Page 10 of Shared by my Ex’s Best Friends (Twisted Desires #2)

Chapter ten

LIAM

T he call comes in as I’m leaving the gym—sweat still clinging to my back, shirt damp, muscles burning in that good, post-workout kind of way. I swipe a towel across my forehead, breathing hard, when my phone buzzes in the pocket of my shorts.

I dig it out and see that Maya’s calling me.

I freeze mid-step, one foot hovering over the curb, towel hanging loosely from my hand. For a second, I stare at her name on the screen, my thumb hovering over “Accept.”

Why would Maya be calling me?

Yesterday, it was Jake she called when with the venue mix-up disaster He swooped in, all charm and timing, and part of me—hell, most of me—hated that it wasn’t me she leaned on.

I’d tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, that she had plenty of people helping her, that she was just delegating.

But that small, stupid part of me had sulked anyway.

And yet… here she is. Calling me .

My heart kicks up, hammering against my ribs for an entirely different reason now. I hit accept before I can think twice.

“Hey,” I say, trying to catch my breath and sound casual. “Everything okay?”

“Not exactly.” Her voice is tight, rushed. There’s a slight echo behind her words—probably on speakerphone. I can hear faint voices in the background. Raised ones. Someone’s crying.

Shit.

“I need a favor,” she continues. “Like… a pretty big one.”

I frown, moving toward my car. “Tell me.”

“One of the bridesmaids spilled red wine on Danielle’s wedding dress.”

I stop dead in the middle of the parking lot.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I wish I was joking,” she says, and her voice cracks slightly.

“We were doing the final fitting at her place. Someone thought it’d be cute to bring a bottle of red for a ‘cheers’ moment.

You can probably guess how that went. It’s bad, Liam.

The dress—it’s silk. And Danielle’s locked herself in the bathroom crying, the bridesmaid’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the dry cleaner we normally use? Closed today.”

I blink at the sky. “Because of course it is.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she says, her voice getting softer. “And I’m trying to hold it together, but I can’t fix this on my own. I’m panicking and need someone in a calmer state of mind to be here with me.”

That last sentence hits me square in the chest. Maya, who always pulls the strings in silence, is now pulling me in. And I don’t mind it. I don’t hesitate.

“Send me the address,” I say, reaching my car and yanking the door open. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

A shaky breath of relief comes through the line. “Thank you.”

I can picture her now—shouldering the chaos alone, keeping everyone else from falling apart. But who’s looking out for her?

Now she won’t have to do it alone. Not while I’m around for her.

***

Danielle’s house is pure chaos when I pull up. The front door is wide open, music playing faintly inside—some cheery acoustic playlist that feels wildly inappropriate for the level of tension thickening the air.

There’s a small crowd of bridesmaids huddled in the kitchen like they’re waiting on a verdict. One of them is pacing with a wine glass still in hand while another clutches a wad of paper towels and looks like she might throw up.

Then I see her.

Maya spots me and hurries toward me, barefoot, hair pinned back in a messy twist that’s unraveling at the edges.

There’s a faint smear of concealer under one eye, like she tried to cover up tears and ran out of time.

Her arms are crossed tight over her chest, and her shoulders sag in visible relief when our eyes meet.

“Thank God,” she breathes.

I nod toward the chaos. “This what bridesmaid boot camp looks like?”

She huffs out a half-laugh, barely there. “More like Law and Order: Bridesmaids .”

“Where’s the victim?”

“This way.” She turns, and I follow her down the hallway.

We step into the dining room, and there it is—laid out like it’s ready for an autopsy.

The wedding dress. Ivory silk, layers of delicate lace and hand-stitched beading…

and right across the bodice, a deep, angry splash of red.

It really does look like a crime scene. Or a cruel Rorschach test, soaked in merlot.

I let out a low whistle. “Yikes.”

“Right?” Maya exhales hard and scrubs a hand over her face, stress radiating off her in waves.

I lean over, inspecting the damage like I have a clue what I’m doing. I don’t, but I can fake concern like a pro. “Even I know that’s not good, and I once thought taffeta was a kind of cheese.”

That gets a real laugh out of her, brief but bright, and it lifts something tight in my chest.

I glance up at her. “You okay?”

She hesitates before answering. “No, but I will be, now that you’re here.

You’re sense of humor is just what I needed to make this seem less apocalyptic.

” She gestures vaguely toward the hallway.

