Page 43 of Shared by my Ex’s Best Friends (Twisted Desires #2)
Chapter forty-two
ETHAN
T he house is quiet in that rare, golden window between dinner cleanup and the inevitable chaos of deciding what to binge next. The living room’s lowly lit, soft and cozy, with one throw blanket claimed by Jake’s long legs and another slung over the back of the couch.
Upstairs, the faint whir of Maya’s yoga playlist filters down through the floorboards—something mellow and flute-heavy, underscored by her occasional sighs of effort or boredom.
She’s supposedly doing a prenatal yoga video, but I’m ninety percent sure that just means she’s lying on the floor with a pillow under her knees, scrolling through baby name forums and swearing she’ll stretch in “just five more minutes.”
In the kitchen, I rinse out mugs from after-dinner tea—Jake’s on some herbal kick lately, so everything smells like lemon and honey. Liam’s cinnamon roll plates are stacked in the sink like a shrine to sugar, bits of icing dried along the rim.
That’s when Liam walks in.
A little too slow. A little too deliberate. The kind of stillness that means something.
He leans against the doorway like he needs it to hold himself up. Like he wants to disappear into the trim and pretend this is just a regular night and nothing’s clawing at the edge of his thoughts.
Jake catches it too. He’s at the kitchen table, still picking at the cinnamon roll he pretended not to want earlier. His brows lift in a silent question.
“What happened?”
Liam hesitates. Then he sighs, and that’s when I know it’s something real .
His hand drags through his hair, messing it up more than usual. His eyes flick upstairs like he’s checking to make sure Maya can’t hear us.
“I ran into Nick,” he says, voice quiet but sharp.
Jake straightens, the motion subtle but instant. All the easy humor drains from his face, replaced with that laser focus he gets when something threatens Maya. His body stills, coiled.
I don’t say anything. Just set the mug down gently in the sink, the clink of ceramic against metal sounding louder than usual in the hush of the room.
“When?” Jake asks.
Liam shifts his weight. “Earlier. When I went to grab Maya’s cinnamon roll. He was outside that little coffee shop on 7th—the one next to the bookstore.”
Jake stands now too, slow and silent. “And?”
“He called my name. I turned around and…” Liam shakes his head. “It escalated fast. He was angry before I said a word.”
I dry my hands on a towel, then walk over to lean against the fridge, arms crossed. “You okay?”
Liam nods, but his shoulders are still tight. “Yeah. Now, but he pushed.”
Jake’s jaw flexes. “What’d he say?”
Liam hesitates, mouth twisting like he’s trying to spit out something bitter.
“The usual,” he says finally. “That we don’t know her. That what we’re doing with her, it isn’t real. That it can’t last.”
He pauses again. Long enough for Jake’s eyes to narrow.
“What else , Liam?”
Liam’s jaw clenches. His fingers curl into fists and then release again at his sides. He looks… tired. Hurt. Angry.
“He asked if we were all just screwing her,” he says finally. “ Wanted to know if that was the deal now.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Ugly. It thuds into the middle of the kitchen like a dropped stone.
I feel heat crawl up the back of my neck. My pulse spikes behind my ears.
Jake mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “I’ll break his teeth,” then pushes back from the table. The chair legs scrape against the tile, sharp in the quiet.
He starts pacing, long strides back and forth across the kitchen floor, running a hand through his hair like it physically hurts to stay still.
I stay by the fridge, watching Liam.
“What’d you say back?” I ask, my voice careful. Not pushing. Just giving him space.
Liam lifts his gaze to mine. There’s a weight there—tired but steady.
“I told him we love her,” he says. “That we see her. That she’s not too much or not enough. That what we have, it’s ours. That he lost her the second he stopped seeing who she really is.”
I let out a slow breath, let it settle in my chest like a stone sinking into still water.
That sounds exactly like Liam. Measured. Honest. Final.
Jake scoffs, pacing still. “Guy still thinks she belongs to him. That’s not love. That’s possession.”
“I know,” Liam says, softer now. His arms fold across his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell her.”
