Page 3 of The Last Person (Baker Girls #5)

CHAPTER THREE

HARDY

“Finally,” Brian groans in relief as our car pulls up to the luxury apartment building we both live in. Because when you’re best bros, why wouldn’t you have neighboring apartments?

I’m sure that hasn’t contributed at all to my confusing feelings or the excessive amount of time we spend together. Why leave the apartment building when I can go to Brian’s apartment?

“I’m proud of you. You survived five whole days surrounded by people.”

He scowls. “Don’t mock me.”

The car darkens as the driver pulls into the underground parking area.

“I’m not,” I say gently. “I know how hard that is for you. An afternoon with my family and you look like you want to crawl in a hole. Surviving three full days of Baker girls’ shenanigans and two days of travel is a lot.”

“And now I feel like a child being placated.”

“I can’t do anything right.” I hold up my hands. “I’ll just stop talking.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “It only took you two-and-a-half years of friendship to figure it out.”

I clasp a hand to my chest. “You wound me.”

He rolls his eyes as he flings his door open. I stare after him, not at all noticing how his linen pants hug his ass.

Nope. Time to get out.

Making my way around the back of the car, I find Brian already unloading my three bags.

Of course, he only had one. Some kind of combined suitcase and hanging bag.

Which doesn’t make any sense to me, but it works for him.

I packed two full suitcases and a hanging bag because as my mother would say, I’m a clotheshorse.

Is it so bad that I want to look good and not repeat an outfit during a wedding weekend?

Brian grabs his bag and slings my heaviest bag over his shoulder.

“I can carry that.”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “It’s already on my shoulder. I have two. You have two. Unless you need to prove how manly you are by carrying them all yourself.” He looks around the quiet parking garage. “But there’s no one here to impress, so…”

Except him.

But showing off my strength to a man who’s all thick muscles everywhere is kind of stupid.

“I’m just doing something nice, but if you have to make a thing out of it—”

“No thing. Thank you. I appreciate it.” The words are rushed, so to cover it up, I shut the trunk of the car with a loud thunk and then nod toward the entrance of the building.

It’s unusually quiet in the lobby as we make our way to the elevator, and I don’t bother breaking the silence between us.

Brian hates forced conversation, and while I’d like to think it’s never forced with me, I know he needs to decompress now.

He hates being on constantly and that’s what the last few days have been for him.

For me, it was like a solar panel on a cloudless day.

I soaked up every ounce of having fun, being social, talking, laughing, and dancing as I could.

It’ll help keep me warm in my cold, lonely apartment.

In the past, this is when I would’ve gone out and hooked up, but I’m not into it.

“Are you going to be weird if I put your bag in your apartment for you?” Brian asks as we walk off the elevator.

“I’m never weird.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Sounds like what a weird person would say.”

I’m about to reply when I notice the white envelopes taped to both of our doors.

I nod toward them. “What are those?”

Brian’s brow furrows, and he sets the bags down as he gets to the door and grabs his.

I rip mine out of the envelope at the same time, and we both skim the few paragraphs. When I get to the part in bold, my eyes dart to Brian, who curses under his breath, then wads the paper up and chucks it at the floor.

Of course, he’s too diligent to leave it there, so he picks it up again and stuffs it into his pocket, grumbling as he does, then he flings his door open, picks the bags back up, and stomps inside.

Since he doesn’t slam the door shut—and he still has my bag—I follow him.

He doesn’t say a word as he drops the bags to the floor, grabs the spray bottle off his counter, and goes straight for the window lined with plants.

“Hi, babies. Daddy’s home. Looks like the babysitter took good care of you.

You all look happy and well hydrated.” He sighs and reaches for one of the shoots on his spider plant that’s wrapped around one of his succulents.

“Isla, how many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself? You’re going to choke out your brother.

” He carefully moves the shoot, aiming it toward the window instead.

Then he picks up the squirt bottle and lifts up the leaves of his aloe vera.

“Robert, you’re looking a bit dry. Weren’t you thirsty yesterday? ”

I silently watch him care for his plants with the same tenderness he has for everyone in his life.

“Now, I want you all to be calm, but I have some bad news. The owner of our building is selling it, and we’re going to have to move soon.”

