Page 191 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“We aren’t hiding anymore,” Ethan says, turning to face me. “We face them together.”
“They don’t want a conversation,” I say, my throat tight. “They want an exorcism. My dad’s going to bring a tire iron.”
“Let him bring it,” Asher says, swiveling his chair around. “If he brings a weapon, we can disarm an older man without hurting him.”
“Do not disarm my father!”
The elevator dings. The doors slide open.
My parents step out. They look completely out of place in the sleek, modern foyer. My mom’s clutching her purse like ashield, wearing her Sunday church cardigan. My dad’s wearing his Town Council blazer, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitches visibly beneath his skin.
He spots me instantly.
“Tessa!” he roars. He steps forward, ignoring the three men standing like a wall in front of me. “Get your things. We’re leaving.”
“Dad, wait?—”
“I said let’s go!” He points a shaking finger at Ethan. “And you. You keep away from her. ‘Harem’? ‘Shared’? You’re sick. All of you.”
“Mr. Hartley,” Ethan says. His voice is respectful but immovable. “I understand you’re upset. But Tessa isn’t going anywhere. And I’m curious—how did you find this address? It’s unlisted.”
“You think you’re invisible?” my dad spits, reaching into his pocket and whipping out his phone. He slams the device onto the hallway console, the screen glowing bright in the dim entry. “It’s the top headline. The Billionaire Brotherhood at The Summit. You people put your names on a building and act surprised when folks show up?”
A muscle feathers in Ethan’s jaw. He glances at Asher. “The building is compromised. We’ll need to accelerate the relocation protocols.”
“I will initiate the secure relocation protocols,” Asher confirms, his eyes dark behind his glasses.
“Is that right?” My dad steps into Ethan’s space. He’s three inches shorter than Ethan, but he’s got thirty years of blue-collarrage on his side. “You think because you have money you can buy my daughter? You think you can use her like some kind of toy?”
“We aren’t using her,” Owen says, stepping in on the left. “We love her.”
“Love?” My mom scoffs, tears streaming down her face. “This isn’t love! This is a cult! Tessa, please. Just come home. We can fix this. We can get you help.”
“I don’t need help, Mom,” I say, my voice trembling.
I push past Asher and step into the line of fire. I stand between the men I love and the parents who raised me.
“I’m not brainwashed,” I say. “And I’m not a victim. I’m where I’m meant to be. I chose this.”
“You chose to be passed around?” My dad spits the words out like poison.
“I chose to be loved,” I snap. “By all of them.”
The room goes perfectly still.
My mom’s hand flies to her mouth. My dad goes completely rigid, staring at my stomach. The reality of the blog post is finally connecting in his head.
“The babies,” he whispers, his voice dropping. “Whose are they really?”
“Ours,” Ethan says. He steps up behind me, placing a large, warm hand on my stomach. It’s a claim. A challenge. “The children are ours. And so is she.”
My dad looks at Ethan’s hand. He looks at Owen, who’s standing ready to fight, and Asher, who’s watching everything with terrifying intensity. The wall they’ve built around me is undeniable.
“You hurt her,” my dad says, his voice low and dangerous, “and I won’t sue you. I won’t go to the press. I’ll come back here with my shotgun and I will end you. Do you understand me, son?”
Ethan doesn’t flinch. He nods once. “If we hurt her, you won’t have to. I’ll do it myself.”
My dad stares at him for a long, agonizing minute.
