Page 173 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
He catches my eye one last time. There’s love there—agony, desperate love—but the fear is stronger. The CEO is stronger than the man.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
And then he turns and walks out the door.
The slam echoes in the apartment like a gunshot.
I stare at the closed door.
He left.
Ethan, my protector. Ethan, the one who promised to keep me safe. He looked at me, at our baby, and he ran.
A sob rips through my chest, painful and raw.
“He’ll be back,” Owen says immediately, pulling me flush against his chest, gripping me tight. “He’s just panicking. It’s the shock. He’ll be back.”
“He looked at me like I was a liability,” I cry into Owen’s shirt. “Like I was a breach in the security. Like I was a virus.”
“He’s recalibrating,” Asher says.
I look up through my tears. Asher has moved from his defensive stance. He sits on my other side, stiff and awkward, but present. He reaches out and places a hand on my knee.
“Ethan operates on risk assessment,” Asher explains, his voice steady. “Currently, the risk is infinite. He cannot process the variable because the outcome is too important. He isn’t rejecting the baby, Tessa. He’s rejecting the possibility of failing the baby.”
“He walked out,” I whisper.
“He went to run the numbers,” Asher says. “He needs to find a path where we win. When he finds it, he’ll return.”
“And if he doesn’t find it?” I ask.
Asher glances at me, then at Owen. A silent communication passes between the two brothers.
“Then we rewrite the code,” Asher says. “But he’ll return. The unit can’t function without all components.”
Owen kisses the top of my head, tightening his grip around me while Asher’s thumb traces a steady, grounding circle on my knee.
My eyes remain fixed on the door, waiting.
I nod against Owen’s chest, closing my eyes. I have two of them. Two out of three.
But as the storm clouds gather outside my window, mirroring the storm Markus Vance is bringing down on us, I can’t help but feel that the foundation of Mosaic just cracked.
And for the first time since we started this, I don’t know if the Phantom Trio is strong enough to hold it together.
30
ETHAN
Iran.
I didn’t stop running until I hit the concrete of the parking garage beneath Tessa’s building. The air down here is heavy with the smell of motor oil and Texas humidity. It’s suffocating, but it barely registers over the rush of blood deafening in my ears.
I’m gripping a concrete structural pillar so hard the rough surface bites into my palms. I welcome the pain. It’s the only thing tethering me to reality.
A baby.
The word echoes in my head, bouncing around the empty space where my rational brain used to be.
