Page 116 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
Some nights, I wake to the soft sound of Liam in the nursery, his voice low and unhurried as he sings lullabies just slightly off-key. I listen from the hallway, not wanting to interrupt the magic of it.
Other mornings, I tiptoe in to find Ethan passed out in the rocking chair, our daughter curled against his chest, her tiny mouth open in sleep, and both of them snoring like it’s a competition.
Jake curses about bottle prep at 3 a.m., every time, but he still does it. Kisses my forehead, fumbles the kitchen light on, and mutters half-asleep poetry about nipples and formula ratios while I pretend not to laugh.
We kiss over warm bottles and burp cloths. We steal affection in the quiet, unnoticed pockets of the day. Jake’s hand brushing mine at the sink, Ethan drawing lazy shapes on my back while we fold laundry, Liam pressing a kiss to my temple as I bounce her in my arms.
We hold hands on stroller walks, trade places in the shower while lullabies echo from someone’s phone speaker, whisper “I love you” when we pass each other in the hallway like it’s as natural as breathing.
Tonight, once Lydia finally drifts into a deep sleep and the house hushes to its bones, I curl up on the couch with all three of them. Ava has already gone to bed, exhausted from a day of travel.
I’m nestled between Ethan and Jake. Ethan’s arm rests over my shoulders, his fingers grazing the back of my neck in slow, absent-minded strokes. Jake’s leg presses against mine, his palm tracing lazy circles against my thigh.
Liam sits on the floor in front of us, his back to the couch, his legs stretched out. One of my feet rests in his lap, and he rubs soft, slow circles into the arch with his thumb, the motion hypnotic. His eyes are half-lidded, relaxed in a way I rarely see during the day.
The baby monitor glows blue on the end table. From it, the quiet sound of Lydia’s breathing plays. A rhythmic sigh that’s more soothing than any white noise machine money could buy.
Her scent clings to me, baby lotion, milk, and something sweet I can’t name. I don’t even care that my shirt has a spit-up stain on the shoulder. I’m too full. Too content.
Outside, the world is silent. The kind of silence that’s thick, sacred. Not empty, but full of everything unsaid. The old house groans now and again, settling around us like it’s part of the conversation. Like it’s listening.
It begins with a brush of fingers against mine. So light I could almost imagine it. But I don’t. I know that touch. The way it lingers.
Then a warm hand slides across my thigh, claiming space. Familiar. Certain.
Jake, of course. His thumb presses gently into the inside of my leg like he’s remembering me, reacquainting himself with every dip and curve.
A kiss lands on my bare shoulder. The fabric of my shirt has slipped, and Ethan finds the exposed skin with his lips. I exhale, my breath catching just a little.
Then it shifts.
Like someone turned up the volume on the air. Like heat starts to hum beneath our skin. Charged. Expectant.
This is how it always starts—with something small. A whisper. A glance. A hand that lingers just long enough to say,we haven’t forgotten.
Jake moves first, leaning in to kiss the corner of my mouth. It’s slow, but I turn into it, parting my lips in answer. He groans softly, his hand moving to cradle the back of my neck as the kiss deepens.
There’s hunger in it now. The kind that’s been building beneath layers of lullabies and late-night bottle feeds.
I taste him. Sweet, like cookies and sleep and something that’s always been just his.
Ethan shifts closer, burying his nose in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply before pressing a kiss just below my ear. His fingers slip beneath my shirt, warm against my ribs, spreading wide like he’s trying to hold all of me at once.
“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, his voice low and scratchy, like gravel and honey. “Even like this. Especially like this.”
I laugh softly, my hand brushing through his hair, but the sound turns into a gasp when Liam’s fingers find the waistband of my shorts, slow and unhurried.
His hand settles on my hip, his thumb stroking small, measured circles that make my skin burn.
“You always forget what you do to us,” Liam says, his voice husky. “But we never do.”
There’s adoration in their touch, even in the hunger. Like rediscovery. Like worship. Like coming home after a long journey to find the fire still burning.
Jake’s mouth trails down my collarbone, teeth grazing gently before he draws the skin between his lips. My back arches just slightly, drawn toward him like tide to moon.
Ethan’s fingers drift higher, featherlight and insistent, slipping beneath the curve of my breast.
“God, you’re unreal,” he breathes, kissing the corner of my jaw. “Do you know that?”
