Three's A Crowd: A Best Friend's Older Brother Rom Com (Love in Apartment #3B Book 2)

by Everly Ashton

  “Great, I’ll see you when I get back.” He walks over to me and places a chaste kiss on my lips.

  I savor the contact, wishing it were longer. He leaves and once I’m finished putting everything away, I look at my cell phone charging on my nightstand. For a couple minutes, I contemplate before I unplug it, go into my contacts, and hit the one for my mom.

  She answers on the third ring. “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “What’s wrong? You sound down.” I picture the crease on the bridge of her nose.

  “No, not down really. I’ve just been thinking about things for the past few weeks.” I sit on my bed and lean against the headboard.

  “Things like…”

  “Dad.”

  I’m met with silence. As painful as it is, I wait her out. This isn’t something we ever talk about.

  I hear her swallow, then she says, “What about your dad?”

  “He’s been calling me a lot lately, but I haven’t been taking his calls. I haven’t blocked his number either, so I guess that means something too.”

  “Sweetheart, if you want to talk to your father, you should. I told you back when he went to prison that if you wanted to talk to him, I’d drive you up there for visits.”

  I pick at a piece of fluff on my mini skirt. “I know. But it’s not just that I’m worried about hurting you if I start talking to him again. I’m worried about getting hurt myself.”

  Saying the words out loud is hard, but my mom is really the only other person who understands the trauma of what my dad did and how it affected our family. Sure, Jemma and Marlowe were there to support me, but neither of them, or Keane, really knows what it feels like to find out the person you loved unconditionally was not at all who you thought, and to have your entire world blown apart as a consequence.

  My mom sighs. “I can’t lie, that’s a very real possibility. I’d like to think your dad learned his lesson, but the truth is he may not have. His duplicitous side might still be there. There’s no way to know for sure.”

  “I know.” Tears spring in my eyes unbidden.

  “Just because you answer his call doesn’t mean you have to keep answering it. You can always change your mind.”

  “It was easier when he was still in jail and I could pretend he didn’t exist.”

  “I wish I was there to hug you, sweetie.”

  “Thanks. We really need to get together soon. I miss you.”

  My mom keeps herself so busy, I wonder if it’s an effort to avoid dealing with the things we’re talking about right now. As soon as the thought comes to mind, the realization that I could say the same thing about myself roars over me like a tidal wave.

  “I miss you too. Just know that I’ll support you whatever you decide. It’s easy to try to pretend your dad doesn’t exist, but if it’s bothering you this much, maybe you should reach out to him. These things have a habit of coming back up over and over again until you handle them.”

  I don’t respond. Instead, I trail a pattern with my index finger over my bedspread.

  “Now, on to happier things. What did you do this weekend for the holiday?” she asks.

  I haven’t told my mom about my relationship with Keane yet because I wanted to be sure it had legs. That, and talking about it makes it feel very real and I haven’t been in a real relationship in a long time.

  “We went to a cabin on a lake upstate,” I say.

  “Who’s we? You and the girls?”

  “Not exactly…” I launch into a quick PG version of how Keane and I started seeing each other.

  When I’m done, she doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. I’m not sure what she’s thinking.

  “Wow, I’m shocked,” she says finally.

  I chuckle. “No more so than me, believe me.”

  “Is this new relationship the reason you’re thinking so much about your dad lately?”

  I shrug even though she can’t see me and even though yes, I do think that’s why. “Could be.”

  “Hmm. I don’t think there’s any ‘could be’ about it.”

  She waits for me to respond. I’m not sure what to say, but when the tension becomes too much, I break. “Every time I start to get close to someone, I can’t help but wonder if he’s a liar like Dad is. I mean, if I didn’t even know what my own father is capable of, how can I possibly know what some guy is?”

  “Sweetie, you can’t go through life worrying about the what-ifs. Maybe you’ll get hurt, maybe you won’t. But you can’t stop living to try to protect yourself. That’s no kind of life. Whatever happens, good or bad, you’ll get through it.”

  Her chiding tone rubs me the wrong way. “Interesting coming from a woman who hasn’t dated since she divorced.”

  “Is that what you think? That I didn’t remarry because I’m afraid?”

  “Well, I kind of assumed.”

  “Believe it or not, I do have gentleman friends. I just don’t tell you about them because you’re my daughter and I assume you don’t want to hear about any of my trysts.”

  I cringe.

  “But I don’t want anyone permanent. Maybe in the future I will, who knows. When I split with your father, I realized that I quite like my independence and not having to worry about someone else’s feelings. I enjoy not having to mold myself to fit into someone else’s life. That’s why I haven’t ever had anything serious with someone. Because it was my choice. Not because I was afraid.”

  “Oh,” is my uber-intelligent answer.

  “Just like your dad surprised us in a bad way, the same can be true in reverse. Now I’m not saying that Keane is or isn’t the one, but you can’t stop yourself for falling for him if that’s what’s happening.” When I don’t respond, she asks, “Is that what’s happening?”

  I inhale a deep breath then blurt out the truth. “Yes.”

  “Thought so. Don’t fear it, sweetie, go with it.” Her voice is soft and soothing.

