Chapter 46 Ivy
IVY
The ride home is quiet except for the rumble of the engine and Mr. Pickles’s complaints.
He growls low in the carrier, clearly unimpressed with the day’s events, the vet, or the general state of humanity.
I turn around, slipping my fingers through the grate, and murmur soothing nonsense while Sebastian drives like he’s defusing a bomb—hands steady on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes forward.
He keeps glancing at me.
I don’t look at him.
When we pull into the driveway, Drew is already on the porch with his arms crossed, face lighting up when he spots the carrier.
“Oh, good,” he says. “The hellcat survived.”
Mr. Pickles hisses on cue.
“Wow,” Drew adds. “Hostile and incontinent. Love that for us.”
I lift the carrier. “You antagonize him one more time, and I’ll let him choose which of your belongings he marks next.”
Drew blanches. “Fair.”
Once inside, I let Mr. Pickles out and crouch immediately, my entire focus narrowing to the black blur slinking under the table like he’s reassessing every life choice that led him here.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “You were very brave. And you didn’t bite anyone. That’s growth.”
He presses into my palm, vibrating with stress and fury, and I breathe a little easier.
Behind me, Sebastian clears his throat. “Ivy—”
I slowly stand. “I need you to understand something,” I say calmly, lifting Mr. Pickles into my arms. “If you say one more word right now, I’m going to lose what little patience I have left.”
His mouth opens.
Then closes.
It’s progress.
Drew, sensing danger, backs toward the kitchen. “I’m going to… not be here for this.”
Smart man.
Sebastian rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I was just trying to keep him away from you.”
I blink. “I didn’t ask you to,” I say evenly.
“You moved closer to me,” he replies, voice tight. “You grabbed my jacket.”
“Yes,” I snap. “Because I was scared. Not because I deputized you as my personal attack dog.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is deciding things for me,” I shoot back. “Again.”
He exhales sharply. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“No,” I agree. “You weren’t.”
The silence stretches.
Mr. Pickles squirms in my arms, clearly sensing emotional instability in the household. I press a kiss to his head before gently setting him down.
“I’m tired,” I say. “I’m frustrated. And I’m not having this conversation tonight.”
Sebastian steps closer. “I don’t want you upset with me.”
“That ship has sailed,” I reply. “You can cook for yourself.”
“I—what?”
“I said,” I repeat calmly, lifting my chin, “you can cook. For. Yourself.” I turn and head down the hallway toward the guest bedroom, Mr. Pickles following me. I slam the door shut behind me. It clicks with a finality that lands heavy in my chest.
I lock it.
The sound is small, but it feels enormous.
I sit on the edge of the bed, breathing hard now that I’m alone. Mr. Pickles hops up beside me like he’s claimed his chosen human.
“Congratulations,” I murmur, scratching under his chin. “You’re my emotional support menace.”
From the other side of the door, I hear Sebastian pacing.
Then Drew’s voice—lowered, incredulous, unmistakably smug—slips under the crack. “What the hell did you do now?”
I close my eyes.
And for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe.