Page 175 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
The confession rips out of me, leaving my chest heaving. It’s the first time I’ve admitted fear to them since the night I packed our bags and stole Richard’s car keys.
“I’m not you, Owen,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’m not the fun one. I’m not the one who knows how to play games and make pancakes and make her laugh when the world is ending. And I’m not Asher. I don’t have a manual for this. I can’t code a solution to fatherhood.”
I step away from the pillar, running my hands over my face, scrubbing at the exhaustion.
“Look at us. We’re at war with a sociopath. We’re barely keeping the lights on. And now… a child? I’m bad for children. You know that. You remember him.”
I scan their faces. Recognition flickers in their eyes. The flicker of shadow. They know exactly who he is.
“Richard said we ruined his life,” I say, my voice dropping to a whisper. “He said we were the reason he failed. What if he was right? Not about him, he was a drunk piece of trash, but about the pressure? What if I turn into him? What if I resent the kid for risking the company? What if I look at that baby and only see the fifty million dollars I might lose?”
“That is a logical fallacy,” Asher says.
I turn to look at my middle brother. Asher is standing perfectly still, his hands in his pockets, his posture rigid.
“You are projecting a historical data set onto a future variable,” Asher continues, his tone clinical, but his eyes intense. “You share fifty percent of his DNA. That is a biological fact. But your behavioral patterns are diametrically opposed. Richard was a parasite. You are protective. Richard consumed resources. You provide them.”
“I walked out,” I remind him. “That’s what Richard did. He walked out.”
“You walked out to calculate a solution,” Asher corrects me. “Richard walked out to escape responsibility. There is a fundamental difference in the intention.”
“Asher’s right,” Owen says, his anger softening into something sadder. He steps closer, encroaching on my personal space. “E, look at me.”
I try to look away, but Owen won’t let me.
“Who made sure I ate dinner when Dad passed out?” Owen asks.
I swallow hard. “I did.”
“Who sat up with me all night when I had the chickenpox because Dad was at the bar?”
“I did.”
“Who helped Asher with his math homework because the teachers thought he was ‘slow’ and wanted to put him in remedial classes, but you knew he was a genius?”
I look at Asher. He nods once, a sharp confirmation.
“I did,” I whisper.
“Who took the beatings?” Owen asks, his voice cracking. “When he came home mad? When he couldn’t find his wallet? Who stood in front of the bedroom door and took the belt so he wouldn’t touch us?”
I turn away. The damp air settles deep into my bones, making my old fractures ache.
“I did.”
“You’ve been a father since you were twelve years old, Ethan,” Owen says. He puts both hands on my shoulders and shakes me, forcing me to acknowledge the truth. “You raised us. You didn’t ruin us. You saved us. You’re the best father I know.”
The confession wrecks my defenses. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes—hot, humiliating tears I refuse to let fall. I’ve spent my life building a fortress around my emotions, but Owen just walked right through the front gate.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice breaking. “If Markus finds out… if I lose the company… I can’t provide for them. I can’t protect them if I’m bankrupt. I promised I would never let you go hungry again.”
“Mosaic is just code,” Asher says, stepping up beside Owen. “We built it once. We can build it again. We can code in a basement. We can code in a library. But the biological unit? The family? That is unique code. It cannot be replicated.”
“We don’t need fifty million dollars to be good dads,” Owen says. “We just need to show up. And right now, Tessa needs you to show up.”
I take a deep breath, the damp air filling my lungs. I look at my brothers. They aren’t children anymore. They aren’t the scared kids in the closet. They’re men—brilliant, strong, loyal men.
Men I raised.