  I inhale her words, sipping them like a tonic that will cure me from all that ails me, determined to do as she says.

  We chat for a few more minutes and promise to get together soon before I hang up.

  I’m filled with a newfound hope that I didn’t have before I spoke to my mom. If she can remain so positive and open after what happened, why can’t I? I’m not sure whether I’ll be successful or not, but I’m determined to try.

  Pulling up Keane’s contact, I change his ringtone from the basic Marimba off the phone’s setting. I hadn’t assigned him a song like everyone else because I wasn’t sure what it should be. But I am now.

  Thirty-Eight

  Keane

  I’m putting the groceries away, preoccupied with the conversation I just had with Rod. I feel like a complete asshole calling and asking him to speak to his wife about co-signing the loan, but I’m out of other options. I’m so distracted that I don’t hear Fiona come into the kitchen.

  “Hey.” She pokes me in the side and I startle.

  “Ah!”

  She laughs, and if my heart wasn’t already racing from the scare, it would be now. She always looks so vibrant, so alive when she’s happy.

  “Deep in thought?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” I place the last of the veggies in the crisper and shut the fridge door. When I turn to face Fiona, she’s looking at me kind of funny, almost as though she’s nervous.

  “Call my phone,” she blurts.

  “Call your phone?” I tilt my head. “Why would I do that? You’re right here.”

  “Just do it.”

  Perplexed, I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my shorts and bring up her contact. Her phone vibrates in her hands a second before Justin Timberlake’s “Not a Bad Thing” plays. She doesn’t answer, letting it play on, and I listen as he sings about promises people make to each other and how he won’t hurt the other person, so it’s not a bad thing for them to fall in love with him.

  I listen and I know what this is. It’s a declaration from a woman
who’s afraid to be hurt after her father scarred her. But she’s telling me, maybe not in her own words, that she’s falling for me and she’s down for the ride.

  I step into Fiona and cup her face, emotion swelling in my chest. I’m not in this alone. I couldn’t be sure before—because she holds her feelings inside a lot—but the realization that she’s feeling the same thing I am makes me feel as if I can conquer any challenge the world throws at me.

  I bring my lips to hers in a soft kiss. Then a little harder and slowly push my tongue into her mouth. This isn’t a kiss leading to sex; this is a kiss that says I feel the same. I feel this pull between us too. I’m in this. I straighten and pull away to tell her verbally, but a loud bang sounds on the door.

  “I know you’re in there. I saw your Jeep in the parking lot.” Annabelle’s voice sounds from behind the door, and both our eyes widen in horror.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” Fiona asks. “Has she lost it?”

  “Fuck. I don’t know.” I stomp toward the door with the brief thought that maybe Annabelle is dangerous.

  But when I whip open the door, she’s got tears streaming down her face and she’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. She looks devastated more than deranged. She doesn’t say anything or ask to come in. Instead, she pushes past me into the apartment and comes to a sudden halt when she sees Fiona standing by the entrance to the kitchen.

  I close the apartment door and walk back to Fiona, then I take her hand as though we’re a united front.

  “Is this why you’ve blocked me on your phone?” Annabelle seethes as she studies our joined hands.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I say.

  “If you’d answer my calls, I wouldn’t have to be.”

  Anger flashes through me, searing my insides. I step forward, but Fiona places a hand on my forearm, stopping me. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I want nothing to do you with you. If you keep this up, I’m going to get Jacques involved, if not the police.”

  That declaration sobers her, and she blinks in rapid succession. “I think you’ll change your mind when you hear what I have to say.”

  “Believe me, nothing you say will change my mind. You need help, Annabelle. I don’t know how else to say it. You need to leave me alone.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  The words leave her mouth and travel to me as if they’re being said in slow motion. My stomach lurches, my body understanding before my brain has even made sense of the words.

  Fiona drops my hand. The loss of contact with her snaps me out of the haze.

  “What did you say?” I ask in a hoarse whisper.

  “I said I’m pregnant.” She lifts her sweatshirt to reveal a small bulge.

  I guess I know why I thought she looked a little heavier a few weeks ago at my party.

  I glance from Annabelle to Fiona, who’s standing there with wide eyes and her hand over her chest, obviously distraught.

  “That’s not possible.” I turn back to face Annabelle. “We used a condom.”

  She shrugs. “They’re not foolproof.”

  I push a hand through my hair and stare at the floor.

  “She’s right,” Fiona says next to me.

  I whip my head in her direction. “It’s not mine. How far along are you?” I return my attention to the woman in front of me who doesn’t know it but is threatening to take away the one good thing in my life right now.

  Annabelle shifts her weight. “Five months.”

  “I want a paternity test.”

  Annabelle raises her chin. “I’m not risking the baby just to assuage your curiosity. You can have one after the baby is born.”

  With both hands locked in my hair, I stare at the floor. That’s so far from now. No way is Fiona going to stick around for all this drama until then.

  “You need to leave.” I walk over to the door and swing it open, gesturing with my hand for her to get going. “We can talk about this when I see you at work on Tuesday night.”

  “Kicking me out isn’t going to change the fact that you’re going to be a father.”

