Page 55 of Whispered Promises

I turn to glance between Bry and Nate, wondering why they seem so thrown off at my suggestion when they’ve met Felix a few times. We became friends at university. He lived in the same building complex as us, but he lived with a friend he’d grown up with. They had a different relationship and preferred to share a woman between them. He ended up moving away, so we don’t see each other often, but we still keep in contact.

“I guess…but you and Rosy? I didn’t really see it. You’ve mainly dated other teachers,” Bry mentions, and his pale brows inch up his forehead.

“Yeah, the strict, boring types.” Max adds, pulling a sour face like a twelve-year-old.

I inhale deeply through my nose, then let the exhale out slowly. “Admittedly, teachers have been who I’ve mainly dated in the past. Perhaps because it’s easier; we understood each other’s workloads and frustrations. I can’t deny it’s simpler than trying to date online or organically. But it might also be the reason why they haven’t worked out. Rosy has a vulnerability and kindness that pulls at me. She’s so soft, but she’s also stronger than she realises. So like Bry said, unless she tells me she’s not interested, then I’m going to continue getting to know her and hope she feels something for me too.”

Nate’s fists are furling and unfurling while his teeth grind in his obvious displeasure. There’s no part of me that wants to hurt him, but I’m also very aware that life’s too short to not take this chance with Rosy. My parents had a love that you could feel being around them; just a look between them had a warmth surrounding anyone close by. It gave me high expectations for love, because if I can’t share that feeling with someone, then what’s the point?

Rosy, she…she radiates her own warmth, and I want to bask in it beside her, together. If she lets me, I think it could really be something special, something unstoppable.

“Wait, let me get this straight…all three of you want to date Rosy?” Max questions, his mouth in a wide, open grin as he points between us.

“No, just me,” Nate grits out, folding his arms across his chest defiantly.

Choosing to ignore his comment, I turn to Max. “I think she’d be good for you too.”

He doesn’t take my suggestion well. His face shuts down, all humour disappearing as he swallows loudly. “Fuck no. You can all do what you want, but I’m not in this. Flirty best friends only.”

As much as I want to push it further, I know it’s best not to for now. With Max, the more you push something, the more he’ll go in the opposite direction. Dealing with something head on is not a strength of his.

Bry clasps his hands together tightly, then looks up at Nate. “I know none of this is what you want to hear, but Noah’s on the right track. Rosy draws all of us in, and the pull is too strong for me to resist. Would I rather she just choose me? In a way, yes. But why do we need to if we can all make her happy? I really want this to work, Nate. For all of us. We can talk through things, set boundaries that any of us aren’t comfortable with crossing. But if she expresses any reciprocated feelings for any of us, do you really expect us to shut her down and ignore the urge to make her happy?”

Nate might come across as surly and unapproachable, but when he cares, he cares hard. Rosy just so happens to be one of those selected few. Judging by the furrow in his brow and the glare trying to burn a hole through the floor, he’s pulled between the need to make her happy and the draconian drive to hoard her for himself.

There’s a part of me that worries he’s too hurt from his past to be able to pick the selfless option, but perhaps that makes me selfish. Because if he doesn’t, it would mean that none of this would work, and my chance of happiness with Rosy and my family is all but a fanciful dream.

Abruptly shoving to his feet, he stands, muscles tense. “Fine. I don’t fucking like it, but Rosy comes first. Always. But if any of you hurt her, I’ll rip your fucking arms off and replace them with your legs,” he declares, then storms off to his bedroom. The door slams, followed by the sound of the lock sliding shut.

Bry scrubs his hands up and down his face. “He’s not felt the need to lock his door in a while. It doesn’t feel good to know we’ve triggered him.”

“I know. But we can give him the space to work through it and be here if he needs us.” I sigh, wishing we could just barge in there and reassure him that we aren’t removing Rosy from him, that he doesn’t have to check through all his keepsakes. But in the years we’ve been friends, when he panics like this, the best thing to do is to just give him time to process and be here if he wants to talk. Most likely he won't.

“Are you sure all this is worth it? You might tear all this apart if it goes wrong,” Max presses, sounding unusually serious.

“Love is always worth it, and you can’t avoid fighting for something just because you’re scared it might go wrong or not work out,” I reply softly.

I really want him to understand how important this all is. We all deserve the chance to find that special someone who makes the hurdles in life that little bit more manageable, someone who will laugh and cry with you along the way.

Bry stands up, rolling up his sleeves with practised ease. “I’m going to start cooking something. Rosy’s busy tonight, which is why I wanted the conversation initially, so it’s just us for dinner,” he finishes over his shoulder as he reaches the island counter and starts opening cupboards to pull out a few pans.

Max grabs the TV remote, turning it on and picking up the gaming controller. I reach over to the coffee table and retrieve the book I’ve started reading with Rosy.

TWENTY-THREE

ROSY

A shuffling noise, followed by a disgruntled, drawn-out moan, has my eyes popping open. Instant regret.

Clutching the ice pack to my forehead, I slide my legs off the sofa and sit up. Steph’s slowly making her way out of her room, squinting blearily.

“Are we too old to drink? Morning afters never used to feel like this,” she complains as she slumps down next to me.

“Whatever this is, I don’t want to do it again,” I mutter my agreement.

It’s not often I go out for drinks, or even drink generally, so whenever I do, it hits me hard each time. I’m sure we only had a few last night each, no way near enough to feel like I’m being trampled by a herd of elephants. Elephants in stilettos.

I’d woken up early because alcohol tends to make my insomnia worse. Initially, I’d tried to spend time with Moshi, but flicking the feathery toy back and forth had made me feel nauseous, so I’d crept in here for pain relief and something cool.