Page 177 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
She searches my face, knowing my history, seeing the demons I carry. She sees the truth in my eyes.
“And now?” she asks, her voice trembling.
“Now I know,” I say firmly. “I’m not him. Because he saw children as a burden. He saw them as the end of his life.”
I place my hand on her stomach. Gently. Possessively. The warmth of her skin seeps into my palm, grounding me.
“When I see you…” I whisper, my thumb stroking the fabric of her shirt. “I see the only thing that matters. I see the beginning.”
Tessa lets out a sob, a sound of pure relief, her hand covering mine. “We’re going to lose the funding, Ethan. The clause… Sterling…”
“Fuck the clause,” I swear. “Let Sterling pull the money. Let Markus try to blackmail us. I don’t care. We’ll find another investor. We’ll bootstrap. We’ll sell the servers and code on laptops in a garage if we have to. But we’re having this baby.”
“We?” she asks, hope fragile in her voice.
“We,” I confirm. I look up at Owen and Asher standing by the door. “All of us. This baby will have three fathers. And god help anyone who tries to mess with that.”
Owen grins, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. He vaults over the back of the couch, sliding down to sit behind Tessa and pulling her back into his chest.
“Told you he’d be back,” he says aloud.
Asher sits on the coffee table, close to us. He opens his laptop again, his fingers flying across the keys as he pulls up a medical database.
“I have already begun researching prenatal nutrition,” Asher says seriously. “You are likely deficient in folic acid. I have ordered a supplement regimen. It will arrive by drone delivery in one hour.”
Tessa laughs. It’s a wet, shaky sound, but it’s real. “You guys are insane.”
“We’re the Unit,” I say, leaning in to kiss her forehead, then her lips. I taste the salt of her tears, but beneath it, I taste the fire that made me fall for her. “And we’re going to fix this. We’re going to destroy Markus Vance, save the company, and build a nursery. In that order.”
“In a few days?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“We work better under pressure,” I say, standing up. I pull her and Owen up with me, keeping my arm wrapped tight around her waist. “Asher, get the laptops. Owen, clear the coffee table. We’re working from here tonight.”
“War Room?” Owen asks.
“War Room,” I confirm.
I turn to Tessa. “Are you with us, Strategist?”
She wipes her eyes, resting her hand protectively over her stomach. “I’m all in.”
“Good,” I say.
I turn to my brothers. Asher is already typing, a terminal screen reflecting in his glasses. Owen shoves the binders off the table and sets down three mugs.
I pull out my phone, opening the secure dialer.
“Let’s go to work.”
31
TESSA
The door clicks shut, and the silence rushes back into the apartment. But this time, it doesn’t feel heavy. It doesn’t feel like the suffocating silence of abandonment. It feels charged.
“They’ll be back in soon,” Ethan says, his voice rough. “Asher needs his specific multi-screen setup from the office, and Owen insisted on getting food that isn’t just burnt toast.”
He’s standing in the middle of my living room, looking out of place and entirely at home all at once. His suit jacket is draped over my armchair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscle of his forearms. He looks wrecked. His hair is messy, his eyes rimmed with red, the shadow of a beard darkens his jaw.
