Page 75 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

Choose wisely.

Morrison’s silhouette shifted against the office windows. He pressed two detonators against the glass—one black, one red, both carrying fifteen years of secrets and the power to destroy everything we loved.

The powerless grandfather clock cast long shadows across marble floors as Morrison waited above the keeper of secrets that could shatter our families.

Time, like the truth, was running out.

Chapter Nineteen

Amelia

The walls of Mom’s office pressed close, memories and moonlight making the familiar space feel like a trap. Old books and leather chairs surrounded me with her scent, now tainted by Morrison’s invasive presence. He stood against the window, backlit by cold light, both detonators held with casual menace in his manicured hands.

“You won’t do it.” My voice stayed steady despite my thundering heart. “Destroy Pine Haven, you lose the uranium deposits. You lose everything.”

Something flickered in Morrison’s eyes—surprise, maybe respect. That same calculating look from old board meeting photos, always watching from shadows, always weighing angles.

“Smart girl. Like your mother.” He nodded toward the painting I’d seen my entire life. Mom and Richard Miller on opening day, their smiles bright with hope and something else I’d never noticed until now. “Go ahead. Look behind it. See what Margaret and Richard were planning.”

Hunter’s hand tightened on mine as I stepped forward, his warmth anchoring me against the weight of secrets. Each creak of floorboards beneath my feet echoed with history.

But a familiar voice cut through the tension before I could reach the painting.

“They were planning to expose you.”

Taylor stood fierce in the doorway with Van beside her, their protective stance reminding me of countless moments they’d faced down threats together.

“What are you—” Morrison’s polished facade cracked.

“Distracting you,” Van said, his athlete’s presence filling the frame.

Blue sparks reflected in Morrison’s eyes as the detonators died in his hands, disabled by Agent Blake’s signal jammer. Decades of careful control shattered across his features. He lunged before the FBI could reach him, his expensive suit tearing with the same violence that had destroyed so many lives.

“You’re just like them—blind idealists playing at progress!” Spittle flew as his composure dissolved. “Your mothers thought they could change everything. Look where that got them!”

Hunter moved swiftly and surely between us as Morrison’s hands clawed into the empty air. Pine and spice mixed with Morrison’s expensive aftershave—present and past colliding. However, Agent Blake’s team moved faster; their training was evident when they took Morrison down. He thrashed against the carpet where generations had walked, dignity forgotten in raw fury.

“It’s over.” Agent Blake’s cuffs clicked with satisfying finality around his wrists. “Jack Morrison, you’re under arrest for attempted murder, conspiracy—”

“It’s not over!” He twisted to lock eyes with me, voice venomous as a cornered snake. “The truth about their parents—”

“Is that they were heroes?” I cut through his poison, voice steady as a mountain stone. The painted figures of Mom and Richard Miller watched us, their captured smiles guarding secrets finally surfacing. “They died protecting this community. That’s their legacy.”

Morrison’s laugh turned ugly as agents hauled him up, his perfect suit now stained and wrinkled. “Legacy? You have no idea what’s still buried—” An agent forced his head down, expensive shoes scuffing the floor Mom had walked so many times.

I let myself lean into Hunter’s strength, his arms wrapping around me as Morrison’s words echoed. The familiar scent of pine and spice chased away the lingering traces of Morrison’s presence.

“You okay?” His breath warmed my hair.

“Ask me tomorrow.” I turned in his embrace, needing to ground myself in the steady love I found there. “Thank you. For being here. For everything.”

His smile still made my heart flip, just like that first late night we’d worked together. “Where else would I be?”

“Get a room, you two.” Taylor’s tease carried affection as she watched us, one hand resting over Chad, sleeping in his carrier.

The lights hummed to life as power returned, chasing shadows from Mom’s office. Through windows, people gathered on Pine Haven’s grounds, their lights creating pools of warmth in the darkness. The community coming together, as they always had.

“Claire’s handling social media,” Taylor reported, her phone casting blue shadows. “She’s spinning this as a community triumph over corporate greed. The response is overwhelming.”

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