Page 68 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

“Make time.” Hunter appeared with coffee—real coffee, not the emergency supply stuff. Marie’s special blend filled the air with rich warmth. The scent told me he’d gone into town, looking after me even now. “You’re no good to anyone if you collapse.”

The coffee cup anchored my trembling hands. Hunter settled beside me, his knee pressing against mine with steady reassurance. Pine and spice clung to him, mixing with coffee in a moment of peace I wanted to hold on to.

“The lawyers can handle the next hour,” he murmured, his voice steady as the mountains themselves. “Let them earn their ridiculous fees.”

A laugh bubbled up, surprising us both. The sound bounced off the lobby walls, strange but welcome. Hunter’s smile reached his eyes, warming something deep in my chest—a reminder that some things remained pure even in chaos.

“There she is.” Taylor’s fingers found another knot. “The Amelia who once lived for thrilling adventures.”

“That was a long time ago.” Before Mom died. Before, responsibilities and secrets became stones around my neck.

“Was it?” Hunter’s thumb brushed my knuckles, sending warmth through my arm. “The Amelia I know turned a failingresort into a community cornerstone. Sounds like quite the adventure to me.”

Agent Blake emerged from the conference room, her boots silent on the thick carpet. My stomach clenched at the grim set of her mouth.

“The hospital security footage.” Her tablet cast blue light across her features. “You need to see this.”

The screen showed Dad’s room at midnight, medical equipment casting ominous shadows. Michael entered, his movements carrying a hesitation I’d never seen in my confident older brother. My throat tightened.

“Turn up the volume,” I whispered. Hunter’s hand found my back, warm and steady.

Michael’s voice crackled through the speaker, heavy with guilt: “They know about that night, Dad. About what happened when Mom...”

Static claimed the rest, leaving only questions.

“Power failure,” Agent Blake said, suspicion threading through her professional tone. “Your brother left twenty minutes later. We lost him after that.”

My coffee cup trembled. Hunter’s hand covered mine, his touch grounding me as memories crashed back—Michael taught me to ride a bike and check my closet for monsters, always protecting me. Until now.

“Michael wouldn’t...” The words died. Wouldn’t what? Betray us? Like Dad had? The thought burned like ash on my tongue.

“Hey.” Taylor kneeled before me, her therapist’s eyes seeing too deep. “Remember high school? When I fell on broken glass?”

The apparent shift threw me, but the memory came sharp and clear. “You mean when I...”

“When you held my hand the whole way to the hospital,” she finished softly. “Even though blood terrifies you. That’s who you are, Amelia. You face what scares you.”

Hunter’s arm slid around my waist, his warmth steady against the evening chill seeping through the old windows. “She’s right. And you’re not facing anything alone.”

A commotion at the front desk caught our attention. Claire hurried in, her usual composure cracking around the edges as she clutched her tablet. Emergency lights caught raw worry in her eyes.

“Mrs. Wheeler’s full confession just came through.” Her breath hitched. “And... there’s something else. About the night your mother died.”

My throat closed. That night pressed in—police at our door, Dad’s broken voice, Michael’s tears. “What about it?”

“She says...” Claire glanced at Hunter, compassion softening her features. “She says both your mothers were there. Together. And they weren’t alone.”

The lights flickered, shadows dancing across pine walls like restless spirits.

“Your father,” Agent Blake read from the confession, her professional mask slipping for a moment. “Arthur Horton was there, too. And according to Mrs. Wheeler...”

Darkness claimed us as power failed. In the heavy silence, a single phone chimed, its screen piercing the black.

The message burned across my screen:

Ask your brother about the accident. About what he saw. Some secrets are kept out of love. Some out of guilt. The clock’s ticking, princess. Time to learn which one killed your mother.

Emergency lights painted Hunter’s face in blue shadows as he read over my shoulder, his arm tightening around me. I leaned into his strength, allowing myself this moment of weakness as his cologne mingled with crisp mountain air seeping through old window frames.

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