Selling is a generous word. The building being repossessed because the owner got busted for tax evasion is the actual reason, but I understand why he’d want to be gentle in breaking the news to the kids.

“I know,” he continues with a sigh. “I’m sad too. But I promise to find you somewhere with just as much light.”

Taking a step forward, I enter the conversation. “We’ll find somewhere even better than this.”

Brian slowly spins to face me, his mouth tugging up at one corner. “We?”

“We both need somewhere new to live, and if you think I’m letting you move too far away from me, you’re crazy. I don’t want to have to walk or hire a car to come bother you.”

“You could just not bother me,” he says, though his lips finally curve into a full smile.

“And leave you to your own devices? You’d never leave the house. I need to at least be able to do regular wellness checks on you. Besides, who would watch Bridgerton and Love Island with me?”

He chuckles and aims for the couch, dropping onto it. “I don’t want to move. This is the first place that’s felt like home since I moved out of my childhood house.”

“I know,” I say as I sit down next to him. “Which is why we’re going to find somewhere for you that feels even more like home. Plus, with your plants and me, how could it not feel like home?”

“You think highly of yourself.”

“Hey, I said the plants first.”

He sighs. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Leave that to me.”

How easy is it going to be to find two nice apartments in the same building that aren’t far from the stadium? Probably not easy. But I’m nothing if not persistent and charming. That’s why I usually get what I want.

And if it’ll make Brian happier and breathe easier, I would literally do anything.

“Overconfident, as usual.”

“Is it really overconfidence if I always nail the play?”

“Such humility.”

“Fuck off. Just trust me to get the ball rolling, okay?”

“I do. Thank you.”

We sit in silence for a moment, then I force myself off the couch. “Well, I’ll give you some space so you can settle in and decompress.”

He stands too, and even though I don’t turn back, I feel his eyes on me.

“Stay.”

I stop and spin halfway around. “Are you sure? I know you’ve had enough people-ing.”

A little laugh slips out, then he shakes his head. “You don’t count as people.” He grabs the remote and tosses it at me, then pulls his phone out. “Find where we left off on Love Island. I’ll order some food.”

I sit back down next to him and find the episode we left off on, trying to keep my breathing even.

It shouldn’t be a big deal that he asked me to stay—that even after five days with me, he doesn’t want me to go. So why is my heart beating like I just caught the perfect pass, had a breakaway run down the field, and scored a touchdown?

“Hey, Mama,” I say as I walk in the back door of my parents’ house, just outside of Linden, New Jersey.

We had a light practice today, and my mom invited Brian and me over for dinner.

“Hi, baby.”

I smile at the lingering French accent when she says the word.

My mother grew up in France until she was six years old.

Though her accent has mostly faded over the years, there are still a few words where I hear the traces of it.

My whole life, whenever she’d call me her baby, it was always with the softest French accent. It’s a tiny bit of comfort.

I peek into the living room, surprised by the silence. Normally, my parents’ house is loud. Filled with the warmth of family and laughter. That’s when I notice some jazz playing softly in the background, which means my mother is here alone, enjoying some peace while she cooks.

“Where are Dad and Auntie V?”

“Your father ran to the store to look for some limited-edition ice cream flavor he saw on TV.” She shakes her head like she doesn’t know what to do with him. “And your aunt Vic will be back soon. She’s getting the neighbor’s kids off the bus and waiting with them until their mom gets home.”

Smiling at the many family photos lining the wall along the far side of the kitchen, I take a seat at the round kitchen table. It’s big enough for four, though we usually squeezed six in there when I was a teenager because my aunt and my cousin lived with us too.

I tried to buy my family a bigger home when I signed my contract with the Bandits, but they wouldn’t let me.

This was the first home they owned, not rented, and it’s the home my parents see as the center of our small family.

My aunt still lives with them, and it’s where we congregate for meals with my sister, her husband, and her kids—and when she’s in town for a minute, my cousin Christy, too.

Family has always been the center of our lives, and this home is the embodiment of that.

My mother looks at the closed back door. “Where’s Brian?”

