Page 8 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
I smirk. “Awesome. Can’t wait for the rehearsal dinner.”
“I’ll bring my Kevlar.”
Ethan snorts, a soft, almost imperceptible sound, but it feels like a small win. He’s not one for laughter, so I take it.
My gaze drifts back down to my phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim room. My thumb hovers over Maya’s contact. The one I absolutely shouldn’t have, but do, because once upona time, long before she and Nick imploded like a faulty firework, she gave it to me “in case of prank emergencies.”
I never used it.
I’m not planning to now, but part of me wants to.
Not to meddle. Not to fix things.
Just… to talk to her. To see what she’s thinking. Feeling. If she’s as steady as she looks, or if this week’s unraveling her too, one perfect stitch at a time.
Ethan stands, the chair scraping softly against the hardwood floor. He heads toward the kitchen, where Danielle’s marble countertops gleam under pendant lights that feel like they belong in a Parisian café.
“You coming to the brunch tomorrow?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Free food and emotionally tense glances across a garden terrace? Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, half-joking, half-serious.
He doesn’t respond. Just disappears through the doorway with a shake of his head, the sound of the fridge door opening and closing following him like punctuation.
I sit there for a second longer, spinning my phone slowly in my hand, the screen reflecting the soft glow of the chandelier overhead.
Maya Knowles.
Nick’s chaos.
Liam’s caution.
Ethan’s skepticism.
And my problem.
But maybe also…my future.
God help me—I don’t even know if I’m rooting for the explosion anymore. Maybe I want to be standing in the middle of it when it happens.
And maybe I want her standing next to me when the dust settles.
Chapter four
ETHAN
There’s a hum to dysfunction. A low, steady thrum you can only hear when you’ve lived in it long enough.
It’s not loud like Nick, or sharp like Jake. It’s quieter. Constant. The kind of thing you don’t notice until it’s gone, and the silence feels like pressure building in your chest.
Right now, the house is buzzing with it.
I’m leaning against the window frame in Danielle’s living room, arms crossed, watching dusk bleed across the manicured lawns outside. Behind me, Jake’s sprawled across the couch like he owns the place—shoes still on, legs tossed over one armrest, a glass of whiskey loosely cradled in one hand.
His grin is cocky, but his eyes dart around, taking everything in.
Somewhere in the kitchen, I can hear Liam. The subtle sounds he thinks nobody notices—cabinet doors closing too gently, the faucet running a few extra seconds when there’s nothing left to wash, a soft sigh he tries to swallow before it escapes.
We all have our tells. Liam’s just quieter about his. He showed up to the house about twenty minutes ago and has been growing increasingly anxious as we wait for Danielle and Nick to get back.
