Page 5 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
A little. Not enough to fix the mess, but maybe enough to survive the weekend.
Maybe.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I think of Maya’s laugh.
Open. Unbothered. Never forced or polite—it was real. Like she wasn’t afraid of being loud, or soft, or seen.
It was… charming.
Yeah, that’s the word for it.Charming.That’s a good description of the girl, though I wouldn’t dare say that out loud in front of Nick.
With the way he’s acting, he’s likely to kick my ass if I say anything positive about his ex. If he found out I’m actually pretty attracted to her, he’d totally lose his shit.
Nick glares at the floor, then snaps his head up. “Everyone acts like Maya can do no wrong, but she’s not perfect. She’s cold. Calculated. Our breakup wasn’t just on me!” He laughs bitterly—sharp, humorless. “But hey, I guess some people eat that shit up, right?”
Ethan opens his mouth, probably to tell him to cool it, but Nick’s already halfway to the door.
He storms out of the room, his jaw clenched, shoulders tight. The door slams harder than necessary, followed by the dull thump of what’s probably him hitting a wall or yelling into one of Danielle’s decorative pillows.
As soon as the door clicks shut, the tension in the room drops ten degrees.
Jake glances up from his phone, stretching his legs out in front of him like the world’s most casual disaster responder. “So… meltdown incoming, right?”
“No,” Ethan says, deadpan, not even looking up from his beer. “Meltdown’s already happening. We’re waiting for the explosion.”
I sigh and lean forward, elbows on knees. “We need to manage this. Danielle’s wedding is in four days. If Nick implodes, he’ll take down half the bridal party with him. And I like Danielle. I’d prefer she not murder her own brother before the cake’s cut.”
Jake lets out a low whistle. “Could be good TV, though.Real Housewives of Hudson Valley: Wedding Edition.”
Ethan raises an eyebrow. “You volunteering to be the bridesmaid who throws wine?”
Jake shrugs. “Depends on the wine.”
I give them both a look, one part exasperation, two parts resignation. “We need a plan. Like, now. If he keeps pacing holes into the carpet and ranting about Maya, he’s gonna end up crying into a centerpiece or punching a groomsman.”
“Think we can distract him with shots and vague moral support?” Jake offers, only half joking.
“Maybe,” Ethan says. “Or we tag team it. Keep him busy. Keep him away from Maya as much as possible. You know, the ol’ divide-and-conquer strategy.”
“Right.” I nod. “If he’s busy wrangling boutonnières or giving toast tips or holding sparklers and pretending not to sob during the father-daughter dance, he won’t have time to spiral.”
Jake leans back in his chair and throws an arm behind his head. “Or—and hear me out—we let him have one massive outburst right now. Like, full-on emotional exorcism. Then maybe he gets it out of his system and we’re in the clear.”
Ethan and I both give him a look.
“What?” Jake lifts his hands. “Controlled detonation. Happens in movies all the time. Kidding,” he mutters a second later when no one laughs.
I run a hand down my face and glance toward the door Nick stormed through, half-expecting to hear drywall cracking. He’s a mess, sure—but Maya? Maya’s not some innocent background extra. She’s smart. Sharp. She’s got her own fuse, and if Nick lights it…
“She’s calm,” I say aloud, more to myself than them. “But she’s not passive. She’ll bite back if she needs to.”
Ethan grunts in agreement. “Maya doesn’t throw punches. She uses words, and she knows exactly where to land them.”
Jake nods. “Yeah. If she throws a grenade, it’ll be emotional, elegant, and premeditated.”
A silence stretches between us.
“Great,” I mutter. “We’re not in a rom-com. We’re in a cold war with seating charts.”
