Page 111 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
Outside, the world is still. No cars. No dogs barking. Just the muted tick of the old clock on the nightstand and the rhythmic whisper of breath.
A ceiling fan spins in slow, drowsy circles above us, stirring the air just enough to keep the heat from settling too heavy on our skin.
The curtains are only half-closed, and through the gap, moonlight spills in—soft silver light that stretches in stripes across the floorboards and over the edge of the bed, shading everything in pale blue hues and the shadowed warmth of night.
Liam’s watch glints quietly from its resting place beside a half-full water glass on the dresser, catching a flicker of moonlight as if it, too, is waiting.
The bed is a tangle of limbs and warmth. No clean lines or right angles, just us, woven together in the kind of mess that feels sacred.
Sheets kicked low. A bare knee against a calf. A palm resting just under someone’s rib cage.
There’s a closeness that feels stitched into the very air we’re breathing. Like gravity has decided we belong in this exact formation and is hell-bent on keeping it that way.
My head rests against Jake’s shoulder, the firm, familiar weight of him fortifying me. His skin is warm, still flushed from earlier. His leg is hooked over mine possessively, even in sleep.
The arm draped across my stomach rises and falls with each breath, fingers twitching faintly, like whatever dream he’s having hasn’t quite settled.
Ethan is curled against my other side, his forehead barely brushing my collarbone, his breath soft and steady.
One hand is wrapped around my forearm, his thumb moving in the slowest circle, like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. Like letting go, even in unconsciousness, isn’t an option.
And behind me, Liam is solid and quiet, pressed close against my back. One arm cradled beneath my neck, the other curved low around my waist, his palm resting right at the slope of my hip like it belongs there.
His chest moves in a slow rhythm against my spine, anchoring me. Holding me.
Outside, a breeze lifts through the trees, brushing the windowpanes with a sound like hush. The lavender scent from the pillowcase rises again as I shift slightly, head turning just enough to feel the whisper of Jake’s hair against my temple.
For a long stretch of heartbeats, none of us speak. There’s no need to.
But inside me, something is moving. Restless. Bright. Ready.
My heart is thudding gently beneath the stillness, a rhythm that doesn’t match the others. Not quite. And I know what it means.
I breathe in deep. The scent of them is all around me—shampoo and skin, the barest hint of aftershave, the faint trace of Jake’s cologne. Home.
Then, softly, so softly I’m not even sure the words make it past my lips, I say, “I love you.”
The words slip into the darkness like stones into deep water. They ripple outward, touching all three of them.
Jake stills beside me. I feel it first in his chest. How his breath catches. Then in his fingers, which tighten faintly where they rest above my stomach.
Ethan exhales, sharp and sudden, like I knocked the wind from him. His hand tightens around my arm, and he shifts just enough to press closer, nose brushing against my skin.
“Say it again,” he whispers, not even lifting his head.
“I love you. All of you.”
For a moment, the only answer is silence.
Liam’s fingers curl slightly deeper into my hip. He still hasn’t moved otherwise, but I feel it—the way he’shere, absolutely present.
The way those words landed in his chest and stayed there.
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” I say again, voice steadier now, clearer, like it belongs in this quiet space. “I don’t care if the world doesn’t understand it, or if we can never stand in front of some judge and make it official. What we have… it’s real. And it’s enough for me.”
Then Liam moves.
Not abruptly. There’s no rush, no suddenness. Just the kind of motion that speaks of intention. His chest stays pressed againstmy back as his hand slides from my hip, curving gently around my waist.
