Chapter 33 Timothy
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Timothy
Seriously, mornings can go to hell.
Especially this one.
I’m running on two hours of sleep and a half cold cup of coffee that tastes of burnt regret. Freddie called me late last night, voice all tight and frayed around the edges, saying she’s here. Trina. Back in town. Wants to see Penny.
He still hasn’t told Ivy.
Of course he hasn’t. Because Freddie’s a stubborn idiot with a hero complex the size of Montana and apparently no concept of how to not self destruct.
I left the apartment before sunrise, hoping to catch Freddie before opening hours so I can try and talk some sense into him before Mitchell comes along and gives him some seriously tough love.
The sky’s still doing that pink and blue watercolor shit when I pull into the lot. The air’s cold enough to bite through my hoodie, waking me up just a fraction.
I slam the door shut harder than necessary, the echo bouncing off brick and glass. My boots crunch over gravel as I head for the shop, already rehearsing what I’m gonna say.
But then I see someone unexpected.
Not Freddie, but her.
Trina.
What the fuck is she doing here?
She’s standing there outside the front door, a bad omen you’d read about in a Southern Gothic novel.
Sunglasses perched on her nose even though the sun’s barely up.
Tall boots. Long trench coat belted tight around her waist. Cold brew in hand as if this is just another Tuesday and not her first reappearance in years.
My stomach does this slow, sour roll. She hasn’t changed much. Still got that model off duty thing going on. Still looks smug as hell about it.
She clocks me instantly. Her mouth curves up into that smile I remember too well. All teeth. No warmth.
“Well, if it isn’t Timmy,” she purrs.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw pops. Man, I hate that nickname. Always have. Especially from her.
“Trina,” I say flatly, stopping a few feet away. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
She tsks, pulling her sunglasses down just enough for me to see her eyes, bright, sharp, amused. She thinks she has already won whatever game I don’t know we’re playing yet.
“That any way to greet an old friend?” she asks.
I bark out a humourless laugh. “We were never friends.”
She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee, nails tapping against plastic. French tips, neat and glossy. Of course. “Relax, Timothy. I’m just waiting for Freddie.”
“Yeah?” My hands curl into fists at my sides. “Why.”
She sighs like I’m boring her. “Because I want to see my daughter.”
The words are so casual they make me want to throw up. She might as well be ordering brunch. Like she didn’t vanish right after Penny was born and never look back.
“You don’t get to just decide that,” I say, my voice low, dangerous. “You don’t get to show up after four years and pretend you’re her mother again.”
She tilts her head, studying me, deciding whether I’m worth the effort. “And what, you think you can stop me? I don’t actually think it has anything to do with you, Timmy.”
“Maybe not me,” I bite out. “Because Freddie’s not gonna let you do this to her.”
She smiles, slow and poisonous. “We’ll see about that.”
Silence drops between us, heavy as wet cement. Somewhere down Main Street a garbage truck rattles past, breaking the morning quiet for just a moment. She doesn’t flinch. Just flicks her gaze up and down my frame like I’m something she might scrape off her boot.
“I’m just here to reconnect,” she says, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “I’ve reassessed my life. I’m in a better place now. I want to be a mother again.”
I take one slow step closer, fists clenched, trying not to lose it. “You don’t get to say that like it means something. You left, Trina. You ghosted your own daughter.”
She shrugs. Shrugs. “People change, Timothy.”
“Not you.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be so dramatic.” She sips her cold brew, cool as hell. “You always were so touchy.”
My vision starts to go red around the edges. “You think this is touchy? You think you can disappear for four years and then stroll back into town with your trench coat and bullshit redemption arc and act like nothing happened?”
“I’m not acting like nothing happened,” she says, lips twitching. “I’m saying I want to fix it.”
“Fix it,” I echo, voice flat. “You think Penny needs fixing? She’s not broken.
She’s thriving. You don’t even know her.
You wouldn’t recognize her laugh, or how she lines up her crayons in rainbow order, or how she hides behind Freddie’s leg when she’s overwhelmed. You don’t know anything about her.”
Trina’s smile fades, just a fraction. “I’ll learn.”
I laugh, it’s short and mean. “Not on our watch.”
She tilts her head. “I’ve already spoken to a lawyer.”
The words hit in a gut punch.
She keeps going, calm as anything. “I have rights, Timmy. She’s my daughter. I’m filing for custody as soon as I find an apartment.”
Something in me snaps. “You’re not bluffing.”
