Unrequited(78)

She pulled away from me just as I was deepening the kiss. "We should go inside."

"Don't wanna." I dipped down again, but she wriggled out of my grip. Sadly she was right. The heavy cotton of my shorts wasn't doing a good job of hiding my erection. I couldn't keep my dick down around Winter. Maybe after twenty years of good fucking, I'd stop getting hard around her.

As I watched her long hair sway as she walked in front of me, I revised my estimate. Maybe it would take forty years. I reached down and rearranged myself so it wasn't so obvious.

Mom met us at the side door. "Come in, you two."

"Thanks for asking us, Mrs. O'Malley." Winter took two steps into the kitchen and then halted. I nearly ran into her.

"What's going on?" I snarled, pushing Winter behind me as if I could protect her with my body from whatever emotional bombs would be thrown her way. Her sister sat at my mom's kitchen table. It was set for four, and a coffee mug sat in front of Ivy.

"Ivy has something she wanted to share with you, and she needed some emotional support."

Winter stood planted on the floor, so I remained in front of her. "This is fucked up."

Ivy winced.

"Language, Finn," Mom admonished. She tried to reach around me to clasp Winter's arm, but I blocked the movement.

"No, we're leaving."

I grabbed Winter's hand and had begun walking toward the door when I heard the scrape of chair legs against the tiled floor.

"It's not yours. You're not the father."

I stopped short and then spun around. Ivy looked at the floor then at my mother but not at either of us. I wanted to leave because this was all so much bullshit, more of Ivy's manipulative crap, but Winter pushed me aside and walked to the table.

She sat, and Ivy collapsed across from her. I stood in the entry of the kitchen with my feet planted apart and my arms crossed. But a whisper could have blown me over. I felt faint with relief even though I had never felt connected with Ivy's kid. I'd always known it wasn't mine. But hearing it confirmed for Winter’s sake made me pretty damn happy.

"What did you say?" Winter asked, touching Ivy's arm.

Ivy dropped her head, burrowing into herself. "It's Jimmy's. It's why he fired me, not because I was getting fat, but because I refused to get an abortion. We were screwing around for a couple of months. I'd skipped taking the pill a few times, and he," she made a little movement with her shoulders, "he didn't like using a condom. He was so nice to me when I got out," she cried. She lifted her eyes to Winter's and pled for understanding. "I felt terrible, and he gave me a job and told me how beautiful I looked and how great I moved, and one thing led to another." She wiped her eyes. Winter picked up the napkin by her plate and handed it to her. Ivy blew her nose.

"How long have you known?”

"I've always known," she admitted. "I did drink with Finn, and we both passed out. There was no kissing, no touching even. It was just that he was drinking, and I had spent so many months without any alcohol at all. I needed it, and because he was drunk, it was easy for me to take it from him. That's all I wanted. That's all he gave me."

Winter had moved to kneel by her chair. "Then why lie?”

Ivy hung her head miserably. "I know I'm going to be a terrible mother, but I figured if you were with me, the two of us could make it. When Finn entered the picture, you didn't have time for me anymore, and I knew I'd end up alone, so I told you it was his. I knew you'd break up with him then. That first wife shit and all." She waved her hand, in a casually dismissive gesture. I didn't like that, and I could tell by Winter's pressed lips she didn't either. "But then you moved out anyway, and I was losing you. I can’t lose you, Winter."

I glanced at Mom, who drank her coffee calmly during the storm that was taking place at her kitchen table. She knew about this somehow. In the space between Ivy running out of the work trailer yesterday and the early morning breakfast invite, she’d wrangled the truth out of Ivy.

"And now?" Winter asked softly, her voice strained.

I came over to lend support, standing behind her, letting her know I was there. She leaned back, and I was careful to touch her left shoulder, the unmarked one. Ivy didn't miss any of this and pain flashed over her face.

"Telling you the truth is the right thing to do," Ivy mumbled into her hands.

Wrong. There was something to do with my mom, or we wouldn't all be here. Mom bustled over and put a hand on Ivy's shoulder. I remembered then how the two of them had gotten along quite well when we had dated in high school and how Mom had said that Ivy was the daughter she never had. The pieces started fitting together for me.