s ninety out. Her eyes find mine, then dart away.
Something’s wrong.
I step out from behind the counter. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer. Just stands there, fidgeting, fighting the urge to bolt.
Then, quiet. Almost too quiet. “Will you walk with me?”
I nod before I even think. Grab my hoodie, even though I won’t need it. Doesn’t matter.
The sun’s too bright. Air feels heavy. We walk in silence, shoes scuffing against the pavement. She stays a step ahead, trying to outrun her own thoughts.
I match her pace. Don’t push.
Eventually, she speaks.
“Freddie’s a good dad, right?”
I glance at her. “Yeah. One of the best.”
She nods. Keeps walking.
“Do you… know much about… Penny’s mom?”
I tense.
“Trina?”
That’s a name I don’t enjoy saying out loud.
She nods.
“I know enough,” I say.
“What kind of woman just… leaves her kid?”
There’s something loaded in her voice. Not judgment. Not curiosity. A softness. Sadder.
“I don’t know all the details,” I tell her. “Freddie never really unpacked it. Just said she bailed. Took off one day and never came back.”
Her arms are still crossed over her chest. Chin tucked down, bracing for something.
“Do you think she will?” she asks. “Come back? Like, for real?”
I exhale slow. “I hope not.”
That gets her attention. She stops. Looks at me.
“Why?”
I meet her eyes. “Because Penny deserves better. And so does he.”
She swallows. Looks away.
Still, as we talk, I hate the look in her eyes.
The doubt.
The fear.
The damn walls I thought maybe I’d started to crack, rising again bracing for impact. Like she’s already expecting the worst and trying to get out before it hits.
I want to reach out to her.
Say something that matters.
Touch her hand.
Do anything but just stand here.
She turns as if she’s going to leave, but then stops.
Hovers.
Doesn’t look at me, just says, “You don’t think Trina loved her?”
The question catches me off guard.
It’s not the kind of thing Ivy usually says.
“She might’ve,” I admit. “At some point. But love doesn’t mean much if you walk away from a kid who needs you.”
Silence stretches between us. Her arms are still crossed tight over her chest. That pale knuckle grip again.
“She ever say why?” Ivy asks. “To him?”
“No. Not really. He said she wanted more. That she was overwhelmed. That he didn’t see it coming.”
“And he still lets her have rights? Like, legally?”
I shrug. “She never signed them away. But she hasn’t shown up, either. So for now, it’s like she doesn’t exist.”
Ivy bites her lip. Hard. Then says, “But she did show up, right? At the con?”
“I…” I don’t know how much Freddie wants me to talk about this. “I think so.”
She looks at me. Eyes wide, searching.
“You think she’d take Penny?”
“Freddie’d burn the damn world down before he let that happen.”
She nods slowly, filing that away for later.
I should leave it there. Should let her walk.
But I can’t.
“Why all the questions, Ivy?”
She flinches. I caught her.
“I just…” she trails off, then swallows. “I needed to talk to someone. I might be driving myself crazy here.”
I hate this.
I hate that she’s attached to Penny, to this situation, to all of us…
Because I know I am too.
A fantasy weekend that wasn't supposed to follow us home.
I thought we’d get it out of our systems.
Scratch the itch. Burn it out.
But truth be told, I just feel like we opened a can of worms.
A big, messy, impossible can.
And Ivy is drowning in it.
She rubs her hands over her face. “I haven’t slept. Like, really slept. I keep thinking about… everything. And I don’t know if it was a huge mistake or…”
“Was it?” I ask, cutting in before she can spiral further.
She blinks at me. “What?”
“A mistake.”
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She looks like she wants to say yes. She thinks it should be a yes.
But it’s not.
“I don’t know,” she says finally. “At the time… it felt right. All of it. With you. With Tim. With Freddie. I didn’t feel judged or broken or like I had to be someone else. I just felt… wanted.”
She says the last word so quietly I almost miss it.
Wanted.
And man, it makes something twist behind my ribs.
I reach for her hand, and when she doesn’t pull away, I thread my fingers through hers.
Her fingers squeeze mine.
Hard.
She’s holding on to a life raft.
Her eyes flick to my mouth.
My hand lifts to her face, thumb grazing along her jaw, slow and deliberate. Her lips part slightly. Barely. But it’s enough.
I lean in.
Wait half a second, just long enough to let her stop me if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
So I kiss her.
Not gentle. Not rough.
Just deep.
The way I’ve wanted to since the moment we left that hotel room.
Her mouth opens to mine, and the taste of her is just as good as I remember. Warm and sweet and desperate. She sighs into me and I feel it everywhere, my chest, my spine, low and sharp in my gut.
My hands find her hips, pull her closer. Her fingers curl into my shirt, like she needs to anchor herself or she’ll float right out of her own skin.
She moans into my mouth.
This kiss is the only thing holding her together.
And maybe it is.
Because right now, I know the feeling.