Page 41 of Shared by my Ex’s Best Friends (Twisted Desires #2)

Chapter forty-one

LIAM

I t’s a rare quiet afternoon.

The sun’s out, warm but filtered by a gauze of clouds, not enough to make me sweat in my long sleeves. Just enough to gild the tops of buildings in gold and throw soft shadows across the sidewalks.

I’m walking downtown, iced coffee sweating in my hand, letting the city hum around me. A delivery truck rumbles past, and the scent of roasted garlic wafting from the food truck parked at the corner.

A dog tugs its leash toward a tree, its owner distracted on the phone. Somewhere down the block, a street musician strums something lazy and bluesy on his guitar, his open case peppered with coins and a crumpled five-dollar bill.

The rhythm matches my steps.

I duck into a used bookstore—because of course I do. The little bell over the door jingles softly as I enter. It smells like dust, old paper, and a hint of vanilla. A box fan whirs lazily in the corner, doing its best to stir the heavy air.

I spend twenty minutes flipping through a stack of battered paperbacks, half of them sun-faded, all of them slightly warped from age or carelessness. I’ll probably buy three, maybe four. Read none of them. Still, it’s a ritual I like.

One title catches my eye— What to Expect When You’re Expecting a Werewolf . I snort out loud and snap a picture to send to Maya.

Liam: Look what I found.

Maya replies almost instantly.

Maya: Please buy it. For science.

Followed by half a dozen laughing faces.

I smile, roll my eyes, and head back outside. The bell chimes behind me again. I’ve got about twenty minutes before I need to head home.

I’m halfway through debating whether to stop at that bakery Maya likes—the one with the lemon shortbread she’s been craving all week—when I hear someone call out my name.

“Liam.”

The sound cuts through the street noise like a needle through cloth. I turn instinctively, and my stomach drops before my brain catches up to comprehend who’s staring down the sidewalk at me.

Nick.

He’s standing just outside a coffee shop across the street, half in shadow beneath the overhang, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s physically holding himself back and trying not to explode.

His jaw’s clenched, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, and there’s a familiar storm brewing in his eyes.

We haven’t spoken since the wedding. I’m pretty sure Jake and Ethan haven’t spoken to him since that night either.

I stop walking. My grip tightens on the plastic cup of my iced coffee, condensation sliding down my knuckles.

“Nick.”

He steps off the curb and toward me. Not close enough to draw a scene, but close enough to block my path.

“I was wondering when I’d run into one of you,” he says, voice low and sharp-edged. “Ethan, Jake, and you. Been real quiet lately, haven’t you?”

I don’t answer. The air between us thickens, prickles with old tension. I can understand why he’d be annoyed with us.

Not only for the fight at the wedding, but because we’ve been friends for years and the three of us have all stepped back from him at once without a real explanation.

Of course, we’ve done that because we want to protect Maya. She’s our priority now, and Nick has done nothing but hurt her since their breakup.

He takes another step forward and tilts his head. “What the hell is going on between you guys and Maya?”

There it is. The question I knew was coming, the one none of us have been ready to answer.

I move slow and set the coffee down on the bench beside me. My hand is slick and steady at once.

“That’s none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Nick snaps, voice rising enough that a woman walking her dog across the street glances over, her brow furrowed. “I was with her for years. I know her better than any of you.”

My jaw tightens.

No, you don’t , I think. You think you know her because she made herself small for you. Because she gave more than she got. Because she bent until she nearly broke trying to fit into the version of love you offered.

But I say nothing.

The sun glints off the windows of the coffee shop behind him, reflecting his silhouette in fractured panes of glass. His shadow stretches long across the sidewalk, almost reaching me.

There’s the steady churn of traffic in the distance, the squeak of a rusted bicycle wheel as someone coasts by behind us, oblivious to the way the world is narrowing into this confrontation.

Nick steps closer. Close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne. It’s sharp and musky.

There’s something in his expression now. Rage, yes, but something almost desperate too. A flicker of insecurity beneath all that bravado.

“People are talking,” he says tightly. “Rumors are spreading all over town.” His mouth twists into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You think you can all just play house with her and no one’s gonna notice?”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.

Stay calm. Be the level-headed one.

