Sharing my Best Friend's Brother

Christine "I have to ask," Evelina says, her voice soft but unwavering as she shifts Cameron in her arms, rocking him like she's done it a million times. "Are you sure about this? Going back to him?" I lift my mimosa and take a measured sip, letting the citrus bite linger in the back of my throat. I don't really drink anymore—not since I became the only person standing between my son and the rest of the world. But sleep has been a distant memory since Cameron was born, and today, I need something to dull the edges. Just enough to survive this flight. "I'm not going back for him," I answer, keeping my tone calm, composed. "I'm going back for Cameron." Evelina's mouth hardens into a line, all sharp judgment and quiet fury she doesn't bother to disguise. We're alike in that way—neither of us capable of faking what we feel just to make someone else comfortable. "He locked you in his house and shut you out while you were carrying his child," she continues, her voice edged now with a protectiveness I'm still not used to. "That's not okay, sis. He doesn't deserve you—or Cammy-bear." As if I don't already know that. She means well. But meaning well isn't the same as understanding. Evelina had a mother. A real one. Someone who gave a damn if she ate dinner or made it home at night. Someone who noticed when she cried and offered something other than silence in return. I had no one but myself. Once I aged out of the system, it was dingy hotels with broken locks, mattresses stained with who-knows-what, and men who only cared about what they could take. Men who made me feel like nothing—who reminded me daily that my body was currency and survival didn't come without a cost. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I became someone I didn't recognize. Someone who smiled on cue, said yes when she wanted to scream no, and forgot what it felt like to be safe in her own skin. Then I met Grayson Bennett. He didn't just save me—he rewrote the entire story I thought I was stuck living. He gave me money. Power. Security. A chance at something more. And I earned it. That ring. That house. That patch. That title. All of it was mine because I fought for it. But it seems the moment I got pregnant, everything changed. He made it perfectly clear: whatever love we had, it had an expiration date. One I never saw coming. And still... every time I look at Cameron, I see him. Grayson might be furious he's meeting his son like this, but he should consider himself lucky he's meeting him at all. I didn't have to come back. I could've stayed in California with Evelina, sipping overpriced oat milk lattes by the beach, rocking designer shades, and raising Cameron in peace—never once mentioning Grayson f*****g Bennett again. That was the plan. Until I looked into my son's eyes—those same stormy hazels that used to strip me bare—and realized he deserves to know where he came from. He deserves to know his father. Even if that same man broke me in ways I'm still sewing shut. Yes, I kept things from him. Lied a little about the parts of my past I didn’t think were necessary to know. But what he did to me? It was so much worse. He stopped speaking to me. Stopped touching me. Treated me like I didn't exist even while I begged over and over again for him to let me back in. I was so alone. So anxious. I started waking up drenched in sweat, convinced I was going to lose another baby before I ever got the chance to hold him. And I couldn't live through that. Not again. So I waited until Gray left town—off dealing with whatever never-ending bullshit involving Alyssa’s husband and father-in-law. Then I locked myself in the bathroom, slipped past the security cameras, and climbed out the window while my so-called babysitters were oblivious to it all. In the woods behind the house, Evelina was waiting—exactly like we planned. Fake documents. A disguise. A one-way ticket to California. It was the first time we met face-to-face. And yet, from that night on, she's been the only one who's actually shown up for me—and for my child. Unlike my husband. "Final boarding call for Flight 238..." I finish the last sip of my mimosa, sling my Gucci diaper bag over one shoulder, smooth the fabric of my dress with a flick of my wrist, and reach for Cameron with the kind of ease that only comes from knowing no one else is going to carry the weight for you. Evelina presses a kiss to his cheek, then pulls me into a hug that lasts longer than I expected. "Text me when you land," she murmurs, her voice strained. "And if that man so much as breathes wrong in your direction, you come back. Immediately." I nod once. Firm. "Thank you. For everything. We'll visit soon." It's not just something I say. It's a promise. I won't let Gray take her away from me—not after she found me after looking for so long. She's my sister. My last living relative. And I need her in my life. Evelina smiles through the glimmer in her eyes. "I'm going to miss you." I swallow the lump forming in my throat. "You too." Then I slide on my sunglasses—not because I need them, but because I refuse to let her see me cry. No one gets to see me like that anymore. Not Evelina. Not Gray. Not even my son. I grab my suitcase, adjust Cameron's weight in my arms, and head for the gate without looking back. Because if I do? I might not get on the damn plane. ---------------------- The flight itself is hell. Cameron cries through takeoff, spits up down the front of my dress, and refuses to sleep no matter how many times I bounce him or hum the lullaby that usually does the trick—Mozart's Symphony No. 41. He's been a fan since the womb. I played classical music every night since he could hear, hoping he'd come out with a genius IQ and impeccable taste. Unlike his father. Don't get me wrong—Gray is street-smart. Cunning, even. But he didn't even finish high school. And I want better for my son. What I didn't anticipate was raising my little prodigy in economy class. But I've kept a low profile for a reason. I don't know if Gray's still looking