She doesn’t answer. Just smiles again. Slow, smug, sharp.
My hands curl into fists again. I feel it building, rising in my chest, powerful as a scream.
I don’t yell, but my voice drops low and dangerous.
“You show up here, you talk to lawyers, you throw around words like custody like you deserve any of this, like you want Penny for any reason other than to feel better about yourself, but I swear, I will make sure you never get near her again.”
She rolls her eyes, leaning against the shop door looking bored. “You always did think you were the protector, didn’t you? But newsflash, Timothy… this isn’t your fight.”
“It is now.”
She opens her mouth to say something else, but then…
The rumble of Mitchell’s truck cuts through the quiet in a warning shot.
He parks, gets out, and sees her.
Stops dead.
I see the flicker in his eyes. Recognition. Fury. Restraint snapping like dry twigs underfoot.
“Wow,” Trina says lightly, not moving from her spot. “Just missing Freddie for the full set.”
Mitchell doesn’t respond.
Doesn’t blink.
Just walks up slow, looking coiled.
When he speaks, it’s gravel. “Get. Out. Of. Here.”
Mitchell doesn’t move right away. Just stands there, shoulders squared, fists flexing at his sides. I can see it, his whole body tight with rage, a lit fuse just waiting to find the powder.
“Mitchell,” I say, low, warning.
He doesn’t hear me. Or maybe he does and doesn’t care.
Trina, ever the shit stirrer, lifts her coffee, toasting him. “Hi, Mitch.”
I move fast, get between them just as Mitchell glowers. He twists around, his fist slamming into the brick wall beside the shop door so hard the sound echoes down the block. She flinches, just barely, but it’s enough to let me know she’s not as unbothered as she pretends.
“Say one more word,” he growls, voice of thunder, “and I swear…”
“Mitchell!” I shove him back, grabbing a fistful of his hoodie. “Inside. Now.”
He resists for a second, vibrating with fury, but I twist his arm and jerk the door open.
“In. Side.”
He finally lets me pull him in, breathing deep, a bull about to charge. I slam the door shut behind us and lean against it, chest heaving.
He’s pacing now, hands in his hair, muttering under his breath. “I won’t let her. I swear, if she tries to take Penny…”
“She’s not bluffing,” I cut in. “She said she talked to a lawyer. She’s filing.”
Mitchell freezes. His eyes go wide, then narrow. “Freddie doesn’t know.”
“No. Not yet.”
Mitchell curses loud and vicious. “She can’t just do this. Not after the way she just left. Do you really think she wants Penny back in her life?”
“Knowing her, I doubt it,” I mutter, grabbing my phone. “Until then, damage control.”
I hit Freddie’s name and step into the back room. It rings twice.
He picks up, voice tired. “Hey.”
“She’s here,” I say. “Trina. Outside the shop, waiting for you.”
Silence.
Then: “Fuck.”
“Yeah. You need to take the day off. No questions. Grab Penny, take her out of town. Go to a lake, a park, I don’t care, just get her away from here.”
He exhales hard. “Does she seem serious?”
“She said she’s filing. She’s not screwing around.”
Another pause. I hear the shift in his voice before he even speaks again. That tight coil of panic and dread. “I’ll handle it.”
“Okay, good. We’ll deal with your clients today.”
I hang up.
Outside, Trina is still leaning against the wall, sipping her coffee like it’s a damn morning latte and not the opening move in a custody war.
I want to punch something. But instead, I press my back against the door, close my eyes, and pray to whatever might be listening.
Because this?
This could get ugly…
The bag swings back like it’s pissed at me, and I slam into it again. Hard.
My shoulder screams, but I don’t stop.
Bam.
Bam.
Bam.
Leather hits canvas. Over and over. Knuckles raw, sweat pouring, heartbeat pounding in my ears loud as war drums.
I picture Trina’s face. That smug smile. The way she said “I have rights”.
Hell no.
I hit the bag harder. Let it all out, the helplessness, the rage, the fear I saw in Mitchell’s eyes before he lost it. The way Freddie sounded on the phone, trying so hard to hold it together for Penny when he’s clearly unraveling inside.
Another punch.
Another.
One more.
The bag groans on its chain. My breathing’s ragged now, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. I let my arms drop. Rest my forehead against the cool vinyl and try to get my shit together.
That’s when my phone buzzes in the locker behind me.
I ignore it for a second. Then another buzz. And another.
Fine.
I grab my phone, swipe the screen. And then my stomach drops.
Ivy: Can we talk? I need to tell you something.