Page 56 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

“Like you kept Janet McKinley safe?” The words hit like a physical blow, stirring memories I tried to keep buried.

I forced myself to stay calm, though Janet’s memory burned like acid. “That’s why I brought in the FBI this time. No more lone crusades.”

“Noble.” His laugh was bitter, echoing off the copper pots overhead. Through the small window, I could see fresh snow dusting the mountains. “But you’re still putting her in the crosshairs. These people—they destroy everything they touch.”

“Including your mother?”

Michael’s coffee cup clattered against its saucer, the sound sharp in the quiet room. A photo of Margaret Horton seemed to watch us from the wall, her smile hiding whatever secrets she’d carried to her grave. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me.” I leaned forward, the old wooden chair creaking beneath me. The scent of fresh-baked bread made me think of countless mornings watching Amelia help in the kitchen, flour in her hair, joy in her movements. “Because rightnow, all I see is you carrying a secret that’s eating you alive. One that could help us protect Amelia.”

“You think that’s what this is about? Protecting her?” He stood, pacing the worn path in the floorboards where countless others had wrestled with tough decisions. “You sweep into town, playing hero, making her fall for you... do you even love her? Or is she just part of your revenge against Crystal Ridge?”

The accusation stung because I’d asked myself the same question during sleepless nights, watching shadows play across my ceiling. But I knew my truth with bone-deep certainty.

“I love her,” I replied, the words carrying the weight of everything I’d never dared say aloud. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And yes, I want justice for my father, Janet, and Margaret. But Amelia?” My voice softened on her name. “She’s not part of some plan. She’s everything.”

“Pretty words.” But something shifted in his expression, recognition perhaps of the same devotion he’d seen in old photos of his parents.

“Truth.” I met his eyes steadily, letting him see everything I felt for his sister. “I’m not going anywhere, Michael. Not when this is over, never. Unless she asks me to.”

“And if she gets hurt? If these people—”

“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right.” My voice cracked with emotion, memories of Janet’s funeral flashing unbidden. “But right now? The biggest threat to her isn’t Crystal Ridge. It’s whatever you and your father are hiding about the night your mother died.”

The color drained from his face, making his freckles stand out like his sister’s did when she was upset. Before he could respond, the door opened with a soft creak. Amelia stood there, Claire hovering anxiously behind her. The afternoon light caught the gold in her hair, reminding me painfully of photos of her mother.

“Is this what you’ve been doing?” Amelia’s voice was tight, her mother’s bracelet catching the light as she crossed her arms. “Interrogating each other while Mom’s reputation is under attack?”

“Amelia—” Michael started, looking young and lost against the backdrop of family photos.

“No.” She moved into the room, strength in every line of her body, like her mother in the old town council photos. “I’m done with secrets. With everyone thinking, they know what’s best for me.” She turned to her brother, hurt and determination warring in her expression. “You want to protect me? Tell me the truth. What happened that night?”

Michael sank into his chair, the wood groaning beneath his sudden deflation. “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Both.” He ran a hand through his hair—a gesture so familiar it sent a pang through me. “Dad made me promise. Said it would destroy everything Mom worked for if anyone knew...”

“Knew what?” I asked softly, the scent of cinnamon and coffee suddenly cloying.

But Michael just shook his head, standing abruptly. “I should go. Need to... need to talk to Dad.”

“Michael, please,” Amelia caught his arm, her voice cracking. “Whatever it is—”

“I saw them,” he whispered, the words seeming to physically pain him. “That night. At the curve where... I saw Wheeler’s uncle. And someone else. They were waiting.” He pulled away, avoiding his sister’s eyes. “That’s all I can say. I’m sorry.”

After he left, Amelia stood still, her reflection in the copper pots fractured and small. I moved to her, pulling her close, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo mingled with mountain air.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured into her hair. “About Michael, about all of it.”

She turned in my arms, her eyes searching mine. “Did you mean it? What you said to Michael about us?”

“Every word.” I drew back enough to see her face, memorizing how the afternoon light caught the gold flecks in her eyes. “I should have told you first, not Michael. But Amelia... you’re not part of some revenge plan. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. “Even when you’re having secret conversations with my brother.”

I smiled, touching my forehead to hers. “No more secrets. I promise.”

---