Page 86 of Off-Limits Daddy
The door opened quietly. Sage stepped in.
Ari passed him without a word, just a glance that was part apology, part plea.
Sage watched him go. Then he turned to me.
And the air shifted.
My best friend closed the door behind him and didn’t speak right away.
He didn’t have to. That look on his face—tight jaw, brows low, eyes sweeping over me like he was cataloguing every inch—said it all.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low.
“Concussion,” I said. “Mild. I’m mostly banged up. Doc says I’ll live.”
He exhaled, shoulders dipping slightly. “When I got the call...”
“I know.” I shifted a little, wincing as my back complained. “Didn’t mean to scare anyone.”
“Yeah, well. You did.” Sage scrubbed a hand down his face, then dragged a chair closer with the heel of his boot and dropped into it. The scrape of metal legs echoed louder than it should’ve.
“Before I even got here,” he said, voice rough, “I was halfway to calling Mom. Didn’t know what else to do.”
He shook his head, eyes dark. “Seeing you like this... it almost knocked the wind out of me.
“You’re not my keeper, Sage.”
“No, Reid, but I’ve had your back since we were, what? Nine? Ten?”
That tugged a reluctant smile out of me. "And I've got yours."
Then his gaze locked on mine. Unflinching. Intent.
“You’ve been in love with my brother for a long time, haven’t you?”
The smile died.
Just... flatlined.
My hand gripped the edge of the blanket. I felt the ridged seam dig into my palm.
“I—” The word snagged in my throat. “Didn’t think it showed.”
Sage tilted his head. “Maybe not to him. But I saw it.”
I stayed quiet. Breathing careful.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“You came to every open house. Not just the years Ari had new art hanging up. All of them. Even the ones when he didn’t show anything.”
“I remember back when we were dumbass college kids trying to figure out how to file taxes. You talked about Ari like he was made of gold. Not like someone you were into—not then. But like someone you admired. Protected. Like a kid brother you were proud of.”
“That’s what he was,” I said, voice quiet. “Just a kid. I’d pick him up from school. Helped him with science projects when you and Liz were at work. I loved him like family.”
“But somewhere along the line, that shifted,” Sage said, his voice still low. “And I don’t think you even realized it at first.”
“Not for a long time,” I admitted. “It changed... slowly. Quietly. I didn’t plan it.”
