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

by Everly Ashton

  We stay wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, neither of us wanting to end the moment.

  “You ready to do this?” Keane asks.

  Later that day, I’m sitting on my bed in my room, staring at my phone in my hands. “Not really, but I need to do this.”

  “Do you want me to stay or give you some privacy?” he asks.

  I told Keane about my plan to reach out to my father, and he’s supportive. I figured he would be, given our previous conversations. But now that the time is here to actually make the call, I might throw up. I know it’s what’s best, but I wonder whether I’ll feel better or worse after it’s over.

  Stop. No matter how I feel, I’ll get through it. I have Keane and my mom and my friends. I’ve already been through the worst of it—back when I was younger—so I can deal with anything that comes my way.

  “Could you stay?” I ask in a small voice.

  “Of course.” He leans forward and squeezes my knee.

  I press my lips together and pull up the number on the phone that keeps calling and leaving messages I won’t listen to—at least not since the first time, when I didn’t know who it was. I hit the number and bring the phone to my ear. With each ring, my heart beats faster until the sound of it is as loud as the ringing in my ear.

  “Hello, Pumpkin?” my dad answers.

  The use of the nickname he had for me throws me off my solid front. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Hearing his voice again is surreal. It hasn’t changed at all. It still holds that slightly rough quality like he smokes two packs a day when he’s never smoked one cigarette—as far as I know, at least.

  “Fiona is that you?” he says.

  I clear my throat. “Yes… yeah, it’s me.”

  A rush of air echoes through the phone. “I can’t believe you’re calling me. How are you? Is everything okay?” He sounds genuinely worried. I guess I would be too if someone who’d been ignoring my calls for years finally reached out to me.

  “Everything is fine. I… I just called to see if maybe we could get together to talk sometime.”

  “Absolutely. You name the time and place and I’m there, Pumpkin.”

  I cringe when he uses my nickname again. “Okay, how about Saturday at lunch? I don’t have to work.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “Okay, I’ll text you the details then.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  We’re both silent for a moment, and I’m not sure how to end the call.

  “All right I have to go bye.” It comes out as one long word and I hit the red circle on my phone screen, letting out a long breath.

  “How did that feel?” Keane rubs my back as if he’s consoling a child.

  “I’m not even sure, but I’m happy it’s over… for now.”

  He gives me a sad smile. I take his other hand and squeeze it to let him know I’m okay. I can do this. I have no choice—because it’s for not only my future, but ours.

  Forty

  Keane

  I head into work early on Tuesday to catch Annabelle and Jacques before the restaurant gets busy. Annabelle is at the hostess station, wiping down menus, and I decide to deal with her first just to get it over with. She looks at me warily as I approach.

  “Can we talk for a minute?” I ask.

  She sets down the damp cloth, along with the leather-wrapped menu she’s cleaning, and looks at me expectantly.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve had some time to process everything and I’ve cooled down. Once the baby is born, we can get a DNA test, but in the meantime, I’ll be here for whatever you need during the pregnancy.”

  Spitting out the words is like chewing on razor blades, their edges sharp and damaging in my mouth. I do not want to have a child with this woman, and I still don’t think I’m the father of her baby. Perhaps that’s wishful thinking, but my gut tells me it’s not. Still, in the event that I am indeed this child’s father, I need to step up now to do the right thing. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself down the road if I forsake the baby and found out later I was the father.

  Annabelle’s mouth twists into a wide smile and she steps around the hostess station. “I’m so happy you came around.” She pulls me into a hug I reluctantly accept. “This is gonna be great, you’ll see.”

  I’m not so sure about that, but I give her a wane smile as I pull away. “Let me know what you need.”

  She rubs the small swell of her abdomen. Obviously, she’s past hiding her pregnancy. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come in here and been supportive of her today. Would she have made a scene in front of Jacques and all our coworkers, telling them I’m the baby’s father and want nothing to do with her or my baby?

  I wouldn’t put it past her.

  “Maybe you could come with me to my next appointment. It’s in a couple weeks. You’ll get to hear the baby’s heartbeat.”

  “Great,” I say, feeling anything but.

  “Awesome.” She squeezes my forearm, and it’s all I can do not to yank it out of her grasp.

  I use the pretense of scratching my head to get her to let go when I lift my arm. “I need to go speak to Jacques about a few things, so I’ll see you later.”

  “For sure!” She’s back to being overly friendly and it’s all a little creepy.

  I head through the kitchen to the back where Jacques’ office resides and knock on the door. It’s not often that his door is closed. I saw his car when I parked out back, but maybe he’s not here?

  After about ten seconds, he calls, “Come in.”

  I spot him pulling the phone from his ear and setting it on his desk as I enter. He’s agitated, the deep groves between his eyes even deeper than normal.

  “Got a second?” I ask, taking a seat in the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

  “Better be good news.”

  “It is.” Frankly, it’s the news I’ve been waiting to tell him for a couple months. Even so, I don’t feel great about how it came to pass. “I was able to secure a loan, so I’m all set to buy-in on the restaurant.”

