Page 93 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
“It’s got to come with us. Maybe in the den?” he insists.
I grin. “All right. You can keep it. You’ve got a knack for pairing songs with moods. Like when you played that Otis Redding track after we closed on the house? I still get goosebumps.”
“Don’t gas me up,” he teases.
Across the room, Ethan is sitting cross-legged in front of the open kitchen cabinets, carefully wrapping the last of the dishes in crinkling newspaper. His motions are methodical, almost meditative.
Each finished box is sealed with careful precision and labeled in his neat, slanted handwriting. He pauses, glancing at one.
“Fragile. Kitchen. Grandma’s China,” he reads aloud, just to make sure. “This one’s important, right?”
“Yep!” I reply. “Don’t break any!”
In the hallway, Liam appears, maneuvering the old dresser with his usual quiet strength. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and his hair falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t complain.
He eases the piece into the room and sets it down with a grunt, careful not to scuff the new floors. Then he strides toward me and places a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Take a break, Maya,” he says. “You’re pushing too hard.”
I try to protest, but the concern in his eyes is too real to ignore. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to do everything,” he says.
I nod, the tightness in my chest loosening slightly. His words settle over me like a weighted blanket.
That night, the little house is quiet for the first time in days. The others have gone home for a few hours to grab sleep and spare clothes.
I lie on an air mattress in the bedroom, a box serving as my nightstand. Outside, the city murmurs softly—cars humming down distant streets, a siren far off, laughter echoing up from a neighbor’s balcony.
The cracked window lets in a whisper of wind, cool and restless. I stare at the ceiling, my fingers resting over my still flat belly. The space around me is empty, but it’s not hollow.
It’s full of echoes—of laughter, of soft touches and quiet promises, of Jake’s teasing smirks, Ethan’s steady hands, and Liam’s grounding calm.
This room, this moment, feels like the last page of one chapter and the prologue of another, and I’m ready to turn the page.
***
Moving day dawns bright and sharp. Sunlight spills across the wide-plank hardwood floors of our new house.
The scent of fresh paint still clings to the air, mingling with sawdust and the citrus cleaner Ethan used on the counters this morning. It smells like beginnings.
I crouch beside a box labeledBooks—Mayaand carefully peel back the tape. The bubble wrap underneath crackles and pops as I reach in, pulling out a dog-eared paperback with a cracked spine.
Something familiar. Something mine.
Around me, the soundtrack is the scuff of shoes on wood, the rustle of cardboard, and laughter echoing off empty walls.
Jake passes by with a heavy box markedKitchen—Heavy,his arms taut with effort. His shirt clings to the curve of his back, streaked slightly with sweat.
He catches my eye as he walks past, his smirk cocky and full of heat. “You planning on just looking pretty while we do all the heavy lifting?”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep from smiling. “Maybe. I figured I’d let you show off.”
He chuckles and disappears into the kitchen.
Ethan’s sitting at the island, unwrapping mugs
He handles them like they’re fragile heirlooms, holding one up to the light and inspecting a crack near the handle.
