Page 107 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends

Gavin coughs into his hand to cover a laugh. Harrison doesn’t even try. Me either.

Parker walks her mom to the kitchen, and the three of us trail behind like we’re not entirely sure if we’re about to be scolded or recruited into helping peel carrots. Her mom sets the Tupperware on the counter and unpacks the bag like she’s lived here for years—which, I suppose, in a way, she has. “I just thought I’d stop by and make dinner for you and the kids,” she says, then pauses and lifts her brows. “You know. The ones who live here.”

Parker smirks. “It’s Wednesday. They have computer club after school on Wednesdays. They’ll be home in a little bit.”

Right then, my stomach flips—just a little. The kids.

“Wait,” I say. “They’ll be here soon?”

Parker nods, grabbing mugs from the cabinet. “I was going to make cookies later if they didn’t drive me crazy.”

“You’re not worried?” Harrison asks, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean…us meeting them?”

She shrugs, smiling to herself. “You’re important to me. They’ll see that.”

The weight of those words hits me square in the chest. Important. To her. To them. God, I wasn’t ready for how much I needed to hear that.

The front door opens again—smaller voices, a scuffle of backpacks and shoes, and then Parker’s calling out, “Kitchen!”

Two small bodies thunder into the room, and there they are. Levi and Lyra. Twins, yeah. But already different in a dozen ways. Lyra with her wild brown curls and wide, assessing eyes. Levi with a mischievous smile and an armful of markers that he’s clearly not supposed to be carrying near white furniture. They stop short when they see us.

Parker drops to one knee and opens her arms. “Come say hi, babies.”

They crash into her like a wave.

And I stand there watching them—her kids—and suddenly, I can’t move. Once they’re past toddler-hood, all kids look alike tome until they hit around ten years old. But these two, even at six, they…

Six. They’re six.

Parker and I hooked up seven years ago.

All the breath flees my lungs. I look at her.

She’s already looking at me.

My throat dries up, but I force the words out, “Am I…?”

Her eyes well. She nods. “Please don’t hate me.”

Hate her? The thought doesn’t even compute. I’m not even sure what I feel yet—except that I’m full of it. Full of something too big for my chest. My hands feel too empty. My legs feel unsteady. And yet, somehow, it’s the clearest moment of my entire life.

I look down at the two kids on either side of her, still wrapped around her legs, glancing up at us like they’re trying to make sense of our strange faces. Levi’s chewing on the end of a marker, and Lyra has already pegged Gavin as the tall, mysterious one worth studying.

And they’re mine.

My throat closes, and I crouch down slowly, keeping my voice steady. “Hey, you two. I’m Jack.”

Lyra tilts her head like she’s sizing me up. “You’re the one with the funny shoes.”

Levi nods in agreement. “They look like Lego bricks.”

I blink. Then laugh. I glance at my sneakers. “You know what? You’re not wrong.”

Parker chuckles softly, brushing a curl out of Lyra’s face. Her fingers tremble just slightly.

I look back up at her. “How long have you known?”

Her expression shifts, equal parts apology and exhaustion. “There was only you at that time. I’ve always known.”