Page 192 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
Then, he looks at me. He sees the way I’m leaning into Ethan. He sees the way Owen’s watching me. He sighs, his shoulders slumping. He looks old suddenly.
“You always were stubborn,” he mutters. “Just like your mother.”
“I’m happy, Dad,” I whisper.
He grunts. “You better be.” He turns to my mom. “Come on, Linda. Let’s go. I need a drink. A stiff one.”
“But…” my mom starts.
“She made her choice,” my dad says. He looks at Ethan one last time. “She’s your problem now.”
“She’s our priority,” Ethan corrects.
My dad nods, a sharp, jerky movement. He takes my mom’s arm and leads her back to the elevator. The doors close.
The room exhales.
Owen slumps against the wall. “Jesus. Your dad is terrifying. I thought he was going to hit me.”
“He considered it,” Asher notes. “I saw the muscle twitch in his right deltoid.”
Ethan turns me around, his hands gripping my shoulders. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, leaning my forehead against his chest. “I think… I think we won.”
“We didn’t just win,” Ethan says, kissing the top of my head. “We secured the perimeter.”
“One down,” I whisper. “One to go.”
The room goes quiet again.
Harper.
She’s been completely unresponsive for twenty-four hours. No texts. No calls. She checked into a hotel downtown—Asher tracked her credit card transaction, despite her request not to—but she hasn’t moved since.
“She hates us,” I whisper.
“She feels stupid,” Owen says quietly. “She feels like the punchline of a joke she didn’t know she was in.”
“We have to fix it,” I say. “I can’t do this without her. I can’t be a mom without my best friend.”
“You won’t have to,” a voice says from the elevator.
We all spin around.
The elevator doors are open. Harper’s standing there.
She looks exhausted. She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and a hoodie, looking like she’s trying to be incognito. She’s carrying a paper bag of takeout food.
“Harper,” I breathe, standing up.
Ethan and Owen stand up too, instinctively, but Harper holds up a hand.
“Sit,” she commands the boys. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for her.”
She walks into the room, tossing her bag onto the kitchen island. She takes off her sunglasses. Her eyes are puffy, but clear. She walks straight up to me.
I brace myself, fully deserving of her anger.