“Of course, you’re concerned with him, not me. Maybe this is why none of my friendships stuck when I was young. I knew you’d like them better than me.”

Even though I know that’s not true. I’ve always been the friendly kid, the loudest one in the room, which meant people were drawn to me, but unfortunately, most of them liked me for the brightness that shone on them while I was around—not for who I actually am.

I’ve had lots of “friends” over the years, but other than my cousin Christy, Brian is the first one who ever stuck—who wanted to know the real me.

I’m a lot, and I make no apologies for that.

It’s how I was raised to be. To be unapologetically myself, to love what I love, embrace all the beautiful things about myself, and be me—loudly.

I’ve always been completely comfortable with who I am.

Sometimes it can be at odds with the traditional masculine identity men in sports—or men in general—are taught to uphold because I don’t shy away from showing affection, I love the color pink, and I like listening to boy bands as much as I like Kendrick Lamar.

But I was also taught the dangers of fragile and toxic masculinity, and it’s something I refuse to subscribe to.

I’m me, and if physical touch, a love of pop music, and a slight fashion obsession are too much for people, then they can move on and miss out.

“Stop it. You know I love you, but we all love Brian too. And I promised his mother I’d look after him. She’s all the way in the Midwest, and he needs a motherly figure here to support him. So, where is he?”

“He’s home, taking care of himself. He needed some time alone. I tried to convince him to come, but after a wedding, traveling, and getting back into practice, Brian needs fewer people, not more.”

My mother nods in understanding. “All right, then. I’ll just have to send lots of food back with you.”

“Whatever you say.”

I rise from the chair and head over to the stove, lifting the top off the pot as my mother opens one of the double ovens on the wall.

“Coq au vin?” I ask, mouth watering at the delicious smell.

“Ryan Laurent Hardison, get your face out of that pot and put the lid back on, it’s not finished yet.”

“Sorry. I love Papi’s recipe.” I put the lid back on, not wanting to incur my mother’s wrath.

Don’t mess with her cooking or she’ll mess with you.

And her father’s recipes are deeply cherished in our family.

He was a chef in France for years, then continued working as one in New York City once he moved there with my grandmother when my mom and auntie were little.

She smiles, a wistful look in her eyes. “I always feel him here with me when I cook it. And his ghost will haunt us if it’s not done right, so hands off.”

I put my hands up in front of me and lean against the kitchen sink. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, tell me what’s new with you. And what is the deal with you asking about apartments? I thought you liked where you live.”

In my attempt to handle the apartment situation so Brian doesn’t have to worry, I reached out to anyone in the area I even vaguely know, hoping to find someone who can help. I’ve gotten a couple of hits, but nothing good enough.

“Our landlord is going to jail, and the building is being sold, so we all have to move.”

My mother laughs lightly. “Oh, let me pour some wine, and you can tell me the story behind that. It must be a good one.”

I chuckle. “Maybe. I’ve been too busy looking for apartments to get into it, though. Brian is stressed, to say the least.”

“He doesn’t like change,” Mom says.

“Not so much.”

“It’s sweet of you to try to take some stress off him. How long do you have?”

“Only a few weeks.”

She purses her lips, hands falling to her hips. “Well, worst case, there’s plenty of room for both of you here. I’m sure it wouldn’t be ideal for you, but you’re both always welcome.”

“Thanks.” I appreciate her offer, but that’s a hard no. The last thing I need is for my mother to see how close Brian and I have become and how much time we spend together. It would take her no time at all to question me about what’s going on and if I have feelings for him.

And since I don’t have the answers for that at this point, I really don’t need her asking me about it. Even though she probably already suspects something because nothing gets by her.

So, I throw a little prayer out to the universe that the right thing will come along in the next few days, because I’m desperate.

Then my gaze drifts back to the stove. Though I’m itching to take the top off the coq au vin and steal a taste, I need my hands to catch a football, so I don’t do it.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, finding a text from Mark. Apparently, the universe heard my plea, and she’s acting fast.

Markie Mark: I think I have the perfect place for you. There’s just one little catch.

Me: What kind of catch?

Markie Mark: How would you feel about living with Brian… in the same apartment?

Uh oh. Something tells me I’m about to get myself in trouble.