for me. Or if he ever really tried. Either way, I don't want him to know I'm coming. Not until I'm standing on his doorstep with his son in my arms—and he sees, with his own two eyes, exactly what he lost when he decided to stop choosing us. The plane jerks as we start our descent, and Cameron lets out a shriek that draws irritated glances from the aisle-seat crowd—the kind of people who think babies should come with mute buttons. The irony doesn't escape me. I used to be one of those people. Until I had Cameron. I bounce him gently, whispering into his dark hair. "I know, baby. First class would've been so much better." Soon, the wheels hit the tarmac with a hard jolt, and my stomach knots like it's bracing for impact. I don't know what's waiting for us on the other side of this terminal. Gray might slam the door in my face. He might shout. Hell, maybe—if there's any shred of decency left in him—he'll fall to his knees and beg. But I'm not banking on decency. The only thing I know for sure? I'm finally ready to face him. I rehearse every possibility on the Uber ride to the house, tightening my grip on Cameron's car seat like it might tether me to some version of calm. However this plays out—one thing is nonnegotiable. I'm not the same woman who left. He either agrees to be a father. A partner. A man worth staying for. Or I walk. And take half his s**t with me. His choice. By the time we turn onto the street, I'm both exhausted and over-caffeinated, running on fumes and adrenaline. All I want is to peel off these spit-up-stained clothes, step into my walk-in shower, and change into something clean—from my closet, in my bedroom, where I belong. At least, I thought I did. Until I see him. He's out front, leaning against his bike like a sin carved in stone—black T-shirt, gray joggers, tatted arms crossed over his chest like he owns the world. Like nothing in his life is missing. Like I never left. And he's not alone. A woman steps out of the house. Our house. She struts across the driveway like it's hers. Hips swaying. Bleach-blonde hair bouncing with every step. My heart doesn't just drop. It crashes. Ashley. Of course it's her. One of his sister's little friends. Leather pants, a halter top that shows just how desperate she is, and the kind of smug smile that makes me want to rip out her hair strand by strand. Heat climbs up my neck. Rage. Embarrassment. Something that feels like heartbreak but burns too bitter to name. He's moved on. Just like that. While I've been healing from a C-section and raising our son alone, he's been out here sticking his d**k in the first half-dressed skank that gave him attention. Ashley grins up at him like he's hers. All teeth. All audacity. And when he reaches for her hand and helps her onto the back of his bike—the bike that was supposed to carry our future—I go cold. Because that seat? That helmet? That man? They're mine. I'm his ol' lady. His wife. Does she really think she can fill my shoes? Please. She wouldn't last a f*****g week trying. I glance down at Cameron, babbling to himself in his car seat. Wide-eyed. Innocent. Completely unaware that his father's a goddamn cheater and his family is already fracturing around him. When Gray and I first got together, he swore up and down family was everything. Said he'd fight for me. Said he'd never let me go. And now? He's out here playing house with some glorified groupie like we never existed. Did he even stop to think about how this looks? What people would say? What I would look like? He must've forgotten he's still legally married—and committing adultery in broad daylight for the whole world to see and laugh at us. But I guess I shouldn't be shocked. Like brother, like sister... right? I grit my teeth. Fine. He wants to humiliate me? He can choke on the fallout. Because he clearly forgot who the f**k I am. And when I'm done, he'll wish he never touched my heart—let alone shattered it. I'll take him for every single f*****g thing he owns and leave him with nothing. I tap an address into my phone and hold it out for the driver as Gray speeds off, his mistress wrapped around him like a trophy. "Take me here." He hesitates. "I've got another pickup—" "Cancel it. I'll pay you triple what you were going to make." Money talks. And right now, mine has something to say: get me the hell out of here. There's only one person in this city I almost trust with my secret. Not because we're close—we're definitely not. Frankly, I don't even like her. But I respect her. Because no matter how messy she is, she has this compulsive need to save broken people. Even ones like me. And today, I have her nephew with me. So I like my odds. By the time we pull up, I'm staring at what might as well be a mansion. Dark green exterior. Wrap-around porch. Toys scattered across a perfectly trimmed yard. It's... beautiful. And as much as I hate to admit it—it makes something twist in my chest. Envy. And maybe a little bit of admiration. The b***h is smart. I'll give her that. Not only did she survive, she upgraded. Three bikers wrapped around her finger, and they built her a fairytale from the ashes of hell. A life she cheated her way into. A life I now have to rip back from her brother—whether he wants to cooperate or not. I step out, straighten my dress, swipe a hand under each eye just in case, and lift Cameron's car seat from beside me. Then I knock. Inside, I hear a baby wailing and the sound of little feet thudding across the floor. The door swings open. And there she is. Alyssa. A baby balanced on one hip. A toddler clinging to her leg like a koala. She's barefoot, bag-eyed, and still somehow looks like the kind of woman no one in their right mind should cross. And I definitely don't plan to—unless she crosses me first. But for now, I'm here to play nice. Just long enough to take back everything that's mine. Her eyes widen the second she sees me. "Christine?" I lift the car seat slightly, offering my son like a peace offering. A shield. A reason. Swallowing my pride, I meet her eyes. "Can I come in? I need your help."