Chapter 42 Ivy
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Ivy
I’m folding laundry 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?”
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 make me disappear 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 that three?”
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’s Freddie. 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. Any of 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 your brother,” 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.
“Right,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face again. “You’re just gonna keep playing this close to the chest, huh? Until someone else finds out by accident too?”
“I’m not ready,” I whisper. “It’s not about you. It’s not about any of you. I’m just… trying to survive this in one piece.”
He looks up at me then, really looks. All the fire has dimmed in his eyes, replaced by something rawer. Sadder.
“You think you’re alone in this,” he says quietly. “But you’re not. You don’t have to be. You have me.”
My breath catches.
He stands again, slower this time. Controlled.
“I’ll give you space,” he says finally. “Not because I’m mad at you, though I am, but because that’s what you want. Just know that I would help you if you’d let me. And the fact that you won’t kills me.”
I nod, because I don’t know what else to do.
Before he leaves, he stops at the door, hand on the knob.
“I’m still on your side, Ivy,” he says without turning around. “Even if you don’t trust me enough to let me fight with you.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
And just like that, the cabin feels colder. Smaller. Quieter than it should be.
Pickle whines softly from the floor and noses at my ankle.
I sit down on the couch, knees to my chest, the folded laundry long forgotten beside me.
There’s a storm coming. I can feel it in my bones.
Because Jesse thinks he’s on my side… but when he finds out the truth, that Freddie isn’t the only guy he has to worry about, then I’m sure everything will go south fast.