I blink, shifting off the fridge. “You didn’t?”
He shakes his head, eyes flicking upward toward the ceiling—toward the room where Maya is supposed to be resting, stretched out on a yoga mat, disconnected from all this.
“Didn’t want to stress her out. She’s already carrying so much,” he says. “I thought maybe… maybe she didn’t need to know.”
The floorboard at the base of the stairs creaks—soft, but unmistakable. All three of us freeze, hearts in our throats.
Slowly, like a scene in a dream, we turn.
Maya stands just outside the doorway, one hand braced lightly against the doorframe, the other resting over the curve of her belly. Her hair is still damp, curling at the ends where it’s drying, and her sweatshirt sleeves are shoved up to her elbows.
Her expression is unreadable—tired, yes, but clear and sharp in a way that makes my chest ache. Like she already knew. Like she’s been bracing for this moment.
She doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at each of us in turn. And then her eyes land on Liam.
“I wanted some water,” she says softly, voice like the wind before a storm.
Liam steps forward, guilt etched in every line of his face. “Maya—”
She holds up a hand, stopping him gently. “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m not mad.”
Jake’s the next to move. He stops pacing and steps closer, his voice quieter now. “We weren’t trying to hide it. Just… protect you.”
“I know.” She nods, almost to herself. “And I love you for it.”
She steps into the room, and we all move aside to let her through. She walks slowly, purposefully, then sinks into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
Her movements are careful now—there’s more weight to them than even a few weeks ago—but there’s still grace in it. She rests her palm over her belly again, thumb brushing back and forth across the fabric of her sweatshirt.
It’s something she does often now.
“I’ve been dreading this conversation with him,” she says, eyes fixed on the wood grain in the table. “Pretending like if I just stayed quiet long enough, it’d go away. But it won’t. Not really.”
I move to sit across from her, elbows resting on my knees. “You don’t owe him anything, Maya.”
“I know,” she says again, her voice a little steadier this time. “But I owe myself peace.” Her fingers curl lightly against the table’s edge. “And with the baby coming… I don’t want to carry old ghosts into something so new.”
Jake slides into the chair beside her, his posture protective but not overbearing. Liam stays standing behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Just a simple touch, but it says everything.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, though I can already feel where this is going.
“That I need to see him,” she says. “Not to fix anything. Not for closure. I don’t need it from him, but because I want to look him in the eye and say what I should’ve said a long time ago. On my terms.”
Liam looks pained but nods, his hand tightening slightly where it rests on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
She turns her face, just enough to catch his eyes, and reaches up to squeeze his hand. Her fingers curl around his like they’ve done it a hundred times—because they have.
“I won’t,” she says, quiet but firm. “But this part—I think it needs to come from me . For me .”
Jake exhales through his nose, scrubbing a hand over his jaw as he drops into the chair beside her. “You sure?”
Maya hesitates.
“No,” she admits with a lopsided smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But I’m sure I want it done.”
She looks down at her belly as she speaks, one hand unconsciously smoothing over the stretched fabric of her sweatshirt. The soft overhead light glows gold against her skin, catching in the wisps of damp hair at her temple.
There’s a curve to her spine now, a weight to her posture, but her voice—steady, honest—holds more certainty than I’ve heard in a long time.
Silence settles over us again, but it’s not heavy with tension or fear. It’s quieter. Calmer. Respectful.
We don’t like it. Any of it. The idea of her standing face-to-face with a man who once made her question her worth, who belittled her softness, who twisted her strength.
But we trust her, because that’s what love looks like, too.
Not just the laughter and the cravings and the late-night baby name debates when none of us can sleep.
It’s this—letting her fight the battles she chooses, even when it terrifies us to step back.
Liam leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. His lips linger longer than necessary, like he’s trying to will every ounce of calm he has into her.
Jake shifts closer on the bench seat and rubs slow, steady circles on her back. His hand spreads wide between her shoulder blades .
And I reach across the table, brushing my hand against hers until she curls her fingers around mine.