  He smacks his desk. “No shit? How’d you manage that?”

  “A person I consider a bit of a mentor has agreed to co-sign the loan.” The words feel about as wrong leaving my mouth as when I was offering any help I could to Annabelle. Letting Rod do this for me doesn’t feel right, but I have no other options and this opportunity is everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve worked toward my entire career.

  “Wonderful. Well then, get ready for your first headache of being a business owner.”

  I raise my eyebrows in question.

  “I just got off the phone with the city. There’s an issue with the demolition permit. Some local do-good group is trying to have the building declared a historical building, which would mean we can’t tear it down. It’s going to be presented at city council in a couple of weeks. We’ll need to be there to argue our case. You up for that?”

  The first thought that comes to mind is whether or not Fiona knows anything about this, and if she did, should I be mad at her? She made it clear that this is important to her, but I would’ve thought she’d give me a heads-up if she knew about this case.

  “I’m up for it. Whatever you need.”

  I mean it, of course. After all of this, I need to make this restaurant happen. I just hope it doesn’t come at the expense of Fiona and me. There’s only so much turmoil a relationship can handle.

  That night, I set my alarm so that I’ll be awake when Fiona returns home from work.

  I’m putting the final touches on a vegan southwest tofu breakfast taco with avocado cilantro sauce when she comes through the door. My sister is already gone to the gym before work, which is good since it means we can speak freely. Fiona and I haven’t told Marlowe anything about Annabelle’s pregnancy yet, and I’m not sure I plan to tell anyone until I know for sure the baby is mine. Just imagine what my parents would say.
/>   “It smells amazing in here,” Fiona calls. Her shoes and bag drop on the floor, and moments later, her arms are wrapped around my waist. “Good morning.”

  I turn my head and lean back to give her a quick kiss. “Morning. I’m just putting the final touches on this. Why don’t you go relax?” I pour the green sauces back and forth over the steaming tacos on our plates.

  She drops her hands and heads to the small two-seater table in the kitchen. “Your wish is my command.”

  I guess we’ll find out if that’s true.

  I bring the plates over and set them on the table. “Breakfast is served.”

  “It looks delicious. You’ve become quite the vegan chef.” She picks up a taco.

  Truth is, she’s right. Much to my surprise, I’ve really enjoyed the challenge of creating recipes that taste just as good as their traditional counterparts.

  Once she’s done chewing and swallowing, she says, “Another winner. If you keep spoiling me, you’re going to ruin me for other men.”

  “That’s the idea.” I pick up my own taco.

  She laughs, but when it dies down, her face is serious. “How did it go with Annabelle?”

  I finish chewing. “She wants me to go with her to her next doctor’s appointment in a few weeks.”

  Fiona nods slowly. What’s going through her head right now? If the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d be able to deal, and that’s what worries me. One day, Fiona will throw her hands up and say too much bullshit surrounds me. Then again, she’s always been a far greater person than me.

  “You should be there. You know, just in case…”

  Just in case the baby’s mine. She doesn’t want to say it, and truth is, I don’t want to think it. That makes me feel awful—because we’re talking about an innocent child—but I can’t help the fact that the only person I could possibly see myself having a child with is sitting across from me.

  “Yeah.” I frown and take another bite of my taco. An awkward silence descends upon us, and I figure I might as well bring up this next part and get it over with. “I told Jacques today that Rod agreed to co-sign the loan so I can buy-in on the restaurant.”

  She finishes chewing. “He must have been happy to hear it.”

  I nod. “He was, though he was a little preoccupied.”

  Her head tilts, looking so innocent. Maybe she’s not aware of the historical declaration. “With what?”

  “Apparently someone is trying to get the building declared a historic structure, meaning we wouldn’t be able to tear it down.”

  She looks sheepish and resigned, setting down her taco.

  “You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?” I ask.

  “I knew it was a possibility. I didn’t know they’d been successful in getting the city to agree to look at their application.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what? I told you I was going to fight to get that building to stay up. What did you think that meant exactly?” She’s not being mean or accusatory, but there’s a flatness in her voice that shows we’re on opposite sides of this fight. In the end, there will be a winner and a loser.

  I blow out a breath and lean back into my chair, crossing my arms. “I don’t know. I thought it meant that you and your cohorts would make up some signs and picket in front of the place or gather some signatures.”

  She nods as if she’s seeing all of my thoughts now. “You thought that whatever we did wouldn’t matter and would be ineffective, therefore not jeopardize your plans. Is that why you were okay with me being on the opposite side of this? Because you didn’t think we’d actually stand a chance to make an impact?” She leans back and wipes her mouth with a napkin.

  I let her words and their implication roll around my head for a moment and realize she’s right. There wasn’t a scenario in my head where she’d be successful. I think I assumed I’d get what I want by tearing down the building and she’d feel good about her part in trying to prevent that from happening. Win, win.

