Page 121 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
Jack grins. Gavin glances skyward, as if in prayer. Harrison huffs a breath that could almost be a laugh.
“Thank you,” I finish, shaking my head.
They relax, visibly, like some tension they didn’t even realize they were holding has finally let go. I lean back against the seat, settle in between Harrison’s steady heat and Jack’s restless energy, and let my eyes drift shut for a moment as the SUV cruises toward home.
EPILOGUE
PARKER
Levi barrels down the walkway,his bare feet thudding against the stone path that winds from the front door of our house down to the gate. “Grandma’s here!” he yells, turning his head just long enough to shout back toward the living room, where Lyra is still struggling to zip her weekend bag. “She’s here! I call first push!”
Behind him, the edge of the beach stroller peeks through the open gate, and sure enough, there’s my mother in her wide-brimmed sun hat, waving cheerfully like she hasn’t just orchestrated the grand escape of three children for an overnight visit at her cottage.
“Hi, sweetheart!” she calls, catching the gate before Levi can slam it shut. “Are you ready for a night at Nana’s?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s already grabbing the stroller handle. Lyra finally appears behind me, hair braided, oversized tote bag swinging from one arm. “Do not let Levi push her until I get there!” she huffs, and then glares up at me. “Tell him, Mom.”
“I’m staying out of this one,” I murmur, trying not to laugh. “It’s your overnight. You all work it out.”
Lyra scowls like I’ve betrayed her, then jogs after her brother, muttering about injustice and boys being the worst.
In the stroller, Lucy blinks up at me with that sleepy, barely interested baby expression that says she’s more intrigued by the breeze than her siblings’ drama. At nearly eight months old, she’s the most unbothered baby I’ve ever known. Which is a miracle, really, considering the circus she was born into.
“Did you pack the extra bottles?” my mom asks as she hoists her beach tote higher on her shoulder.
“Four bottles, six bibs, and enough diapers for a small village,” I reply. “And don’t forget, the pacifier clipped to her onesie is the only one she’ll use. If it gets lost, good luck surviving the night.”
“Parker, please,” she scoffs, adjusting the brim of her hat. “She’s a baby, not a time bomb.”
“She could be both. I keep waiting for her to act out like her siblings did at her age, but she’s too chill.”
“It’s living on the beach. I’ve mellowed too.” My mom chuckles, and then she leans in and kisses my cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this. Enjoy your night.”
She looks at me for a beat, that mom-glint in her eyes like she knows exactly what kind of night we have planned. I don’t confirm or deny. Just smile. Let her walk away with my kids and the stroller and the small, shining piece of my heart that is Lucy’s sleepy gaze, and then shut the gate behind them.
And breathe.
This is the first night all three of the kids are spending away from home. First real overnight since Lucy was born. It’s so quiet that it starts to eat away at the peace I should be feeling.
Because I know they’re safe. I know she’s just down the shore, tucked into the cottage the guys had built on our property. My mother now lives a literal ten-minute walk from our front door. It’s a little further than our old apartment building, but distance is good for us.
So much has changed since the apartment.
A year ago, I was barely making rent, working part-time, juggling school drop-offs and split-shift logistics while hoping the air-conditioning didn’t give out again. And now, I live in a house with more bathrooms than I know what to do with, Harrison’s name on the property deed and Gavin’s architectural preferences stamped all over the place. Jack is in charge of the stereo system, of course.
There’s an entire sunken reading nook in the library that Lyra has claimed as her “thinking throne,” and Levi has a small jungle gym setup on the back patio that probably violates every HOA guideline on the books.
Thankfully, there’s no HOA.
There’s a view of the water from every room. A wraparound deck. A pool I didn’t ask for and now refuse to live without. Our bedroom takes up half the top floor, and Lucy’s nursery shares a wall with it—something I insisted on while I was still pregnant, even if the house had to be reconfigured to accommodate it. Her crib sits under a window that looks out at the beach. At night, with the right moonlight, the whole room glows.
This is my life now. And I still don’t believe it half the time.
The men—mymen—have made sure I never forget how far we’ve come. They say it in the way Jack puts Lyra’s hair in lopsided pigtails every morning with the precision of a dad who Googled six tutorials. In the way Harrison carries Lucy with one hand and chops vegetables with the other, nodding along to my work rants like he’s personally offended by every email I get. In the way Gavin holds me still sometimes, just long enough to remind me that I don’t have to keep moving to prove I’m worth this.
I’ve never been more exhausted. Or more in love. Or more absolutely sure that we’re building something that matters.
Behind me, the screen door creaks open, and Harrison steps out with a glass of wine in one hand and a knowing look on his face. “They gone?”