Something twists in my gut at the way he says it. Like what we’re doing is something dirty. Like Maya’s some careless girl making a mess of her life and we’re just idiots enabling it.

Like love—real love—can only look the way he wants it to.

“You all screwing her, or what? That the deal now?”

The words hit like a slap. Audible. Ugly. Mean.

The kind of sentence that doesn’t just insult—it tries to diminish her.

My hands curl into fists before I even register it. My shoulders coil with the effort it takes not to react, not to swing and let him win.

I take one step forward, closing the distance between us so he has to tip his chin slightly to meet my eyes. When I speak, my voice is cold.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

Nick scoffs, stepping back half a pace but not retreating.

“I knew it. I knew something was off the second I saw you with her at the wedding. The way you all looked at her—like she was some goddamn prize.”

That’s when I snap.

I don’t raise my voice. I don’t shove him, but the words come out like a shot, sharp and sure in the quiet afternoon.

“We love her.”

The words hang between us like a thunderclap.

Nick freezes. His eyes flicker, mouth parting slightly, like he didn’t expect that. Like he was ready for excuses, or guilt, or denial. Not a heartfelt confession.

I press on, breath rushing now, the words tearing out of me like they’ve been clawing to get free for months.

“All three of us. Me, Jake, Ethan. We love her. We live together. We take care of her. We support her. We make her laugh when she’s had a hard day, and we sit with her when she cries for no reason, and we never, ever make her feel like she’s too much or not enough.”

The breeze kicks up, rustling through the leaves of the sycamore trees lining the sidewalk. A passing car thumps with bass-heavy music that fades into the distance.

Somewhere nearby, someone laughs—sharp, quick, unaware of the moment cracking open between us.

Nick blinks like I’ve just started speaking a language he doesn’t understand. Like none of this computes.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“So, yeah,” I continue, my voice dipping lower, trembling now not with fear but with the force of what I’m saying, “whatever you think you had with her, it’s over. You lost her when you stopped seeing who she really was.”

I step closer. “We see her. Every messy, brilliant, complicated piece, and she’s happy with us.”

He flinches—not dramatically, just a small jerk of his jaw as he looks away. His shoulders tense like he’s bracing for a hit that already landed. I don’t know if it’s my words or his own conscience doing the damage.

He stares down at the sidewalk like it might give him answers. Then he mutters, “You can’t tell me that’s gonna last. That kind of thing—what, some twisted poly situation?”

His lip curls like the word itself leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “You think that’s sustainable?”

I stare at him. The rage behind his words is loud, but underneath it, I can hear the cracks. The fear. The hurt.

“I don’t think it,” I say, firm now. “I know it.”

I let the silence stretch between us, weighty and unmoving.

“We talk,” I go on. “We don’t force her into a box or ask her to change. We listen. We fight fair. We choose her, every single day, and she chooses us right back.”

Nick’s face contorts, something tight flickering behind his eyes. He wants to argue. I can see it—his fists flex at his sides, his chest rising fast beneath his jacket.

But he doesn’t. Maybe because he knows he’ll lose. Maybe because a part of him realizes he already has.

He just stands there, shoulders heaving, trying to gather something sharp enough to throw back at me. But the well’s empty. There’s nothing left.

So I take a breath. A deep one this time. Let the weight of the moment settle around us like dust.

Then, quieter: “Go home, Nick. Let her go.”

I turn before he can speak. I don’t need to hear whatever last jab he might try to throw. He’s behind me now—in every sense of the word.

The walk back to the car feels shorter than I remember, though my legs are still buzzing with adrenaline. My pulse hammers in my ears like a leftover drumbeat, and my hands tremble slightly as I pull out my keys.

I grip the steering wheel for a second after unlocking the door and climbing inside. Riding out the wave of emotions I’m feeling. Letting it pass.

Underneath the shakes, I feel lighter. Like I finally dropped a weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Maya: Did you buy the werewolf book?? Also… baby wants a cinnamon roll. So do I.

A laugh escapes me—sudden and sharp and warm all at once. I sag back against the driver’s seat, the absurdity and sweetness of the message wrapping around me like a blanket.

I smile, thumbing out a reply with fingers that don’t shake quite as much now.

Liam: On my way. Don’t move. I’ve got both.