“Danielle’s in the bathroom. Hyperventilating.

And Jules—the bridesmaid who spilled it—is basically catatonic.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just trying not to make it worse. ”

I straighten up. “You’re doing a hell of a job.”

She gives me a tired smile. “I feel like I’m drowning in chiffon.”

“Then let’s throw you a life raft.”

I take a breath and step closer, nudging her gently with my shoulder. “Come on. We’ll find someone who can fix this. Might take a little driving around, some charm, maybe a few favors I haven’t cashed in yet—but we’re going to save this dress.”

She studies me for a second. There’s something in her eyes—uncertainty, maybe even guilt—but it softens into trust.

“Well,” she murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek, “let’s go save the day.”

She tugs her coat tighter, but there’s a tremble in her hands she can’t quite hide. I reach out—just a light touch to her elbow.

“Hey,” I say softly. “We’ve got this.”

Her eyes lift to mine. Something flickers—doubt, gratitude, maybe something more.

She nods once, and it feels like trust. And something tightens in my chest.

I grin and gesture toward the door. “After you.”

She grabs her keys, and I gently pick up the dress, holding it in my arms so that the stain doesn’t touch any other part of it.

I see the way her lip trembles at the sight but she puts on a brave face and continues moving forward.

I make a silent promise to myself: Whatever it takes, I’m going to fix this—for her.

***

We end up in my truck, the dress carefully spread out across the back seat like it might shatter if I even blinked too hard. I double-checked the seat cushions twice before laying it down. I don’t want the truck’s leather to somehow finish what the red wine started.

Maya’s in the passenger seat, chewing on her bottom lip and scrolling through her phone with intense focus. Her fingers move fast, the screen catching glints of sunlight that streak in through the windshield.

“There’s one place that might be able to do it same-day,” she says, squinting down at the listing. “They’re on the edge of town. Think we can make it before they close?”

She gives me the address and I plug it into the GPS. “We’ve got twenty-five minutes. Buckle up.”

She does, and I pull out fast, the tires chirping slightly against the asphalt as we head out. Neither of us says much at first. The air between us is thick with unspoken worry—and something else that hums beneath it.

The city blurs past the windows, and as the buildings start to thin and the noise dies down, I can see her shoulders ease a little. It seems like getting out of the hot, heavy mess of it all is giving her room to breathe again.

“You didn’t have to drop everything,” she says at length, voice quiet.

“I kinda did,” I reply, glancing at her. “You sounded desperate. Plus, wine on a wedding dress? That’s some high-stakes drama.”

She gives a soft laugh. “You have no idea.”

Then she says it.

“Nick never would’ve come. Not like this.”

I keep my eyes on the road, but my jaw tightens. “Yeah?”

“He’d say it wasn’t his problem. Or that I overreact to everything. That I’m always ‘making things harder than they need to be.’” Her voice goes a little brittle.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. “That’s a load of crap.”

She huffs a bitter laugh, more breath than sound. “Well, he didn’t think so. I think he liked the idea of me more than the actual me. You know? The version that looked good on his arm. Fun at parties. Quiet when he needed me to be.”

“That’s not you,” I say without hesitation.

She glances at me, surprised. “No?”

“No,” I say again, firmer this time. “You’re stubborn, yeah, but you’re passionate. You care. You step into people’s messes and fix things like it’s your calling. You fight for other people’s happy endings even when yours is falling apart.”

Her expression softens, something unguarded flickering behind her eyes. “And that’s a good thing?”

I glance over and catch her gaze. “It’s a great thing. Nick is an idiot.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, more to the window than to me, she murmurs, “Funny. He always made me feel like I was too much. Like I took up too much space.”

I shake my head. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. People like that? They see someone bright and loud and full of color and it scares the hell out of them. So they try to dim that light, but it’s not meant to shrink. It’s meant to burn.”

She blinks fast, and I can see the shine in her eyes. Not quite tears, but close.

“Thanks, Liam,” she whispers. “That actually means a lot.”

The sign for the dry cleaner comes into view as the sun starts to dip low enough to streak gold across the dashboard. The neon “OPEN” flickers once, then goes dark.

“Shit,” I mutter, already throwing the truck into park. “Stay here.”

I hop out and jog to the front door, waving both arms like I’m trying to hail a lifeguard, not a dry cleaner. The guy inside—mid-fifties, thinning hair, wearing a crisp white shirt and the look of a man who’s done for the day—glances up, already turning the deadbolt.