  “Keane, you can’t ask me to give up fighting for something that’s important to me. Even if you don’t agree.”

  “What if it affects me directly? Does that matter?”

  She sets down the taco she just picked up and leans back in her chair once again, looking across the table at me with sadness in her eyes. “I don’t want to give up this cause. Please don’t make me.”

  “Can’t you just pick up another one? It’s not like you don’t have a hundred others you can choose from.” Frustration wells inside me—that she can’t just let it go, that my parents are being so unsupportive, and the situation with Annabelle. I need Fiona on my side.

  Her head whips back as if I smacked her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  It might not be entirely rational, but I feel as though she’s picking her moral compass over me, and resentment stings like the lash of a whip. “You have a cause for every day of the week. Have you ever asked yourself why?”

  “Because I want to be a good person?” She pushes back from the table, abandoning her tacos, and takes off into the living room.

  My chair makes a loud scraping noise as I push back and follow her. “I’m sure that’s part of it, but have you ever stopped to ask yourself whether or not it has something to do with your father?”

  Her nostrils flare. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re being ridiculous.”

  “You can’t make up for all his wrongs by trying to do as many rights as you can.”

  Shock registers on her face and she stands perfectly still for a moment. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  I step closer. “Are you sure?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Just because I think of other people and not just myself doesn’t mean it has anything to do with my dad. Some people are just like that, Keane. Though I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “Oh, right. Because I’m just the selfish asshole you always thought I was, right?”

  She crosses her arms and shrugs. “You’re the one asking me to go against my conscience.”

  “I guess you have to ask yourself why your conscience thinks a building is more important than your boyfriend.” My hands ache, they’re fisted so hard at my sides.

  “Maybe I do. Or maybe I should ask why my boyfriend thinks he should be more important than my conscience.” She juts out a hip and crosses her arms in the middle of the living room.

  “Seems like we both have a lot of thinking to do.” The words rush out of my mouth in my anger, but even as I’m saying them, the part of me that’s fallen for this woman is screaming NOOOOOOO! There might not be any coming back from this.

  “Seems like it. Think I’ll go do that now.” She spins on her heel and rushes down the hall before slamming her bedroom door.

  A huge part of me wants to run after her and apologize. Explain that everything going on right now is a lot and I’m sorry I lost my temper. But my heart is bruised and bloodied that she doesn’t see me as important as her cause.

  Before I can decide what I’m going to do, my phone rings in my back pocket. I pull it out and see my landlord’s name on the screen.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Good news. Your apartment will be ready to move back into this weekend.”

  I don’t know whether I’m relieved or not.

  Forty-One

  Fiona

  I wake up filled with dread on Saturday morning.

  Not only is today the day I’m meeting my dad after well over a decade, but also because Keane is moving back to his own apartment.

  It’s not like I didn’t know this day would come at some point, but I thought we’d be in a better place when it happened. Ever since our fight earlier this week, we’ve been avoiding each other—mostly just speaking to the other with short phrases like morning, see you later, etc.

  I want to wrap my arms around him and apologize, but my pride won’t let me. How can he expect me to give up my fight f
or the building? Does he even know me or like what makes me, me?

  I don’t even know if we’re even together anymore. Based on the fact that we’ve slept in our own rooms and we’ve barely talked, I’d say no. But we haven’t had a conversation about where we stand since our argument. Then again, maybe this is what Keane does. Maybe he just pretends like nothing happened and moves on with his life. Who knows?

  A soft knock lands on my door and anticipation flares in my chest. Maybe it’s Keane coming to set things right before he leaves. To say this is all a mistake so we can try to get back to where we were, rather than leaving things in a state of limbo and perpetuity. Hope is like a bucket being lowered into a well to be filled.

  I sit up in my bed, arranging the sheets around my waist. “Come in.”

  The door opens and Marlowe walks in.

  The bucket comes up from the well empty.

  “Hey,” she says in a soft voice with sympathetic eyes. “Keane is about to leave. All his stuff is packed. I just thought you should know.”

  A painful lump forms in my throat, but I squeeze out, “Tell him I said goodbye.”

  Her shoulders fall. “Okay.” She closes the door softly behind her.

  Guilt flares, scorching my skin. I’m sure this isn’t easy for her. Unless Keane told her, she doesn’t know the particulars of what went down. I want to make this as easy on her as possible, but I don’t know how because I’m hurting. But dragging her into our drama is unfair.

  I listen intently at the door. I hear the murmur of voices and try, with no success, to make out what they’re saying. Then the distinctive sound of the apartment door closing breaks the dam holding back my tears. My eyes burn as I take the stupid note out of my nightstand, opening the crinkled paper to read the letter once again.

  What a load of bullshit. I can’t believe I actually thought this thing might mean something. I hold it to tear it up, but something stops me. I don’t know what exactly—just a feeling like destroying it will mean a shit-ton of bad karma or something. So I toss it back in the drawer and slam it shut.