  I cringe. Not entirely at the prospect of being a father, but because it’s with the wrong woman. “Get out.”

  She must see something in my face because she actually does what I ask. As soon as she’s on the other side of the door, I slam it and turn back around to face Fiona.

  “I’m telling you there’s no way that baby is mine. We used protection.”

  Her arms are wrapped around herself and she’s pacing the living room floor. “They aren’t foolproof, just like she said. And are you sure you used one? Didn’t you say you’d been drinking that night?”

  There’s so much sorrow in her eyes when she looks at me that I panic, making quick work of the distance between us. I place my hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me, I used one. I always use one.”

  She shakes her head. “Not always. We didn’t.”

  My head falls forward before I look back up at her. “You and I are different.”

  She steps back, forcing my hands to drop from her shoulders. “Why? What makes us any different? Maybe you got carried away with her too. Maybe that’s what you do.”

  I tighten my fists until my knuckles turn white. “It’s not what I do. You’re you. You’re special. I couldn’t believe it when we got together and I got caught up in the moment. Please, you have to believe me.”

  I lock my gaze with hers, but she looks away. “I need to get ready for work.” She walks past me and her bedroom door closes shortly after. No slam, just a click.

  “Damn it!” I yell into the empty room.

  Just when I thought I had it all within my grasp, the universe rips it away.

  Thirty-Nine

  Fiona

  I thumb the old paper in my hand. I arrived home from work a half hour ago. Keane is still sleeping and Marlowe is already gone, presumably to the gym before work. I’ve been sitting on the couch reading and re-reading the letter I found hidden behind the wallpaper in my bedroom, pondering whether it actually holds meaning. I’d started to hope it did, but those were probably the musings of a girl who wanted to believe that Keane and I were somehow fated mates.

  I barely slept last night because all I can think about is what if Annabelle really is pregnant with Keane’s baby? I don’t fault him for questioning her—she doesn’t seem like a stable individual. But until there’s a way to prove it one way or the other, he has to deal with it.

  The question is can I deal with it? Or is this the end for us?

  At first, I thought he had to be lying when he said they used protection. My history with my dad rearing its head. But Annabelle didn’t dispute it and I don’t think Keane’s ever lied to me. At least not that I know of.

  I get up off the couch and walk back into my room, open the drawer of the bedside table, and place the letter back inside. I know what I have to do, as difficult as it might turn out.

  And not just with Keane. I’m tired of my history with my father affecting my life so many years later. I don’t want all the negative emotions from that experience rushing to the surface every time he calls.

  I knock on the bedroom door beside mine. When Keane doesn’t answer, I turn the knob and push it open. It’s weird to see him in his own bed since he’s been sleeping in mine for weeks. The sight makes me sad.

  He’s lying on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his feet, wearing just his boxer briefs. I step in and he doesn’t move an inch when I sit beside him on the mattress.

  “Keane,” I say, rubbing his back. “Wake up.”

  He groans and moves but doesn’t open his eyes. I’m a little more forceful this time and he startles then turns to face me, rubbing his eyes.

  “Fiona?” he says in a sleep-logged voice.

  “Expecting someone else?” I deadpan.

  “What? No.” He gives his head a shake. “I just wasn’t sure you were ever going to talk to me again.”

  “About that,�
� I say.

  He looks at me expectantly.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t immediately support you. I needed a minute.”

  He rearranges himself so that he’s sitting up in front of me. “No, no. Don’t apologize. It was unexpected and threw us both for a loop. I understand why you needed a minute. What I need to know is now that you’ve had one, what are you thinking?” He reaches out slowly, and when I don’t move away, he takes my hands.

  “I believe you when you say you used a condom. But even so, that doesn’t mean the baby can’t be yours.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I slip one hand from his and raise it in the air. “It could be yours, and even if that is the case, I want to be here for you. As your girlfriend.”

  The relief on his face when he cups my own makes me confident I did the right thing.

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. I didn’t know what I was going to do if you didn’t want to be with me anymore.” He kisses my forehead, then my nose, then my lips.

  I hold his face as our tongues meet in a slow, emotional kiss.

  He backs away, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think there were tears in his eyes. “I’ll step up and do what’s right if I’m the father, but you have to know that you’re the woman I want to be with. Only you.”

  I lean forward to kiss him again, wrapping my arms around his neck. We sink into the kiss and he lowers my back to the mattress so that he’s lying on me. I love the feel of his weight bearing down on my body.

  We make quick work of my clothes and his boxers, and in no time, he’s sliding into me, our gazes locked. I can’t look away as he rocks into me again and again. Eventually our lips find each other’s and he tenderly strokes his hand through my hair.

  Then he pulls away and whispers in my ear, “You’re all I’ll ever need. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

  My heart leaps with joy. The emotion swirling around us feels like too much, too intense, too heady to name. But I’m pretty sure that for the first time in my life, I know what it means to make love to someone.

  I tighten around him as my orgasm draws near, and he pulls back, gazing at me in a way that lets me know everything I feel right now is real. With that realization, I pulse around him and cry out in ecstasy. He follows me right after, pumping into me, then he stills, coming with my name on his lips while he empties his seed inside me.