Page 108 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
My heart clenches. “And you didn’t tell me?”
She stands up slowly and walks to the counter, giving herself space. The twins follow her, settling in at the kitchen table.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” she says finally. “Not even my mom.” She winces at her mother. “Sorry for that.”
“It’s complicated,” her mother says, nodding.
“Icouldn’ttell Phil,” she continues. “Just…said I’d hooked up with some guy on my graduation cruise. Called him Zack.”
“You told everyone it was some rando?” I ask, stunned.
She nods. “Because I was terrified. Of Phil. Of you. Of what it would mean. I thought if I told the truth, I’d ruin your friendship, maybe his career. So I made up something easy to digest.”
“Jesus, Parker.”
“I was a kid,” she says, and there’s no anger in her voice—just quiet grief. “I’d just gotten back from that cruise. The one I’d saved for since I was fourteen. My ex–best friend, Amber, decided that was the perfect time to hook up with the one guy I liked. And I was done. Emotionally fried. I had that fake ID I used during the trip, and I was stupid enough to use it at a bar near campus.”
“That’s where I saw you,” I say, the memory clicking into place.
She nods again. “You stepped in when some drunk guy wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“You looked like you were going to break a pool cue over his head.”
“I wanted to.” She smiles faintly. “You told me to take his drink and dump it on his lap. Thought the bouncer was going to toss me out for doing it, but I’m glad he didn’t.”
“And then we talked,” I say, memory sharpening with every sentence.
“We talked for hours. About colleges, about work, about what happens when you do everything right and still get kicked in the teeth.”
I remember it vividly now. Her eyes were red, but not from crying. From being so angry she couldn’t. She was too young to be drinking there, too smart to be ignored, and too sad for someone who hadn’t lived much life yet. I didn’t know what I was doing. Only that I couldn’t let her walk away.
“And then we went to the bathroom,” I say.
Parker flushes. “That stall was tiny. I freaked out. Claustrophobia.”
“So we went to my place.”
She nods. “And nine months later…”
I glance at the twins again. They’re now arguing softly about who gets the blue bowl if they have cereal later. Levi. Lyra. My kids.
I lean against the counter and exhale slowly. “Why didn’t you say something later?”
“Because you moved on,” she says, almost too fast. “Phil would tell me things. About your dates. Your travel. I convinced myself you were happy and successful and unattached. I didn’t want to throw my problems into the middle of that. I didn’t want to be the complication.”
“I would’ve wanted to know.”
“I know that now,” she says. “But back then, I didn’t know what I could trust. Or who. I was scared, and I was in it alone, and by the time I felt strong enough to maybe reach out…too much time had passed.”
My heart aches. Not just for me. For her. For every night she sat up alone with two infants. For every doctor’s appointment she braved by herself. For every lie she had to repeat just to keep things from falling apart.
“Let me be clear. I’m not mad at you,” I say quietly. “I just wish I could’ve been there for you. For them.”
“I wish that too.”
She walks to me and rests her hand over mine.
Jack Myers. Father of two. In a kitchen that smells like coffee and family and years I’ll never get back. But I’ll get the ones that come next.