“Wait! Please—don’t lock it yet!” I shout through the glass.

He pauses, eyebrows lifting in suspicion. I reach the door, breathless. “Look, I know you’re closing, but I’ve got a situation.”

He cracks the door an inch. “We’re done for the day, buddy.”

“I know, I know, but hear me out. There’s a wedding. There’s a dress. There’s… red wine. A lot of red wine.”

He grimaces. “Yikes.”

I jab my thumb toward the truck. “It’s in the back seat. The bride’s currently melting down, the bridesmaid’s probably in therapy now, and this— this —is our Hail Mary.”

He eyes me for a long second. “You’re not the groom, are you?”

“No. Just the emergency response team.”

He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s weighing the life choices that led him to this exact moment.

“We’re closed.”

Shit. If we aren’t able to drop this dress off, who knows if it’ll get cleaned in three days?

It’s a big stain. Plus, I don’t want Maya or Danielle to be stressing about this when they should be focusing on actually enjoying these next few days.

I glance back at the truck, then lower my voice.

“I’ll make it worth your while. Cash. Coffee.

A handwritten thank-you card. A statue in your honor—whatever it takes.

Please, man. If you save this dress, you save a wedding, and possibly prevent a bridesmaid from fleeing the country. ”

He gives me a long, dry look. “A statue?”

“Bronze. Life-size. Maybe even with a cape.”

Then he sighs—long and theatrical—before swinging the door wide.

“Show me the damage.”

I nearly fist-pump. “You’re a hero. A legend. A lifesaver.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, grabbing his keys again. “Let’s go see what kind of disaster you’ve got in that back seat.”

He follows me back to the truck, grumbling under his breath.

Maya’s already climbed into the back seat to hover over the dress like it’s a wounded animal. The gown’s spread out delicately across the seat, that violent splash of burgundy still blooming across the bodice.

Maya looks up as we approach, her eyes wide with hope and barely restrained panic.

“This is Maya,” I say. “She’s the one running point on this rescue mission.”

The dry cleaner, whose name tag reads “ALVIN,” peers in and lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s not a splash, that’s a massacre.”

Maya winces. “It was malbec.”

He nods, as if this makes it worse. “Of course it was.”

She moves back to let him examine it closer, wringing her hands. “Can it be fixed?”

Alvin runs his fingers above the fabric without touching it, his eyes narrowing. After a long moment, he stands and exhales.

“It’s gonna be tough. That’s delicate fabric, and with red wine…” He trails off.

Maya bites her lip. “But not impossible?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Not impossible, but I’m gonna need time. You’re lucky you caught me when you did.”

I whip out my wallet. “Whatever it costs, we’ll cover it.”

Alvin waves me off. “Put that away, Moneybags. I didn’t come back out here for a bribe. I came out because I’ve been married thirty-two years. I know what this kind of panic feels like. Especially when it’s someone you care about.”

I glance at Maya. She’s staring at him with barely contained adoration.

“I’ll do what I can,” Alvin says, lifting the dress gently. “No promises, but if I can pull this off, it’ll be ready by tomorrow morning.”

“You’re amazing,” Maya breathes.

“I know,” he says, turning toward the shop. “But I expect that statue to have heroic cheekbones.”

As he disappears inside with the dress, Maya and I stand there in the parking lot, both of us a little stunned. The fluorescent streetlights above buzz faintly. There’s a soft breeze. The tension that’s been clinging to her shoulders all day finally seems to ease.

“I can’t believe he’s doing it,” she murmurs.

“He’s a sucker for a good cause,” I say. “And maybe a little flattery.”

She turns to me, her voice quieter. “You didn’t have to do any of this, Liam. You just showed up. No hesitation.”

I shrug, suddenly shy under her gaze. “You sounded like you needed backup.”

“I did,” she says. “And I think—” Her voice catches slightly. “I think I’m not used to people showing up for me like that. Not without expecting something in return.”

I reach for her hand without thinking, and when our fingers touch, it’s like something locks into place—subtle, warm, steady.

“I’m not people,” I say softly.

She blinks at me, eyes a little glossy. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “No. You’re not. I think… I think you see me in a way Nick never did.”

That lands square in the center of my chest and stays there, solid and warm and real.

“I always have,” I admit.

She squeezes my hand, just once, before stepping away to get back into the truck.

My heart is hammering, my fingers tingling from her touch.