Page 189 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
The elevator dings.
We all turn. Building security should be stepping out, or maybe Sterling himself coming to demand my resignation.
But the doors slide open, and it is Harper.
She never left the building. Clearly, she’s been crying in the lobby for the last hour—makeup smeared, eyes puffy, gripping her phone like a weapon.
“Harper,” Owen says, stepping forward, his face softening. “Harp, come in.”
“Don’t,” she warns, holding up a hand. She storms into the room, heels clicking aggressively on the marble. Ignoring us, she stares straight at Tessa.
“I saw the statement,” Harper says, her voice shaking. “Beautifully written. Very touching. ‘Love in all its forms.’”
“Harper, please,” Tessa stands up, reaching out. “Let me explain.”
“You already explained,” Harper says, walking past her to grab the handle of the suitcase she left by the island. “You all did. For months, every time we FaceTimed, you looked me in the eye and lied to me. You protected the company. You protected your circle.”
She turns to look at us, the betrayal raw and exposed. “But you didn’t protect me. You just left me out of it.”
“We can fix it,” I say, taking a step toward her.
She steps back, shaking her head. “No. There’s no NDA to cover this up, Ethan. You broke the trust. We survived Richard. We survived poverty, because we didn’t lie to each other.”
She turns to Tessa.
“I can’t even look at you right now,” Harper whispers. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are.”
“Harper, don’t go,” Tessa begs, taking a step forward. “Please. Stay. Yell at us. Scream. Just don’t leave.”
“I have to go,” Harper says. “I’m staying at a hotel. Do not follow me. Do not track my phone, Asher. Leave me alone.”
She drags her luggage to the elevator and hits the call button. She stands with her back to us, her shoulders rigid.
We remain paralyzed. The elevator arrives. She steps inside. The doors close.
Gone.
The emptiness that follows is different from the severing of my mother. That was a dead limb falling away. This is an amputation of a healthy one.
Tessa collapses onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands. She shakes violently as she cries.
“I lost her,” she cries. “I lost her.”
Owen sits next to her, pulling her into his arms, but he looks devastated. Harper is his twin in spirit, if not biology. They are the closest.
“She’s just angry,” Owen says, but his voice lacks conviction. “She needs time.”
“She’s right,” Asher says quietly, staring at the closed elevator doors. “We excluded her from the data set. We treated her as an external variable. It was a tactical error.”
“It wasn’t tactical,” I say heavily, sitting on the coffee table in front of Tessa. “It was cowardly. We didn’t trust her because we were ashamed. And she knows it.”
I reach out and take Tessa’s hand. She grips it tightly, her palm clammy.
“We have to earn her back,” I say.
“How?” Tessa weeps. “She hates us.”
“She loves us,” I correct her. “That’s why she hates us right now. Indifference is the opposite of love, not hate. She is furious because she cares.”
